Manu sighed and turned to Viven, his eyes seeking help. Viven heaved a sigh as well, preparing himself to tell her everything, right from when they had landed in Tropagia.
***
They departed from the Potion Makers’ Diamension a week later, after Aunt Gina had regained enough strength needed for travel. It had turned out that the other day, much to Viven and Manu’s surprise, that the witch—Viven was positive was none other than Mai Canniola—had separated them in the prison itself, at the time when she, the so-called Sezia, had transported the boys to Tropagia, and this was the first time Aunt Gina actually knew of being in the forest. It had been the imposter witch who had shown up after Viven and Manu had been transported to Tropagia.
They left Dirita with the Potion Makers, for Bufo wanted to raise her, as she was an orphan. There were plenty of Potion Maker children with whom she could make friends, and after being granted consent by the Potion Makers, it was decided being best for her.
A few of the Potion Makers accompanied them. They had some of Algrad’s maps and knew the route out of the forest, which was along the banks of the river Brank.
After countless days of trekking through the forest, they reached a village at the end of it, and from there, they bought horses with Potion Maker gold. After twice as many days of galloping on horseback, stopping only at nights for rest and food at villages on the way, they reached Tempstow.
The little village was the same it had been when they were taken to Nascat. Encountering many familiar faces on the way to their house, all of which frowned in puzzlement at the men with them, they finally reached their home.
Rejecting their requests, the Potion Makers did not wait, though, and bidding farewell, rode away.
Entering the tiny heaven of a house, Viven didn’t care to brood over all the events that had occurred to them. The Diamension might have been grand; however, nothing seemed cosier than the old home and life of theirs.
Then one day, on his way to the bazaar, Viven saw Meela and a boy standing near a tree. He knew the boy, Hazark, who was a year senior to himself in school and not even a distant relative of Meela. Viven made a half-hearted attempt at smiling at Meela when he thought he had caught her eye as he passed them. She didn’t notice him.
She was gone.
As expected.
He didn’t feel sad. As he saw the bazaar emerge into view in the distance, he thought of Mai Canniola, just a vague mist now, and all they had gone through in Tropagia. He took in a breath and relished it.
Tempstow air smelled sweeter. He was at peace.
***
Epilogue
In the lone island of Gullop, far off the eastern coast of Mainland Belaria, a lone bony purple cat treaded the shores, lamenting, and seeking stark revenge.
He gazed wistfully at the red setting sun.
It had risks . . . It didn’t matter whatsoever.
He would summon Valni, god of the dimensions.
***
The End . . . for now
Thanks for reading the story. I hope you enjoyed it. If you didn’t, I am sorry, I tried. Be sure to leave a review on Amazon, as reviews are an indie author’s best friend. Praise me like I am Shakespeare or shoot me down with criticism. I’ll be thankful for both.
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Read on for an excerpt from “The Felis Catus”
Excerpt from “The Felis Catus”
It was eight at night. An auto-rickshaw pulled up in front of the gate to Mr. Jitendra Baruah’s house. A lean man wearing a straw hat stepped out of it. With one hand, he carried his suitcase, and on his shoulder, a snowy cat sat, perfectly at ease. He paid the driver, and the auto-rickshaw went.
Benglam Singsit took a breath of fresh air and looked around. Perfect, he thought. He heard little unwanted noise, if at all. Television sets, occasional sounds of people talking, and distant vehicle horns didn’t give him half a bother. In a big town like Jorhat, the Dikhu colony was the perfect place he could find for his one-year stay.
Benglam pushed open the gate and went in. The first thing he noticed was the absence of barks and was glad. Loy wouldn’t be getting into nasty fights with any dog.
Reaching the door, he knocked. A little girl opened it.
“What?” she asked, frowning rather severely at Loytamtah.
“I—” Benglam began, but was cut short by the girl, who shouted, “Papa! A man’s at the door. I think he’s the one who will occupy the room above.”
Her father came and welcomed him in. A man in his mid-forties, he was wearing a white vest and jogging pants.
“Come in, come in. Do sit for a minute while I get the keys.” Mr. Baruah smiled, gesturing at the sofa.
“So you are going to stay for a whole year, right?” Mr. Baruah asked as he opened the door to Benglam’s room, eyeing uncertainly at Loy perched on Benglam’s shoulder.
“Yes,” said Benglam.
“Um, but you will have to pay me every month, as I wrote in the ad.”
“Definitely.”
Pushing open the door, Mr. Baruah switched on the light bulb. It was a decent enough room with everything necessary—a bathroom, a toilet, a kitchen, a bed, a chair, and it even had a small TV set.
After Mr. Baruah went, Benglam closed the door, threw his luggage on the chair, put Loy on the floor, and hurled himself onto the bed.
