The Last Rudra

Night after the djall perished …

Oman was in his study chamber looking into the reports Griva and his eyes had sent to him. All were saying one thing- this Inna's feast wouldn't be peaceful. A major conspiracy was underfoot. The spirit defilers were just minor pawns of a big game. 

He couldn't make out why moriyans were interested in his sons and Ronan's. The lads were anything but abnormal. Ok, at least for now. They hadn't done anything eye-catching except narrowly escaping white-wives. There could be only two possible causes ---Oman pondered. 

Perhaps, his enemies wanted to extinguish his lineage. If this was true, Drona was also in danger. 

Or, morians knew something about the boys that he didn't. Something that was about to come; Oman's head throbbed. He hadn't closed his eyes for two days, nor had his back touched the bed. 

His family was in great peril. So how could he sleep, at least not until he was sure he had enough strength to face the approaching calamity. 

He kept unscrolling and burning the secret messages one by one; his face grew more sullen with every scroll he read. 

Tissa was coming to attend the festival, and with him was Shakuni, the most treacherous black-robeds in Aslan's court. 

The two were nothing but trouble; the message didn't tell about the purpose of this surprise visit. Oman could only reckon Cole must have filled the crown prince's ears against him. Tissa was all muscles with no brawn. Why was the sly fox tailing after him? 

Oman racked his brain but could come up with anything. 

Let him come; he will see what the codger will add to the brewing storm.  Onish sighed. 

All he cared about was whether Ishit could shine in the contest. It was the sole reason he hadn't canceled the festival, despite all these ominous warnings. 

With Drona pursuing the path of a seeker, Ishit was his only hope. So he needed to make sure the boy could bear the burden of Garuna, the land for which their ancestors had bled. 

He knew it was unfair for the boy not to give him any choice, but had the world offered him any? He never wanted to lord over people. All he wanted was to roam Mazia exploring the uncharted territories with mappers and Nimois. 

On the other hand, Ayaan and Manavi were cut for this. So, revered and loved by the masses. The whole Guruna had wept at their funeral. The scene of the numberless crowd, pooled to watch their pyre reminded him why he was unworthy to sit on the throne. 

Even today, many went to their altar to offer flowers and burn incense sticks. 

Oman could never earn such reverence, nor could he fill the hole the couple's death had made. 

He sighed as he picked up the last scroll it was sent from Sursena, the homeland of Manavi. Senajit never spoke to him after the tragedy, nor did he visit Minaak after his last visit to attend his sister's funeral. Now, whenever he saw Oman, he turned his face away from him. 

The lord of Sursena still thought Oman had conspired against his sister and Ayaan. 

Oman had never tried to explain himself as well. He knew too well it would only sour their relationship.

Manavi's love for Ayaan was above worldly things. Their souls had become one. None, not even Senjit, could understand the depth of their love. So, any attempt to explain how Manavi had died on the very night when Ayaan met his demise in Haldi would dishonor the sacred bond the eternal couple had shared. 

Oman unfolded the scroll with a tinge of curiosity. What forced his eye, hidden in Sursena, to send an urgent message. Though Senjit was angry with him, he had never opposed Oman. 

He read the short message. 

The princess of Sursena is coming to Minaak with Lemora. They are traveling disguised. 

Oman didn't know what he should make out of it. He had heard about this princess of Sursena; she was said to be a beauty on par with her dead aunt. Besides, the rumors said she was a skilled warrior trained by Lemora. 

Oman burned the message. As he closed his eyes, he had no problem with such visitors. Lemora would be nothing but help here in Minaak. He had met this odd-eyed Maharathi in Atlantia ten years ago. He was no less than a living legend. The old man had single-handedly defended the fort of Jitor for a whole fortnight, thus allowing Prince Vira to escape the seizure of spirit-defilers. 

Moreover, he had mentored Padma. Oman was sure this news would uplift his wife's sullen mood. 

These two days had really been hard for her. Especially last night. 

The fowler didn't send any message or signal that he wouldn't be returning to the castle. And then the news spirit defilers were planning to assassinate the young lord. 

He, too, couldn't help but worry about the safety of the lad. Though he had faith in the fowler's uncanny abilities, he was only one person. If he hadn't come back by the morning, he would have led the guards to search the woods. 

The fowler appeared before the crack of dawn with yawning Ishit all in good health.

And the cause of their delay had left Oman flabbergasted. The boy had formed a perfect second-grade shield. But as the spirit was not enough, the lad got a severe backlash. 

Ishit was really reckless. Oman hoped the memory pill of Suta might be able to cure this, too. 

The illness had really changed the lad. Amnesia was one thing. His alien habits had spooked him. If the boy's soul aura hadn't been the same, he might have thought a betal had possessed his body. 

Touching Padam's feet for no rhyme or reason, getting lost in thoughts all of a sudden, asking senseless questions, eating on the floor, sitting with his eyes closed for hours in dead hours of the night, and so on and so forth. 

There was no way the boy was fine. Nimohi had hinted this during their last meeting. 

Yet Oman might have waited for more days. Could the world do the same? All the boy's peers were now in academies, working hard for their future. And Ishit was still asking what the spirit was, who the spirit-wielders were, what the name of this world was…

Then Esha told him that Ishit had been asking about the mythical chameleon cloak.

The boy must have been reading myths, wasting his precious time in which he could have practiced the spirit paths. 

He was apparently going astray. Oman might not have cared if the boy's spirit-nadis hadn't been awakened. 

But now, when the boy's fate could be forged, he wouldn't slack in his parental duties. 

So Oman had asked Suta, the old man, to concoct the memory pill. He had seen the old man's talent. He had watched him weaving the tale as if they all had occurred in a mythical land. He could still recall those long summer nights when he and Ayaan would listen to the old man tales of heroes lost even to time. 

The old man had an uncanny ability to make any cow-bull story believable. And this was the first and most important condition to forge a memory pill.

An inconceivable tale could cause split personalities and sometimes turn the consumer insane. 

  A loud knock woke Oman from his stupor. 

"Come in," he said, rubbing his droopy eyes. 

"Lord , lady has called for you." The maid said with a low bow. Her face was excited. 

"Has she mentioned the reason?" Oman asked though he had already guessed. 

"Young master has woken up. And he needs a good beating." The maid said, trying hard not to giggle. 

"What?" Oman was dumbfounded at the answer. 

"Please, come lord. Lady could stop him." The maid said. 

Oman gave a quick look to the desk, checking if any message had been left unread or unburnt. Finding nothing, he followed the girl, wondering if their worst fear had turned into reality. 

Had the pill backfired and driven the boy insane?

As he got closer to the lad chamber, where they had put him to sleep after giving him the memory pill, Oman could hear the commotion, loud peals of laughter of young maids. 

Oman regretted being so reckless. If the lad really had lost his mind, Padma would never forgive him. 

For it was he who had forced the boy to take the cursed pill. He sped up his pace. 

A large crowd of maids and servants had pooled before the chamber door. 

He could hear Padma scolding the boy, and Eva, laughing aloud. 

Oman wondered what was happening inside. The crowd parted to make the way for him while clamping their mouths, afraid he might be angry at their audacity. 

Puzzled, Oman went inside, and what he saw made him dumbstruck. What the hell was the lad doing?