by H. K Oby
Before he could speak, the vanara raised one finger and said, “I already know why you’re here. You don’t want to be taught by the children, who tend to humiliate even though they have no such intention. You don’t want to be beaten up in the sparring ground every day. You want to learn things by yourselves, at your own pace, a pace which should be set with the trials in mind. Am I right?”
Amin gulped. It was as if the vanara had read his mind.
Wait, is that possible? No, no way. If it were, I would have been killed multiple times over these couple of days.
Nodding, he said, “Yes, that is perfectly the gist of it. What did you mean about initiates persevering until the end? Do initiates typically come here looking for a way out of this cruel cycle?”
The vanara raised his eyebrows when he heard the word ‘cruel’.
“That is one way to put it, but that word doesn’t even come close to what the rakshasas will do to a Deathsworn captured in battle. We must be cruel if we want to create warriors out of you, but the teachers here are not sadists. They know that cruelty is not the way for everyone to learn. You forget, or you don’t know about the rich history of Hindu education. Essentially, this place is supposed to be a huge gurukul. At first, that was the intention, but when everyone realized that there were too many students, a better system was developed with the help of legendary teachers who have taught hundreds of students each. In ancient gurukuls, a guru took on students. He taught them each individually, adapting his teaching to suit each one’s own pace, helping them to identify and excel in what they were most talented in. After the congregation that lasted 100 days, this system was set up: on the surface, it would appear that this ‘cruel cycle’, as you so aptly put it, is the only way to learn in Ayodhya. For those who are weak of heart and mind, this is, indeed, the best way, because they’re forced to endure and strengthen themselves. For those who are already strong or who have grown strong enough, a pathway is present with which they can catapult themselves to the next stage, the stage where one can choose their own studies. To discover this pathway, one must ask, but this, in itself, displays the will to look for a better way even if it appears that none such exist. You’ve come here, seeking a shortcut. I have a shortcut, but it shall be difficult, and if you fail, things will get even harder. There has to be a punishment for overestimating oneself, after all. Do you still wish to hear it?”
Rishi dithered, but Amaira nodded. Thankful that he had the majority, Amin answered, not even a hint of doubt appearing in his voice or mind.
“Yes.”
Clapping his hands once, the vanara smiled again and said, “Brilliant. Don’t mind my excitement; this is the most exciting part of being a supervisor. If you wish to be in control of your own day, except for the morning where you’ll still have to spar under Shanker, this is what you have to do: every month, there is a competition between all the members of the initiates. You must beat at least one team. That is all. It doesn’t even matter how you beat them; just do that, and Shanker will not be able to torment you except for the few hours you will have to spend with him in the morning, each day. Even in that time, he will only assign you initiates who will teach you the basic forms of physical attack and defence. I expect that you want this so badly because you want to focus your time on learning siddhis. Am I right, again?”
Amin hated being read like a book. Yet, this monkey man who spoke too much was right, and he knew that he must have given away the answer by the way the corners of his lips tightened.
Raising both hands as if in apology, the vanara said, “Alright, no need to be so touchy! If that is all, I would like to be left to my meditation. A word of caution: all of the teams you will be going up against will know how to use their siddhis and have trained to bring out at least some of their true strength in battle. You have ten days. Before then, I suggest that the two of you who do have siddhis learn to use them. If you don’t, a loss is almost guaranteed, and you’ll have to wait months for another chance.”
He closed his eyes after he was done, looking for all the world as if he was alone in his home, plainly refusing to say any more. Furrowing his eyebrows and wondering how much more had been left unsaid, Amin turned around and walked out.
They walked in silence back to his hut, each of them pondering over the words they had just heard. It had surprisingly been a short trip, but Amin was happy that they had at least gotten the answer he was looking for.
As soon as they entered his hut, Amaira spoke with a determined set to her jaw.
“We should do it, but only if the two of us manage to activate our siddhis. I can’t take another month of it. I heard the children talking about how initiates sent to them for more than two weeks are then made to go to a different class, one with five-year-olds. Can you imagine being taught by a five-year-old? No way! I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror. We have to do this.”
Amin nodded, satisfied but also having expected what she would say. Together, they turned to Rishi and waited as he ran his fingers through his head, trying not to meet both of their gazes and looking away whenever he caught a glimpse of them.
Finally, a minute later, he slumped his shoulders and said, “I agree with Amaira. Although I believe that we will still be too weak, we should at least try. I dislike being laughed at by scores of children as much as you two. In fact, I’ve always been uncomfortable around children; they leak too much, and their voices are so annoying. And, you said that you are an expert at making elaborate plans, so you should make a plan to defeat our opponents while the two of us focus on learning to use our siddhis. Before we go further, I just want to say how absurd this is: the others must definitely know a lot more than us. The previous batch of initiates came a month ago, but they already look like they know all the forms of attack and defense by heart. We know nothing! This might just be the most foolish thing I’ve ever had to do.”