It had been a tiring day. The bus from Arunachal Pradesh had been stopped by some farmers who had put up a protest, and the wait of four hours had sapped him of energy.
Benglam sighed noisily. He had been on the move for fifteen years now. Every year he would live in a new state, and his online business, which involved selling traditional Northeast Indian merchandise to foreigners, only allowed his nomadic lifestyle. This was the first time he had returned to stay in Assam ever since completing his matriculation.
Puffy eyed, he looked at Loy, his pet and companion of twenty years. Benglam had never told anyone of Loy’s age. He had never heard cats live so long and thought no one would believe him. All the same, he was grateful Loy was still living; what’s more, the cat had aged little from the time his grandmother had first brought him.
His grandmother . . .
He put on his mind brakes before his thoughts drifted to her, not wanting to wallow in self pity.
He got up, briskly clapped once loud enough to startle Loytamtah. He unzipped his bag, took out some cat food and, putting it in a bowl, gave it Loy, who munched.
As for himself, there wasn’t anything besides a bottle of water. However, he had had dinner at a hotel earlier and wasn’t hungry. As he switched on the TV, he glanced at the empty kitchen.
“We’ve got a lot to shop for tomorrow, Loy!”
***
At eleven o’clock next morning, Benglam and Loy went shopping. Descending the steep outdoor stairs, Benglam nearly tripped but regained his balance just in time.
They took a rickshaw to town and arrived at a grocery store. He told the shopkeeper about all that he needed, and as the shopkeeper counted the total money using a calculator, quite a scene broke out not far from the store.
People were beating a ten-year-old thief, who had apparently picked a man’s wallet and was refusing to give it back. Benglam couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for the boy. Although he himself had never picked pockets, when his grandmother had died, life had forced him to steal food, for it was his only route to survival back then. Unlike the boy, though, Benglam had managed to stay away from getting caught.
Benglam tore his eyes from the scene outside, asked how much he had to pay, paid it, and went out. Not letting his gaze waver to the poor boy, he went to a rickshaw stand. The men were being cruel, no doubt; after all, it was a child they were beating up. But then, thieving was an art to speak of, and the boy hadn’t carried it out correctly. Maybe he deserved the slaps and the boxes, then. Either he would stop thieving altogether, or end up develo
ping his art to escape the same again.
“It’s a crazy world, Loy,” he said, getting onto the rickshaw.
Halfway back to the rent house, one of the rickshaw’s wheels got punctured. So he paid the driver half the fare and continued on foot.
As he was passing the fifth house before Mr. Jitendra’s, the sound of sobs reached his ears. Turning his head, what he saw pained him.
It was a child crying beside his pet dog. The dog’s tongue was lolling out, and swarms of flies were all about it. It was dead.
The parents were trying their best to separate the child from his pet, but they themselves seemed not wanting to go away from the dog, and had sore eyes.
Benglam’s vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. His heart heavy, he returned to his room.
***
“Loy!” Benglam called, exhaling as he clicked on the shut down button on his laptop screen. He had spent most of the day immersed in the online world, and it was almost evening.
Benglam looked around when Loy didn’t mew. He wasn’t in the room.
The door was open.
“Loytamtah?” he called again, louder. Hurriedly closing his laptop, he went out.
“Loytamtah!”
A wave of relief passed him when he sighted Loy in the compound with Mr. Jitendra’s two children. Wait a minute, though, he thought. What do children do with cats? Bully them, of course.
He sprinted down the stairs.
“Hey!” he said, not caring if he sounded harsh. “What are you doing to him?”
“Nothing,” the girl’s brother replied, who looked elder by a couple of years.
“Nothing, eh?” Benglam picked up Loy, giving them a scornful expression. “Never again mess around with my cat!”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “But we were just—”
Benglam marched away before she could finish, and returned to his room. Closing the door with a bang, he sat on the bed.
Benglam didn’t like people messing with Loy, especially kids. He didn’t have anyone in the whole world but him, and didn’t think he would stand it if he had to lose Loy because of others.
He remembered that day, nineteen years back. A higher class bully had tried to ignite Loy’s tail. Ironically, and Benglam had no idea how it happened, it was the bully’s pants that caught fire on the contrary.
Benglam had laughed till his cheeks ached at the bully and his followers who just couldn’t put out the fire, and the bully had had to spend a week in the hospital for second-degree burns on his butt.
Yes, God had justly punished him for his doings. Although Benglam didn’t wish bad things to happen to others, such was the fate awaiting anyone who tried to mess with Loy.
Benglam exhaled. He would have to make sure Loy and the children stayed away from each other.
The Sword of Tropagia Page 16
