The Last Rudra

"Viswa, If you dare to touch my son I swear in the name of Spirit, I will break my Oath and behead you. " The angry voice of Oman thundered in the symposium, startling the apprentices and smiths so much that several of them fell from their chairs. Ashen-faced, they all turned to look towards the gate. 

The lord of Minaak stood there, his eyes reddish-gold. The spirit was dancing around him, forming small vortexes. 

An invisible pressure was guessing out of him, making it hard to breathe. They knew it was just a subconscious reaction of the maharathi. It was still too much for them to bear. They hadn't had sturdy bodies like him. 

Oman's eyes swept past the scared crowd and stopped at the 13-year old boy, sitting on his butt, eyes widened in awe, mouth agape as if he had swallowed a whole laddu ( a spherical sweet). 

Apart from his pale face and tired look, he seemed fine. 

The bloodlust in Oman's eyes receded, so did the heavy pressure. The crowd gasped for a breath. 

Thanks, he is not too late. 

Oman said to himself with relief. 

If something had happened to the boy, Padma would've devoured him alive. 

But what was the lad doing on the dais? Wasn't Viswa supposed to be punishing him? 

He looked at the master smith, who didn't seem to care about his threat. His eyes were popping out as if he had seen a ghost. 

What was wrong with the man? Oman followed Viswa's eyes. 

Two blackbirds with ember eyes were sitting on the ornamented mirror. 

"Forgive this smith, I couldn't welcome you, Lord," Nitya's voice broke the brooding silence. The master smith walked over to him with a smile. 

With the frightening pressure gone, the crowd buzzed into frenzy chatters. 

"What's going on here, smith?" demanded the lord of Minaak. 

***

He was in a crucial meeting with the officials when his dwarpal (doorman) whispered into his ear that the daughter of Surjit, the chief archer,  wanted to see him urgently. 

Oman had known the lovely lass since she was a baby. The girl was of Ishit's age and had inherited her father's talent in archery. 

So he ordered the doorman to usher the girl in, wondering if something had happened to Surjit. The chief archer had been assisting Griva in hunting down the Moriyan rats for the last three days. 

The girl came in like a scared rabbit, her charming face fraught with worry, 

"Lord, you have to save Ishit. Viswa is going to torture him. Please hurry up, he is in the smithy. " said the girl while gasping hard for breath. 

(As the use of spirit-ways was prohibited in the city, the poor lass must have run all the way to the castle like a commoner. )

The news had startled Oman; as far as he could recall, he had left the boy under the fowler's care. What the hell was he doing in the smithy, then? 

It was quite an effort to calm down the anxious girl. And when he heard the cause. His mind throbbed. 

Oman regretted feeding the lad the memory pill. He should've listened to Padma. Now the devil had come back. Worst of all, the unruly boy now had powers. 

Nothing could be done except to save the boy's ass from the smith. So Oman had postponed the meeting, ignoring the scowls of the courtiers, and rushed for the smithy. 

**

"Ah! The young lord is having a debate with master Viswa. " Nitya said while sending a telepathic message to Oman, 

"Lord, the young lord has just won the first round, giving a new hypothesis on yantras. You should stop this debate before it goes out of hand. You know what this smith means."

Nitya's words dumbfounded Oman. He looked at the man suspiciously. Was he joking? 

How could the boy who didn't even know the ABCs of smithing win the first round?

"I know it is ridiculous, but the whole smithy has witnessed it." Nitya sent  the telepathic message again. 

Oman gave a scrutinizing look to his trusted man, and took a deep breath, as if to swallow the absurd news. He looked at the boy, who had repositioned himself on the challenger's seat. His face had an alien brooding look. 

Since when did he become a master smith? 

Oman suddenly felt he didn't know the boy anymore. First the Moriyan magic the lad had wielded last night, and now this. 

  Were these the side effects of the memory pill? He needed to  talk to Suta, the tale -weaver. 

"Lord, do something before the third round begins." 

Nitya's telepathic message broke Oman's  stupor.  Oman glanced at the Spirit Eye blazing in the mirror.

