From The Pages Of HALF SCROLL

 

1500 YEARS LATER

 

 

Everything in universe is vulnerable. Even the Gods.

- 3rd Line, 24th Slab, Library Of Stones
 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

HUNT OF LIFE

 

 

“Don’t move,” the chief warned, “your one mistake may fail us.”

            Rakka was certain that his chief hadn’t heard the cracking sound of a twig he had just crushed. As always, he was proved wrong but it wasn’t his mistake. He was trembling as the wintry mist layered a thin film of water over his plump-bare torso. And to make his condition worse, the night-insects were infuriating him at his hide-out.

Both were hiding near trunks of trees that surrounded a moonlight glittered lake.

“Rakka, have you checked traps?” asked chief.

Rakka nodded his bald bearded head.

“A woman and two of our hunter-brothers are missing from a week. No dead-bodies have been discovered yet” informed the chief, “I suspect its toil of claws not hands. The terror of man-eater grips these woods, Rakka. We must end it tonight.”

“But why this place?” asked Rakka. He already gained the answer from his chief’s long disconcert stare. He was a Prakrat – a hunter-tribal of ever-rejuvenating Baarahmas forest. That lake was the only source for beasts to quench their thirst in these deep parts of the jungle. It was the perfect spot to catch and end the dread of blood-thirsty predator. How can I be possibly so foolish? He wondered.

Rakka looked at his chief – a well-muscled man, gripping a hand-made spear, giving him a weak smile. A leopard skin cased over his white but now dirt-stained dhoti stated his position – the chief of Samudh.  His chief’s wheat-like complexion differed him from the dark-skinned Prakrats.

Many times the same question had surfaced in Rakka’s stupid mind about his chief’s past. He clearly remembered that day, fifteen years back, when a young man with his infant had requested them for shelter in their village. As time flowed, that man with his wise intelligence won every heart of the village. Folks consulted him with their problems and his judicious decisions were accepted and honoured by all. But fame has a very notorious attribute of being chased by jealousy. His popularity stirred uneasiness in his haters, the powerful people of the village. They knew that his sudden disappearance would only result in rebellion from the villagers. So, they devised a plot to kill him publicly but in such a fashion that audience would believe it as an accident not a murder.

Bleats of a goat escorted Rakka from his memories to present. He watched the poor animal on the opposite bank of lake, struggling for escape from its ties. It was bait for their hunt.

“Be prepared Rakka,” said chief, “it has sensed someone’s presence. Pray to god, that smell belongs to our prey.”

Rakka had hunted down many animals but still every new hunt made him more nervous rather than to be confident. His heart thumped fast. Heat rose up in every inch of his body. He wanted to throw his spear and run-away from this wilderness. But he couldn’t; not when his chief was with him. His grip on the spear tightened as every possible courage gathered in him. Cries of the bait were now unbearable. It intensified with every passing moment. And then, there was an absolute silence.

Bewildered with the sudden stillness of night, Rakka peeped around trunk. The goat was quiet, its head faced towards trees where darkness prevailed. A chill ran through Rakka’s spine as the bushes near goat rustled. Finally, the wait ended.

A pair of yellow orbs gleamed in gloom. Silver light of full-moon unveiled the bearer of those eyes from blackness.

“It can’t be…” mumbled awe-stricken chief, “I thought it’s just a fable.”

Rakka’s suppressed childhood fear reawakened. He didn’t want to believe it but could not ignore the truth that strolls in front of his eyes. “The White Wanderer!”

“What are we now supposed to do, chief?”

“We wait and hope that those tales are lies.”

“And what if they aren’t? They say, death follows to one who encounters The White Wanderer.”

“I won’t be dying like a coward, hiding from death!”

For the first time in life, Rakka realised his instinct had acted fast and on time. He grabbed his chief’s arm and stopped him, “I mean no disrespect to you, chief, but it will be folly to fight with this beast alone.”

