The Last Rudra

After the fall of dwizas, commoners of Varta had cut off from the spirit-wielders completely. Of course, they worked for them day in and day out, however, their cultures and their traditions had taken different turns. 

In the current era of spiritualists, hardly any spirit wielder believed in a supreme ruler lording over the entire Mazia. For them, spirit was just like water, air, and fire and nothing else. 

While among commoners, such supreme rulers were as real as Kings, princes, and princesses. 

The most worshipeds  were –

Vella– Mother of All creation. A counterpart of Mother spirit or maybe Vella was the real name of Mother Spirit. There was no knowing, for no documents survived the tragedy of dwizas. 

Hara- One who destroys evil ( this deity had an ambiguous identity in some temples, Hara was a human, and in some Hara was depicted as a beast– a giant serpent, winged lion, dragon, etc.)

Besides the above two ancient deities, there were several minor deities, too— some old and some new. 

For example, Igbo-one who took care of an infant in a mother's womb. 

Nisha- goddess of night,

Inna– Sun god also called Ursha in Ahom. In the time of the Suryavanshi Kings, Surya (another name of the Sun)  was a major deity and was widely worshipped too. However,  in the current era, Inna's feast was nothing, but a tournament for spirit wielders. 

Vyom: after the fall of Dwizas, a new deity emerged in Varta . Not much was known about this faceless god. The temples of Vyom were called diva (fire temple) and had nothing but an altar with an eternal flame. The priests of divas were called Sooras, and used to wear a long blue cloak. They worked as healers. They had no spirit powers like nimohis, so they use herbs and all for healing. 

The festivals of commoners were the festivals of the Old Ways. Apart from Sooras, other priests still wore a white cotton dhoti, and had a waist-long ponytail.

**

In the southern part of Mianaak, the houses of commoners were huddled together to form a labyrinth of alleys. The light pillars jutted with cheap moonstones were standing on the crossroads burning like embers of the dying fire.

A  hooded figure in a black cloak was sneaking through the winding maze of dark streets, avoiding the occasional squads of watchers who were loud enough to be heard from a mile.

The figure halted before a diva (temple of Vyom) and knocked on the wooden door five times.  The gate creaked open. The figure sneaked into and closed the door noiselessly. 

Inside the small shrine, the blue cloaked Soora was tending a patient. A ten or twelve years old boy was helping him with herbs and potions.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

In the pale light of moonstone, the figure pulled off the hood, revealing a square face with a stubble beard.

The almond-shaped eyes had a glint of a dagger. With an arch nose and raised cheekbones, the man could be considered handsome. His ebony-black hair like a cloud of the deluge was battling to hide his sun-like face. 

A saber was dangling from his waist. 

Looking at the unconscious woman, who wouldn't have seen more than twenty springs of her life, the newcomer's arched brows furrowed. 

"No improvement?" He said in a concerned tone as he walked over to the woman. 

"I'm afraid,Moriyan." the old man replied while redressing the bandage. .  "The arrow had an evil curse. Despite  all my efforts, the evil energy has invaded the girl's heart."

The young man squatted down beside the girl whose face was waning like an eclipsed moon. 

Kasma's coarse hand caressed the pale forehead of the girl, wiping away the glistening sweat drops. She was burning with a high fever. 

Kasma's face darkened.

"Is she beyond saving? " he asked, staring at the girl's withered lips which once were the rose petals wet with morning dew, and had never failed to quench his thirst. 

A dread arose in his heart, telling him he would never be able to touch the soft skin again. 

"I..she …" the priest seemed lost of words. Or maybe he couldn't gather the courage to break the ominous news.

"You don't need to be afraid in my presence, Soora." Kasma said, fixing the priest with his sharp eye. He could see the old man's hands shaking with fear. 

"If you don't find a white-robed one soon, she will. This lowly priest doesn't have enough knowledge and medicine." Soora replied as he removed the bandage, revealing a ghastly gash on the girl's belly. 

The cut was not very large, but the skin around it had turned dark blue.

Kasma fell silent. 

He continued stroking the wavy hair of the girl. 

Slitting the throat of Tara would be better than visiting nimohi Guild.  Oman's men were searching for them everywhere.

Yesterday, Griva had beheaded Mukha, Kafoor, Illas, and five others publically, hoping it would draw out some more Moriyans. It might have if any had left.

  Except for Tara , who was dying, and Kasma, none had survived the purge.

The butcher was now capturing commoners--today, he got the petty thief Lumora and a whore Ambra, a kept-woman of Illas.

Maybe the next was his turn.

  Kasma had to leave the city as soon as possible, but could he? Where would he go? 

If he ran away (which he couldn't, not with Tara like this), Jora would track him down even if he fled to the end of the earth. 

  He was a slave, and so was Tara , bonded by the dark magic to serve Jora till their last breath. 

As for returning to Moriya,  Kasma couldn't do that either. He had no such fantasy that Mir would pardon him.  Kasma was the person who had watched his brother being decapitated like a he-goat.

Kasma had never seen a man so afraid of death. Illas had clung to the feet of the beheader, abandoning his pride, and cried like a maiden being profaned. 

And when the blunt blade came for him, he had wet his paint. 

If this news made its way to Moriya, who would believe Mir was the reincarnation of  Evil Lord? Mora's followers had never pissed in their pants before death.

" Pass me, the bowl of Jwalna-tica " Soora's voice startled the boy who was staring at Kasma, with curiosity and fear. 

"Ah! What!" 

"Jwalna-tica," repeated the priest. The boy hurriedly passed the yellow paste, in a stone bowl. 

"There is really nothing that you can do, priest.'' Kasma asked, looking at the wrinkled hands dexterously smearing the paste over the charred skin. 

The man didn't answer.  Kasma's heart sank. 

Would he really lose Tara, the only light in his dark life? He looked at the face flushed with heat. The face that could dull even the moon of Al-hava. (a moriyan term for full moon night). 

A regret rose again in him. He shouldn't have listened to her. 

As soon as Kasma got the news of Kruma's betrayal, he told Tara to leave the castle and flee with him. However, she was too sure of herself to listen to his warning. Her chameleon cloak , coupled with her mastery over disguising-art,  had clouded her mind so much she didn't sense the house-anima's eyes watching her all the time. 

Now, they both would die here in the virgin land. There was no escape. They had no place to run, no home to return.

Kasma felt tired, exhausted. He again wished that it should have been him lying there on the floor, while Tara caressing his face, lulling him to sleep, to eternal sleep. 

What had left to live for? Even if he survived,(which he strongly doubted) what laid before him? —lifelong servitude. Kasma closed his eyes. As despair danced around him in the crackling sound of eternal fire. 

" There is a way. Though, this priest is not sure that it would work."Soora's voice broke the sullen silence. 

"Tell me, priest. Even if it doesn't work, I will give you all my gold." Kasma said. 

The old man's ears went red. 

"I don't need moriyan gold. Not if I can help. " Soora said, tying the knot of the bandage. 

"As for the cure, if you can find a heart of a water- nymph, I might cure this curse.  However, let this priest warn you it might not work. As I saw it in my dream, long ago when I was baptized. " 

Kasma fell silent again. After living among these commoners for five years, he had come to know of their many uncanny secrets unknown even to their lords, spirit-wielders. 

They called King Aslan, a false king, for a reason they themself didn't know.

However, the most uncanny things were the dreams of priests. 

Most of the time they proved to be true. 

Kamsa took a deep breath. Finding a water nymph was not too difficult, but taking her heart out was another matter. 

He would die here anyway. So why shouldn't he die fighting for the only person who had loved him?