"How can I stop the debate? Don't you know that none can interfere with a Vada or he will be cursed?" said telepathically.

Oman said with a grim face. He could do nothing until the eye was there. Even though he was a maharathi, he couldn't face the curse of the All-Knowing -Eye. 

The horrifying fate of King Jaya of Kandahar was an unforgettable warning to every spirit-worshiper. 

"We can't talk to the debaters, but Karni, the charmer, can. So use him as a medium, and convince them for a tie.  "

Oman looked at the smith, couldn't help but get impressed with the smith. Apparently, he had already thought it through. 

Suggesting something the debaters through the charmer wasn't considered an interference; of course, they couldn't share information, for the eye was called All-Knowing for a reason. 

Oman didn't waste any more time and sent the charmer a telepathic message. 

"Karni, I, Oman, lord of Garuna, command you to talk to Viswa. Tell him, if he is willing to tie with the boy. I could arrange it."

Startled Karni glanced back at him, and nodded lightly. 

"Master Viswa, if you are willing to tie with the young lord, lord Oman can arrange it. " The charmer whispered to the master smith, who seemed to have lost his soul. 

The answer Viswa had given was his lifetime work. The purpose of his life. He had sacrificed everything to solve the puzzle of Kaal-Ghosa. Viswa could still recall the look of Ayan, the late lord of Garuna, had given him when he had listened to his story. It was a look one gave to the hopeless patient of Occum shrine, or to a young man who was dying happily for a heartless maiden.

Now he knew why the Lord had given him such a look. 

Viswa glanced at the two blackbirds chirping loudly as if wanting to tell the whole world he was nothing but a liar. He didn't know which one was his. 

"Master Viswa, what is your decision?"  the charmer's voice brought him back from his sinking thoughts. 

"What?"  Viswa gave the charmer a puzzling look. 

"Lord Oman wants you to stop this debate. You don't need to accept defeat, he can arrange a tie."

Viswa didn't answer immediately. He looked at the boy, sitting before him, he seemed unfazed about the mirror's judgment. He was like this before he left his village, always optimistic. 

Then the master smith looked at the lord of Minaak, his haughty face was expressionless, but Viswa could see the hidden worry from his scrutinized eyes. 

Why did the Lord want him to tie with the boy? Though it was too early to tell who would win, by listening to the two hypotheses even a fool could tell the boy had a deep understanding of smithing, and couldn't be taken lightly. 

However, he would do what the Lord wanted; he owed him that much, if not to him, then to Ayan. 

"Tell him, I'm fine with whatever he wants." 

The charmer passed the master smith's answer to  Oman. 

Oman gave Viswa a long look and sent a message to the charmer to tell the lad to stop this debate. 

**

Ishit wasn't surprised at the eye's judgment. It was one of his many hypotheses. 

The soul was the most mysterious entity, the toughest riddle that generations of spiritualists couldn't crack. 

However, it seemed Mitra's eye had given the master smith a deep shock. 

He sighed and decided to ponder over his next question. 

As for his lord father's sudden arrival, It didn't surprise him either. He already guessed it when he didn't see Nandani in the crowd. 

He glanced at the dumbfounded girl, standing beside his lord father, looking at him mouth agape. 

"Young lord, Lord Oman wants you to stop this debate at once. He wants you to tie with master Viswa. "

Suddenly, Ishit heard Karni's whisper. 

He looked at the charmer, and then his father who nodded at him. 

No way! He couldn't. 

He needed a forge and this was the only way or he wouldn't have risked his entire future. 

"Tell him. I'm sorry. I can't; because I need a forge and this is the only way. "

Ishit replied back. He knew his answer would enrage his father. He would be punished harshly for this act of defiance. However, he really needed a forge if he didn't want to visit Nyasa, the city of no grief. 

Ishit didn't have to wait too long for the reply. 

"Lord says if you don't obey, he will punish you after this debate.  " The charmer said. 

"Ok! He can. "Was Ishit's reply. 

However, before the charmer could send back the answer. 

Something happened that surprised the entire Minaak, and also ruined Oman's plan.