“Then join me, Rakka. If this is the man-eater we seek, then let’s smear our spears with its blood. I don’t care about my life. All I want is to end this madness.”

“But chief,” Rakka’s eyes suddenly fell on a goat, “what is going on there?”

A majestic animal parked itself near goat, resting its massive weight over its hind legs. Coal-black stripes ran across its snow-white fur. It was not its charisma that startled Rakka but its stature. It was twice enormous than any predator Rakka had ever seen.

“I’ve always assumed The White Wanderer as a ghost or a witch. Not in the wildest dream I thought it would be a white tiger!”

“It’s a tigress, Rakka.”

“But why on earth it’s not tearing up the bloody goat?” asked puzzled Rakka. “Tigress doesn’t counsel with goats!”

“Even I am shocked the way the events are turning up.”

Rakka heard a grumbling sound from tigress and to his horror he watched goat stumbled on ground. It might be unconscious or probably dead; Rakka was not sure about that.

“So those tales are true. Death does follow The White Wanderer’s audience!”

Before Rakka could acquire a response from his mystified chief, the white cat surprised them again. He could feel his blood turning cold as those two deadly shining eyes looked towards their hiding place.

Tigress lifted up. A rapid series of events followed as it reached the spot where its trap camouflaged in dry grass was waiting. The ground beneath its feet quivered. Somewhere in the nearby dark branches ropes snapped. A great thud disturbed the silence of night as something heavy hit the ground and within a moment tigress was in mid-air confined in net.

Rakka sighed in relief. Trap worked.

“Now what’s next, chief?”

“Do you fear death?”

Of course Rakka feared death and as far his brain could reckon everyone fear death. Life is precious. He nodded.

“What are you thinking to do?” asked Rakka.

“I am going to prove those tales are just tales.”

With these words Rakka saw his chief with spear dashed towards their captive. Rakka found himself tangled in the twister of thoughts. One side he was fated to face his childhood dreadful horror – The White Wanderer. The motionless body of goat only amplified his fear. Another side, he had vowed to serve his chief to any situation. Time was running out. He had to make decision fast.  He used the trick his grandfather taught him when he wouldn’t be able to decide. Listen to your heart. He closed his eyes and tried to stabilise the flow of churning thoughts. It took few moments until the choice was made. Slowly his eyelids rose up. With twinkle in eyes and glint of smile, he fool-heartedly followed his chief.

 

•••••

 

Gusts of wind ruffled his black hair as he looked down at winding streets of the capital, standing atop of one of the many high minarets of the city, grabbing its bronze pinnacle with one hand. He checked his leather-waist belt. Every tool he needed for his mission was present. Poisonous darts and a knife.

Eliminate every obstruction with darts and be sure you assassinate kid with knife – this was his master’s demand.

He scanned the whole city and finally his eyes rested on the imperial palace.

“You won’t be seeing tomorrow’s dawn, boy.”

He leaped from the minaret, allowing the gravity to do its work on his body.

No citizen of the city found any dead body or any blood-spot near that minaret. Guards of the night-watch only heard a shrill screech of a raven that night.

 

•••••

 

At a great distance in the east, two men were meeting. The chamber was dark and only source of light were wavering torches.

“You are late,” said the man in charge. He was seated in the dark. “Were you successful?”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the other figure.

“Do you have what I asked for?”

The servant nodded. He took out a cylindrical container from his robe and set it on the table.

The man in the shadows seemed pleased. “You have done well.”

“Serving you is an honour,” replied the servant. “What’s your next command, my lord?”

“Make haste to your city. Your king will need you tomorrow.”

The servant didn’t want to return to the city. “But I can serve you well here. My capabilities can prove more helpful in this stronghold.”

“I am aware about your abilities. You are more useful to me in the city.”

“But why will king need me?”

The man of shadows said, “Hard times are upon your empire. City will mourn tomorrow. Now leave.”

