"Sire, you are to take on the reins of the janapada as the fourth Samanta of Aranyavarta. It pains me to thrust these responsibilities upon the shoulders of a boy—"
Having realized his indiscretion, Jayak bowed again, lower this time.
"Your father, the former Samanta, was loved across these lands as a gentle ruler. It shall be my honor to serve you as I served him."
I stood from my chair as it groaned a little and gazed out the window at the shimmering sky.
"Why me? Should you not ask Pranvi or Varanth to take the seat?"
"Why, it must be you, Amogh!" said a voice so firm that it made me gulp.
I turned around hesitantly, and there stood my mother, clad in a white saree with a tinge of red near its edges. Her expression was austere, her eyes were a mix of varying emotions that I couldn't quite fathom.
"Mother, I can't..." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
I swallowed and forced myself to continue, though my voice trembled.
"I am ill-suited to become a ruler. The seat belongs to Pranvi or Varanth."
Her hand rose, silencing me with a single glance that burned with disappointment.
Taking his cue, Jayak bowed once more and slipped quietly from the room.
'Curse you, Jayak!'
Mother advanced with her usual graceful strides until she stood directly before me. Only then did I realize that, at some point, I had grown taller than her. The realization brought a wry smile to my lips.
"There is my sweet boy," she said, catching the expression instantly. Her hands cupped my cheeks with a tenderness that was home itself.
I hadn't realized I was crying until she brushed a tear away.
'How is she able to do that?' I wondered. 'Just a few words can bring down all my barriers.'
Now, the tears were flowing without pause. Before I knew it, my vision blurred, and then everything went dark...
****
Humming along to the tunes of a certain pop song blasting in my ears, I was riding my bike.
A white collared shirt with grey pants and a bag swaying at my side. It was yet another day of school. A few more months and I could finally bid farewell to that awful place. The thought alone was enough to make me beam.
A left, then a right, and another left. It was a pleasant day with people flocking to the shops on the streets. I closed my eyes for just a moment, savoring it.
'Ah, what a pleasant d...'
A sudden, sharp pain tore through my chest.
My eyes shot open, and I glanced below at my once white shirt, now drenched in red, and my pants with several torn patches across their length.
"Wha why? Please, no..." I muttered under what seemed like a voiceless breath.
I tried to stay awake, but my eyes were giving in.
Tears were rolling down my cheeks, but I couldn't understand why.
****
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, my whole body trembling. No matter how many deep breaths I took, I couldn't seem to calm myself.
'Am I dead?' I wondered with deep, panicked breaths and trembling hands.
I couldn't catch my breath, couldn't still my hands.
Panic clawed at me until a pair of arms wrapped around me from the side.
My head rested against a cushion, it seemed. One arm circled my waist, the other cradled my head.
The trembling ceased. My breath slowed.
'What is this strange feeling? What is this strange touch that feels so familiar? Why am I being embraced? Was it all a nightmare?'
My mind spun with questions, but then came the voice.
Oh, that heavenly voice!
"I'm here, son," it whispered, a hand stroking my cheek.
'Son? Is this a sick joke? My parents died when I was a toddler. Brought up by my grandfather, who died several years ago, I had shut down the part of my brain that yearned for familial affection. I had carefully put up these walls around my heart so that, every time I saw a child hopping around the park while holding his father's hands, I didn't feel envious. Every time a mother called out for her daughter to ask if she wanted an ice cream, I didn't feel gloomy. Every time I saw a child being spoiled rotten by his grandparents, I didn't feel heartbroken. Instead, I felt nothing. There was no pain in my heart, as it was numb to all such privileges of life.'
'Then why? Why do I feel so devastated by just a few words from this person who refers to me as their son? Why does it feel as if these words pierce right through my heart?' I wondered, still baffled.
As I was trying to figure out my way through the dark labyrinth of those thoughts, the voice called out again, pulling me out of the maze.
"Son, forgive me for failing to protect you."
'Protect me? From what?'
Her hands tilted my chin upward.
And then I saw her.
What stood before me was an outerworldly beauty with a glow so alluring that it enchanted the eyes.
Her face was flawless, adorned with delicate lips and a prominent nose. Upon further inspection, her symmetrical eyes gave the impression of rain-soaked blushes of algae. Her wavy hair rested on her shoulders, a perfect blend of dusk and the white of the moonlight.
Concern shadowed her face, but even her sorrow was radiant.
'Who is she?' My thoughts raced as I tried desperately to come up with an answer.
As if seeing right through my every thought, she answered. "Someone sought to slay you, my so..." Her voice broke, and she began to sob.
As if finding my voice through all the chaos in my mind, I muttered, "Assa...ssin...ate me? B...but why?" My voice cracked, barely audible.
"It must be one of your father's retainers. Since his death, the sabha has become a warring ground, and each one of those vultures seeks a share of the carcass." She paused, her eyes flickering with something dark. "This time, however, they transgressed into perilous territory. Their penance shall be their heads upon the gates!"
As she said that, I witnessed the lovely and immaculate woman, with not-so-immaculate tears rolling down her cheeks, turn into something that resembled a wounded yet fierce lioness.
Her grief twisted into fury, and that sent a shiver down my spine.
I gulped.
As if sensing my fear, her eyes softened a little, and she planted a kiss on my forehead.
"I'm here now, my sweet child. Your mother shall stand by your side. Nobody will dare hurt you now."
Her words washed over me like a wave of warmth.
"Where...where am I?" I asked hesitantly.
"You're in your bedroom, son. We are in our manor," she said with eyes full of worry.
'A manor? Our manor?'
I blinked, finally taking in my surroundings. We were, in fact, inside a room—a room that reeked of opulence.
Though modest in size, the room was dominated by towering stone walls. The ceiling exuded a rich aura with its tapestry of what seemed like a battle. At the far end, stood a mirror, taller than any I had ever seen, and a few curule seats lying in front of it.
A study desk, holding a parchment and an inkpot, stood on the opposite side of the room. Beside the desk was a wooden sword that was hanging on the stone wall.
'It does look like a room inside a manor, but why am I here?'
Then the pain came.
A spike of agony shot up my spine and exploded in my head.
I started screaming and fell on the floor, my hands flailing around, writhing in unwarranted agony.
But then, there was another sound—wailing, desperate, and fragmented, that accompanied my own screams.
"M... so... no no... plea... stop."
It's strange that, despite my failure to comprehend those words, they still brought me a certain sense of belonging.
It felt like finally, I wasn't alone.
Then, the pain came again...