The Last Rudra

Onish was anything but relieved when Oman left him on the table cluttered with the herbs and small jade bottles. The heady scent was suffocating him. He dragged his body to the bars, which had now lost their glow. Yet, he didn't dare to touch them in case they were just waiting for him. He had enough of roasting. Moreover, he didn't need any attention from the small group. He was glad that Oman, the lord of Minaak, seemed to forget him.

Onish was sure someone was dying in the chamber, or there wouldn't have been so much death energy here. The thought gave him hope. A hope to acquire a human body at last. He slowly craned his neck to have a look at the person lying in bed.

A boy, not more than twelve or so, was sleeping in bed. His ruddy face was not the face of a dying person. However, the concentrating death energy around him was not an illusion. Onish was again baffled at the uncanniness of the new world.

He scrutinized the boy with his spiritual sense. The boy was full of vitality; however, his breathing was growing feeble slowly. There was something strange going on with the boy. The weirdest part was that Onish felt an odd connection with the sleeping boy. Though it was faint and growing weaker with each fleeting moment. He felt as if he knew the boy, but how? His memory had no answer. The elderly man approached the boy and checked his pulse with a deep frown on his wrinkled face. The woman's sobs stopped as she looked at the elder with hope and sorrow. However, Oman's face gave away nothing.

After some time, the man shook his head with disappointment.

"What is it? Nimohi. Do tell me the truth. Is my Ishit beyond saving?" the woman asked.

The elderly man looked troubled. He glanced at the city lord, who averted his gaze.

"Mi lady, truth sometimes can be unfathomable. Young Sire's illness is quite strange. His pulse beating fast, his body overflowing with vitality, all these things tell the young lord has vigorous health. He has nothing of white wives' liking. Yet I see their arrival as clear as day." The old physicker replied.

"Could you try to fix the naval-spirit? It would at least extend my son's life till we find a cure." the woman pleaded with Nimohi.

"Padam, No one can mend the navel except the nimai, and I've heard no news of him since he vanished from his chamber." Oman knew his wife was childish. She knew well there was no cure.

The woman didn't speak further as she sat down again beside the bed, sobbing. The elderly man looked apologetically towards the city lord. And went over to his chair.

Onish was bewildered by their conversions. Who were the white wives? He wondered. However, as if to answer his query, a distant plaintive chorus attracted his attention. Onish looked around in the chamber for the source. However, the voice was coming from every direction, and none of the four people seemed to be aware of the mysterious sound. And before Onish could make out anything of this bizarre occurrence. A dozen ghostly figures as small as a human thumb materialized out of thin air.

All-clad in snow-white sarees, they were a group of celestial beauties. With soul-captivating faces doused with sorrow, they were singing a dirge. The air around Onish lost its warmth; The parrot subconsciously pulled his wings together.

The elegy was so soothing that Onish felt like sleeping.

His eyes moistened as emotions flared up in him like prisoners from a broken cell.

This world was unworthy of him. Life was futile.

He had suffered enough now he would sleep on and on. Never to wake up. Even if the bluebird tore his body apart, or the black shadow captured him and imprisoned him in those evil pearls again. What was the point in the struggle when his fate had already been set in stone?

The glitter in the parrot's eyes dimmed and they stilled like stones.

Onish lost in the sad melody. Unbeknown to him, his soul began to shrink on its own.

Come, O weary traveler! Come with us to home. You have suffered enough in this wretched world. It is about time you returned home.

The sweet, dreamy voices whispered to him, making his thoughts still. He felt a slight jolt, and then warmth, soothing him as if he had returned to his mother's lap that he had left behind long ago. The long-forgotten memory came rushing from an unknown corner of his mind. A beautiful face doused with tears surfaced up.

The woman wiped her tears as she kissed him on the forehead. Her lips moved to say something, but before Onish could make out what it was, a loud crashing sound jolted him, and he came around.

His soul had left the parrot's body, and many small, ethereal hands were caressing him. Horrified, he looked around.

The ghostly figures were surrounding his floating soul, singing, whispering, and tickling him. Onish felt he couldn't think properly. It was as if thoughts had stopped forming. Heavy drowsiness was dragging his awareness to deep sleep.

It was then he heard the elderly man's voice and regained a moment of clarity. Onish knew only a mantra could help him. He started chanting as he forcefully spread his awareness outward.

".... Mi lady. You have to pull yourself together. You're wise and know well ,lamenting wouldn't help him now, when the white wifes has come to bring him away. He is not yours anymore." Onish heard the elderly man saying, his eyes at the faintly glowing medallion in his hand.

The woman clamped her mouth shut and stood up. The girl also wiped her teary eyes. The lord of Minaak stared at the face of his son. His eyes moistened, and his face looked relieved.

Chanting really helped him out again. Onish's mind was now clear. However, the so-called white wives did not seem happy. They stopped singing their dirge, caressing his soul. All of a sudden, Onish had a bad feeling.

He didn't know why the ghostly figures were interested in him when they were clearly here for the boy. And where were the Yamdutas? Shouldn't they have been here if the boy was dying? Or A possibility struck him. He scrutinized the whispering small women.

The dense death energy that was lingering around them told Onish his guess was right. The confirmation only made him more panicked. White-wives were Yamadutas of this world.

Now, the question was whether they were here for him or for the boy. He swiftly looked at the boy. Sure enough, not a single white wife disturbing the boy. They were here for Yogi all along.