 

•••••

 

“It’s alive! I thought it was dead but it is in deep sleep,” said surprised Rakka when he checked the nerves of a snoring goat.

“So The White Wanderer wanders only in stories. Take risks and you’ll discover truth,” said chief, “Summon them!”

Rakka followed his chief’s order. He whistled in low notes twice and a long high note –hunter’s codes.

Six men in duos revealed themselves at different spots of lake. They immediately rushed towards their chief.

“Whoa! That’s a big cat!” said one of the six.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s butcher it,” roared the younger one.

“No,” protested the chief.

“What troubles you, Asuman? Why won’t we kill this animal?” asked the eldest among them.

“I don’t think this is our culprit. I admit it’s a tigress but still I am not convinced that it killed our people.”

“And why do you think so, chief?”

“Rakka, haven’t you witnessed what just happened here. It’s more than just an animal. Let Kaushji decide what to do with it?”

“Wait. What? You want us to take this beast to our village. Chief, it’s a tigress!”

“I am with you, Asuman,” said the elder one, “this cat has kindled interest in my heart too. Thirty-years of hunting and still this forest surprise me.”

No one argued anymore. Their chief had made up his mind and their elder was with him. They waited for his order.

“Bring the cage!”

•••••

 

A black bird glided through high vents and landed on the mosaic floor of the palace, unseen from watchful vigil of the guards. Black wisps began to engulf the raven as its wings flapped. Slowly the black curls rose high and solidified into a man.

The man grinned. He was now close to his target. But between him and his victim there stretched out an archway. Darkness obscured its height while the blazed torches on pillars casted dancing lights on the path. At the foot of every pillar a guard was stationed.

“Twenty,” he counted, “I hope I do have enough darts.”

He walked swiftly like a phantom, exterminating every man at watch as venomous darts pierced their neck, stopping their hearts instantly. He blew the pipe, projectile ejected from it, met its target and the last guard stumbled.

He finally reached at the threshold of his purpose.

Assassin slowly opened the door. The room was majestic with wide windows admitting moonlight and cold northern wind. On the feather-stuffed bed rested a boy of ten, lost in his dreams, unaware about his doom.

Killer loomed over his prey. Gradually he shut boy’s mouth and instantly his next move followed. His distinctive knife gleamed before it pierced boy’s flesh.

The boy fought to keep his sense but the darkness was closing in.

•••••

 

Four hunters dragged a wooden wagon upon which the tigress was caged in iron bars.

“Bloody hell! It weighs more than it looks,” complained one of them.

“Now don’t whine like a child,” grumbled the old-hunter, “Still these old arms are better than yours. Pull!” He with his chief, Rakka and other fellow-hunter followed the wagon.

It was hunter’s manner to hid wagons, weapons and cages at different spots of forest. So in the time of turmoil they could prove helpful. One of such spots was at the eastern bank of lake.

Dawn had already cracked. Broken haze resulted into dew-drops that glistered in first rays of the day, enchanting their path. Chirping of birds and chattering of squirrels made the forest alive; their hearts leaped with new energy.

Rakka noticed some change in tigress’s eyes. They were now sea-blue coloured but still mystifying,

As the day grew older, weariness overcame their potency.  

“We’ll halt here,” ordered Asuman, “take rest. We’ll continue our journey when your bellies get filled.”

Shrouded with sweat they tripped on ground.

Rakka couldn’t oppress more his hunger. He grabbed a cloth bag from wagon and hurriedly unravelled it. Seven leaf packages revealed which wrapped their lunch – boiled rice and chutney.

“This smells delicious! It must be yours, Simha.” Rakka threw the first package to a companion, a man with thick moustache. “Lucky man to get a wife like her. She cooks well. I wonder what she adds extra to chutney that makes it more scrumptious. I tried many things, you know, but every time the output gets worse.”

“Why don’t you get married? A wife will surely complete you,” said Simha, wolfing down his lunch.

“A man is incomplete until he gets married then,” Rakka paused, “he is finished!”