Amin had already figured out a response to what Rishi was saying.
“A month is nothing. I’ve talked to people who practice martial arts; for true mastery, at least years are required. They just know the forms. I doubt that they can actually use them effectively in battle. Consider your own backgrounds, guys. The world outside is not as it was centuries ago, when all children were given basic training. Most of the world has no idea how to fight. In that vein, 99% of the initiates must also all be from normal backgrounds. I’m the exception. Using me, we should be able to eke out a victory. Just focus on your siddhis, and we’ll have this in the bag.”
Rishi still looked doubtful, but he nodded morosely and turned towards the door. Amaira smiled at him, and he would have been lying if he didn’t feel warm in his heart when he understood that she trusted him.
Turning down the kerosene lamp, Amin got onto the bed.
For the first time since coming to Ayodhya, sleep was slow in coming. Even when it did arrive, he spent the night waking up at odd times, and sometimes, he could have sworn that he was not alone.
…
10 days later.
Shanker wiped the sweat beading on his forehead, examining all the hundreds of initiates standing ramrod straight in front of him.
Competitions were always exciting. It was exhilarating to see who had put in the most effort, who had grown strong enough to surpass those who had beaten them to a pulp a month ago.
Blood and sweat would be shed on the sparring round today. Glory would be achieved, and shame would be delivered.
What else could anyone need to celebrate the miracle that was life?
Grinning with unrestrained glee, he saw the ones nearest to him shrink back.
Fear was an indication of nervousness. Chuckling, he selected them and picked out a team he knew was just a bit stronger than them, and the competition began.
He was most looking forward to the spars of the newest initiates, but that would have to wait. The strongest went first; it was their right and their privilege, so folding his hands, he kept half his mind on the competi
tion while the other half tried to figure out if there was even the slightest chance that the initiates could succeed in embarking on the not-so-secret pathway.
Two hours later, he was convinced that there was no way. Even if all three had awakened their siddhis, the odds would have been very slim. With only two of them having just succeeded, it was just plain impossible, even if the third had reflexes that were right near the top level of what mortals could obtain with diligent training.
The standard practice was to pair up the latest newbies three times, making them fight against increasingly difficult opponents. Many argued that it should be the other way round so that they would have a better chance to win, but Shanker believed otherwise.
Desperation often brought out strength that one wouldn’t even know they possessed unless given no choice. All the initiates would know that the third fight would be their last chance to avoid another month spent losing their self-respect day by day, so they would pull out everything inside and hopefully surprise themselves and him.
He lived for those moments.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he surveyed everyone and chose team 50, a team that had been on a losing streak. As the primary instructor, he had many duties, and one of them was making sure that morale didn’t dip below a certain level.
A win would bolster the team, and they were just strong enough that it was impossible they could do anything fatal to the initiates. After telling the initiate beside him of the next pairing, he raised his head and froze.
In his home, illusions could not hide from him even if they were cast by the best. Right above him, one hundred feet up in the sky was a spot where the air was different.
He was a warrior, first and foremost, and for any warrior, spatial awareness was paramount, especially in a battle. In a way, this sparring ground was his battleground, a place where he kept Lord Yama, the God of Death at bay every day, stepping in wherever necessary to keep the initiates at the edge of death, but never a step beyond. Hence, he had always made it a point to know each and every inch of the land and sky in this place where he created warriors. That patch of the sky had changed, ever so imperceptibly. Frowning inwardly and trying to keep it out of his face, he gathered his energy, preparing to spring up and catch whoever was up there unannounced.
That patch suddenly wavered. For a split second, he saw what was behind the fake image that had been projected there: a man in a saffron dhoti, wearing a bead necklace and holding a sitar that he was strumming idly.
He nodded to Shanker, then disappeared. Shanker tried to act normal, understanding that the visitor did not want anyone to know that he was there, but it was hard to stop the racing thoughts in his mind.
Sage Narada, here? Why? He hasn’t done that since…well, since forever! As far as I know, the last time…no, it is forbidden to even think of that team. I shall put him out of my mind. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Squinting, he focused on the spar that had just begun in the ring. The newbies were up against team 50, and it looked like a completely hopeless fight.
Team 50 was comprised of three middle-aged men who all had the ability to extend their hands. Since they hadn’t entered the path of refining their body, yet, they were slower than their opponents who had the advantage of age. For the first few minutes, both teams were evenly matched, with the three initiates struggling slightly but holding their own by at least escaping the punches of all the members of team 50.
The balance snapped when the older initiates used their siddhis. Holding his breath, Shanker waited to see whether the two newbies would do so, too, but to his disappointment, they didn’t even attempt such a thing. Three fists snaked around their guards and hit their targets; three more fists used the opportunity to aim for vitals, and he was forced to step in and stop the fight, shouting for the battle to halt.
The newbies sighed and walked away, dragging their legs, looking for all the world as if they had tried their best, but Shanker wasn’t buying it.