Onish knew he was in serious trouble. There was no way he could evade the messengers of death. Ethereal tiny figures were gathered together, staring at him like a hawk. They were now holding one another's hands, and the death energy was concentrating around them rapidly.

Onish had no idea what the strange creatures were cooking, but he was sure he didn't want to wait there and see. He had to do something. Fleeing wouldn't be of any use now. Besides, the black shadow might have been roaming out there.

He looked at the boy. And a crazy plan spun in his mind.

There was no time to think about what was right or wrong. So Onish moved towards the boy.

Several things happened simultaneously.

The elderly man, standing quietly so far, flicked his medallion. A dazzling light shot out of it towards the spot where Onish was floating in the air a moment ago. Oman and the girl attacked together at the cage, blasting it apart. The white wives opened their mouths together, and Onish felt a strong pull.

Fortunately, He had made his move at the right moment. He didn't check his surroundings and dived into the boy's navel.

If Yogi had looked behind, he would have noticed the black shadow with his strange black net floating at the same spot where he was a moment ago. However, it was not faring well. As the light shot from the medallion had given it a hard blow. The light was drilling a hole, the size of a fist in its chest.

"Who are you? How dare you sneak into my castle?" Oman thundered, and a blade had materialized in his right hand. Though his face didn't show, the lord was shocked inside.

How the shadow got past Amora. The vigilant anima never failed him. Moreover, why he hadn't noticed its presence earlier. He was, after all, a maharathi with power just weaker than the emperor himself.

"Who I'm shouldn't be your concern Oman. I mean no harm to you. An evil prisoner has brought me here. Now he escaped again thanks to this venerable Mitra." growled the shadow. It placed its hand over the hole, and the darkness engulfed the light, and the hole mended itself.

The elderly man's eyes widened, but he hid quickly. Oman was shocked at the revelation but his eyes didn't show it. As a yoddha, he knew it might be just a diverging tactics.

"May I know who this prisoner is? As I see no one except you sneaking in the chamber. And If you know I'm a mitra, you must be aware that nothing can evade my eyes." The elder touched his medallion, which was getting hot.

"A bold claim. There are myriads of things that you white-robeds cannot even imagine. Let alone see them. As for the prisoner, he is a special oddity. He even fooled me twice. "The shadow turned to Oman, "If I were you, I wouldn't do that, Oman. I hate backstabbers." the shadow said threateningly.

Oman relaxed his grip on the blade. The red glowing eyes made him shiver. He had never faced such a powerful being in his thirty years long life.

"As for you, Venerable Mitra. I would let you go this time. Because I owe too much to your village. However, there wouldn't be any second time." The shadow's eyes looked directly into the calm eyes of the elder.

"Who are you, anyway? Do I know you?" Mitra asked.

Before the shadow could reply, something strange happened, which made the shadow lose his calm. He cursed loudly

".. not again you damn white witches..." He flicked his hand and dissolved into thin air. Leaving behind shaken Oman, puzzled Mitra, and the shivering women in the quiet chamber.

After a moment of shock, Oman turned to the elderly man. His eyes filled with reverence and hope.

If Nimohi was really a sage of Old Village, then his son might escape the white-wives. There was nothing that white-robeds couldn't do. He had searched for the fabled village but to no avail. The mystery of Mitras was the tale of magsmen.

The elderly man looked at the city lord's inquiring face. He sighed and said, "Mi lord, I'm truly a Nimohi, who was fortunate enough to get some guidance from a wandering Mitra. And as for this medallion, it is also a gift from him. It can sense malevolent beings, such as white wives, ghosts, etc."

"Oh, then Nimohi knows the black shodow's identity. It was clearly not a ghost." the lord of Minaak looked disappointed, but he hid it quickly.

"No, Milord. I too have seen this strange being for the first time. However, I'm sure of one thing that It was the most malignant being of all. My medallion never got so hot before." Nimohi shuddered, recalling the red glowing eyes. His earlier calmness was merely a facade to deceive the shadow.

Oman didn't think less of the elderly man because of his fear. He shared the same feeling. The reason he hadn't attacked the intruder.

"I wonder what made him flee. And why he was here in the first place." Oman said with a frown. He had to inform Aslan, about the shadow.

"I reckon the white wives attacked it. And as for why it was here I couldn't make out." Nimohi voiced his opinion, as he took out a small jade bottle from his spatial ring. And poured out of it four pills glowing white like gems. He went over to the shivering women and gave each of them.

Nimohi offered Oman one, but he refused. The maharathi's mind was not so fragile. He had laughed in the face of death many times.

It took a while for the small group to calm down from the frightening encounter. And when they again checked the boy, who should have longed dead. They found he had miraculously survived. the boy's breathing was getting stronger. And his heart was racing like a horse.

Padma started sobbing again, but this time with happiness. Esha hugged her brother, who seemed to be muttering something in his dream. She couldn't make out what her younger brother was saying. But it didn't matter to her. They had longed to hear him for three years.

Oman, too, forgot everything as he hugged his wife tightly. He felt he could give a good fight to the shadow now.

Nimohi, the elderly man, was checking the boy's pulse over and over again. Seeking a possible explanation for the miraculous recovery.

However, none of them knew the most baffled was Onish, who was undergoing strange changes, in the heart chakra of the boy.