They burst out laughing that eased their weariness.

“I believe there must be one more leaf-package,” said the younger one, “for chief.”

“He never eats when he is on hunt,” replied Rakka. He turned to see his chief and found him standing few paces away from them, observing the woods.

“Why?” asked the curious youth.

“I don’t know. He likes to keep his secrets with him. All I can say, he’ll eat when he’ll assure that his son has eaten.” Rakka looked at the cage. Tigress was calm and comfortable in iron enclosure. “I don’t have good feelings about her. She hasn’t roared and not even tried once to escape.” A thought struck Rakka. “Can I name her?”

“You already considered it as a woman by mentioning it as ‘she’”, said old one, “Give any name you want.”

“Sheena!”

“That’s my wife’s name, you fool!” barked Simha.

“My apologies. I can’t think any of it. What are your suggestions?” Rakka asked the aged-hunter.

With eyes that had seen more days than any of them, the old man examined the white being. His mind felt a trespassing thought as if someone was trying to breach his mental-fortification. Whoever it was, the thought had settled in his old mind. “Her eyes are blue and serene like our mother river who blesses our village with her water. I name her – Neytri.”

Tigress thumped her fore-legs in delight. The cage rattled.

“What was that?” asked Asuman.

“Neytri! She likes the name,” said cheerful Rakka.

Asuman was sure that the sound he had heard was not of iron-rattling. Whatever it was, the sound was growing. He paced few steps forward and gazed at north.

A wide cloud of dust over the ground was approaching them. It grew and the roaring sound too increased. The ground trembled as hundreds of feet scampered towards them. When the dust diminished, to their horror they saw what was advancing.

“Antelopes!” cried Asuman. “On the trees! Now!”

Though they were skilful hunters but against a mad-herd of antelopes they were vulnerable. Bewilderment and fear had frozen their bones.

Asuman shouted again, “Climb!”

That brought back them to their senses. They threw aside their lunch and started scrambling on the near trees, leaving their spears back. In that hasty climb, the rough barks bruised their skin.

Asuman and Rakka were on the same tree.

Asuman sighed. All his companions were at safe height.

“What about Neytri? She is still on the ground,” asked Rakka.

In time of such turmoil, they had almost forgotten tigress. The cage was strong enough to keep a predator encaged but not enough strong for the whacks of the hundreds antelopes.

Asuman glanced at the coming herd. It was still at good distance.

Without wasting any moment on second thought, Asuman landed near the cage. He hastily searched for the ropes and found them at one corner of the wagon. He soared on the wagon. The cart shivered and the iron rattled.

Neytri stared at him. She groaned.

Asuman could see the reflection of immense herd getting closer in her sapphire-eyes. He quickly knotted ends of the ropes to upper-corners of the cage and threw others to his companions on trees.

They grabbed and coiled it to their wrist.

Thunderous sound alerted Asuman. The herd was close.

Hundreds of black horns glinted in mid-day sunlight. Their fur shimmered like gold. They dashed honking, crushing everything that hurdle their way.

“Pull!” shouted Asuman.

With muscles stretched, veins tightened and teeth clenched, they pulled the cage.

It lifted but not too high.

Asuman sensed the situation. He placed himself under the cage and with his all might, he pushed it up. The weight was unbearable. His arm burned in agony. His legs were struggling to keep him balanced.

You have always been the mighty one. A familiar woman’s voice whispered like a breeze in Asuman’s ears. Stunned, he looked up. All he saw was Neytri’s concerned eyes. He didn’t know why but they reminded him about his past, memories of his life he wanted his son should never knew.

“Be quick, chief!” warned Rakka.

With full power he pushed-up the cage. Sweat streamed over his muscular body, pain in his arms was excruciating.

He let out a harsh cry.

Finally the cage rose. Neytri was safe.

“Watch out, Asuman!” cautioned the old-man.

Asuman turned around. He was perplexed.

The mad herd had reached.