That was too easy for team 50. I don’t trust these newbies. They have some plan up their sleeves; it’s definitely that going-to-die guy’s doing. Well, whatever it is, I’ll find out soon…
Six more spars followed, none of them straying from his expectations. He spent the entire time trying to figure out what the newbies were trying to do, so when their turn arrived again, he was practically fuming as he had no leads.
He was unapologetically known for never controlling his emotions, so he didn’t even hesitate from choosing a stronger team than he would have if he was in a pleasant mood.
It wasn’t his fault that they had pissed him off. No matter what they had planned, it would come out now, and that would be that.
10 seconds later, he was gnashing his teeth in frustration.
The newbies lost, again, in a much more spectacular fashion. The team he had picked out were much more adept in controlling their siddhis, and they had deployed them right away, using them effectively to batter down the measly defenses of the three.
Another easy fight. What are they…wait, I get it! They’re acting weak to put whoever is next at ease! They want everyone to believe that they can’t even use their siddhis because they just awakened them, but at a crucial moment, they’ll bust them out and go for the win! Haha, can’t fool me! That must be definitely it! I saw it coming a mile away. Oh, they’re doomed. There’s no way I’m letting them use such cheap tricks in my sparring ground…
When he told the next pairing to the initiate, the man gulped, wondering whether he had heard right. Shanker glared at him, his bushy eyebrows compressing into a line that everyone knew preceded a beating unlike any they would ever forget, so with a hasty nod, the initiate shouted the command.
The entire ground went silent when they heard the announcement. He had chosen the top 20th team, which was known to be improving so quickly that they would soon break into the top 10. The team members were all arrogant, yet for once, the arrogance was well-deserved.
When the newbies walked into the ring, they looked as shocked as the spectators felt. Shanker smiled; victory was his. He had figured out their plan and beaten them at their own game. It was possible that he was being just a tiny bit unfair, so he decided that he would give them an easier time the next month, letting them fight the weakest opponent possible.
The fight began, and immediately, Shanker’s breath caught in his throat.
The very demeanors of the three newbies were different. Where before they had acted like complete amateurs, jumping at their opponents in a bid to use all of their energy to end the fight quickly, they displayed caution now, moving as far away as possible from their foes while staying inside the ring. They had their guards firmly up, their forms were perfect, and their eyes kept flitting to their teammates who stayed an equal distance from each other in a well-practiced V-shaped formation that faced away from the enemy.
At the tip of the ‘V’ that was the farthest away from the opponents was the kid who had the siddhi of strength. On the point to his right was the girl who could grow in size, and parallel to her was the weak pipsqueak who had no business being in Ayodhya at all.
Their opponents laughed, plainly believing that it was all pretense. Shanker was half convinced that they were right, but the other half said that he just might have severely underestimated these newcomers.
With a shrug, the three members of team 20 advanced. They took a step forward, and then, everything happened at once.
The siddhi-less newbie ran forward, his face as red as if he had swallowed lava, giving the perfect impression that he was done with being controlled by the others who had siddhis and wanted to strike out on his own. Everyone understood this as he screamed the same, and with each step, he bellowed curses at the opposing team that made even Shanker’s ears burn. He didn’t shy away from any topic; he humiliated their birth, their names, their heights, their ages, their faces, and at one point, even their manhoods, and sure enough, all three flared into a rage. Completely i
gnoring the other two, they ran at the one sprinting towards them, and in a few seconds, they were upon him.
As though he had suddenly changed his mind and was now afraid, Amin — if that was what he was called; Shanker didn’t usually learn the names of the initiates, he just cared their siddhis — turned heel and ran away. Or at least, he tried, but he was caught by the three rampaging initiates in barely a few seconds.
They pounced on him, ignoring his attempts to kick, scratch, or crawl his way out. They formed a huddle, but at the exact second that they started pummeling their target with the rest of the world forgotten, a loud shout echoed across the silence sparring ground.
“Now!”
A large body that was at least ten feet tall and half as wide appeared flying out of nowhere above the knot of bodies on the ground.
It fell on the huddle, knocking the breath out of the three on top. An initiate came running towards the spot a second later. Grabbing the legs of the giant figure fluidly as if he had practiced doing so many times before, he raised and slammed it down.
Cries of pain erupted from the three team members who had all had their souls slammed out of them by the sheer force of the human club. On closer examination, it turned out that the club was the woman who could change her body, her face a rictus of pain that faced upwards. With multiple bones broken all over her body, she had passed out and was already shrinking, but she had achieved their objective.
All three opposing team members were in no position to put up a fight, moaning on top of the pipsqueak, his insults forgotten or rather driven out of their heads by the agony from all over their bodies.
The sparring round stood in silence, everyone watching too shocked to say anything. Finally, it was the weak pipsqueak from below team 20 who screamed, “YES! We did it! Screw you all! No more stupid kid lessons! Yes!”
