9 Ride Home With The Tantric – Part 3 [Joga]

[Chapter Warning: Gore, violence]

Commander Abhi raised his right hand to halt the rest of the party. "Something is not right. Lads, be ready to race your horses."

Just as he uttered those words, an arrow came flying in from nowhere and struck his horse. The horse neighed and fell to the ground, but not before the commander swiftly dismounted. More arrows came whistling in towards the group, and some hit the other horses. Hearing the commotion, Guru Briharshi leapt out of the carriage. The driver jumped off his seat, too, and quickly hid underneath.

"Prince Surya," the guru called out, "Race your horse, quick!"

Before Surya could react, an arrow flew in and pierced his thigh. Despite the sting, he did not raise a cry.

"THESE ARE DECCAN BANDIT! BE CAREFUL! RACE YOUR HORSES! DO NOT DISMOUNT!" Tantric Vidyut warned the party.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING AWAY WITHOUT YOU, BROTHER VIDYUT!" Alok yelled back, struggling to remain astride his horse.

Prince Surya gripped the arrow hard, ripped it out of his flesh, and tossed it aside. He noticed little Tilak had tumbled to the ground from his mare. He quickly swung off his mount and dashed towards the child, gathering the child in his arms before any arrow could touch him.

A rallying cry escaped from behind a nearby boulder, followed by a savage band of men racing towards the group with long, pointed spears in their hands.

"It is the bandits!" Alok shrieked. The panic made him lose his balance and dropped to the ground.

Realization set in that they were being ambushed by the bandits, just as Tantric Vidyut had warned. The tantric was still astride his horse, his conjured air weapon tight in his grip. He stole a look at Surya, who was tucking the child sorcerer inside the carriage to safety.

"Lads, stand in attention." The knight commander yelled his order.

Each man of the royal convoy, young and old, waited in anticipation, around the carriage, weapons drawn and ready, as the hostile band of robbers descended upon them from every direction like an army of ants.

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It was a sweltering summer's day, not one current of breeze. Shyama was sitting by the rock, honing his sword with a pointed stone, inspecting the sharpened edge from time to time. Only few of his bandit companions owned a sword. Most carried a spear. He glances at his son, Joga, who was by the edge of the lake, peering into the water.

"Do not lean that far. You will fall into the water and drown." He cautioned the ten-year-old.

He did not know if he did the right thing by bringing the child to their hideout.

After the child's mother passed away six months ago, there was no one to look after him. So, he asked his chief if he could bring the child, to which the chief grumbled but agreed. It put both the child and the entire gang in danger. But he reasoned that the child would be a young man soon, another pair of hands they could use.

At present, Joga looked back, hearing his father's warning. He paused and then asked, "Baba, when do you leave today? Can I come?"

"I do not. We have guard duty today. We stay here." Shyama could discern the unease in the child's voice. Joga sure must have thieved a fruit here, stolen a toy there, but being a robber was ugly and cruel. The boy was not ready. Since he brought the boy over, he would seek guard duty more often, a safer bet. Their den was far from the threats of the main road, with miles of barren land in between, covered with nothing but red dust and pebbles.

"Look, I caught another snail!" The boy exclaimed, holding up his right hand, the tiny snail pinched with his fingers. It was too small for Shyama to see from that distance. Despite so, he gave him a nod of approval, and got back to his filing.

A voice called for him from behind the mound, "Shyama, come quick. We caught a big fish today! The chief wants all of us at the clearing!" Shyama was intrigued. Without waiting, he followed his companion, with his son in tow.

Turning the corner, they arrived at a rock-strewn clearing, which was their hideout for years now. There was a strange scene on display. The entire band had gathered around but no one spoke a word. His chief was sitting at his familiar spot, from where he would usually shout orders to his crew, always keeping them on their toes. But even he was silent. In front of him was an old sage, wrapped in a white shawl and a white dhoti, sitting in a dignified manner, back straight, legs crossed under him, hands resting on his knees. He was looking at the chief with a fierce gaze.

At last, Chief Jaka's voice broke the silence of the valley, "So, do you agree to the challenge?"

"…."

"I asked you a question, old man."

"…."

"If you think YOU are my prized prisoner, you are highly mistaken. I know you are the Grand Master of Rakhtaprastha, Prince Surya's guru. And I know who your companions are over there." The dacoit chief jerked his head towards a group of strangers, huddled at a corner, held back by Shyama's band mates. Among them, a short and stout elderly man with a shiny forehead was thrashing and kicking, despite his restrains. Beside him, were several younger men, some in regal clothes, others in black robes, all quiet but alert.

"I also know," Chief Jaka continued, "how precious your friends here are, particularly the one they call the golden prince!" The royal prince of Rakhtaprastha!

"And I cannot guarantee their good health. My men are cruel and dangerous. So, the only way I can promise the safe passage of you and your friends is if you agree to my condition."

There was another long and disquieting pause. At last, the sage spoke calmly, "You will die with my hands today. No condition will buy you your life."

The dacoit chief cackled with a laughter. "I am not buying my life, old man! I am only asking you to answer three questions! And if I die, I die. But if I do not, you will." Jaka said menacingly.

"Just ask the damned questions, you bastard!" The combative old man shouted from the side.

The chief turned to him. "Ah! The Warrior Prince of Rakhtaprastha! Prince Abhiram with his infamous temper! What a lucky day that I have been blessed with such illustrious guests?! I thought I would never see you in the flesh! But life has many wonders waiting for us. Alas, you are powerless today, Prince Abhiram! So, stay quiet, or else you won't have any tongue to speak." He said darkly.

The short bald man glared at the bandit but went quiet.

The chief carried on, his tone lighter now, "So, shall we begin? To remain fair, here are the rules to this game. Three questions each to test our wits, and each of us must answer all three of them correctly. If you win, we will let you and your friends go. If I win, you will stay. If both of us win, we will fight till death to decide the winner. Do you agree to the terms?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful! Since I feel generous, I will let the guest ask the first question." The chief smiled grimly.

"My question to you, Dacoit Jaka, is what is the source of all life?"

Jaka jeered at the sage. "Every word you speak, even your questions, are so banal. The answer is right here, in our midst, the prince of Rakhtaprastha, Surya, the burning sun." Chief Jaka shifted his gaze upon the young royal, flashing him an unfriendly smile and then returned to the sage. "Now, if that is to your satisfaction, it is my turn. Tell me, Sage Briharshi, what is the source of all death?"

"Time." The sage continued without waiting for Chief Jaka to accept his answer. "What is many but one?"

"The path to god, that, as you can see, I have long abandoned." The dacoit exploded with a raucous delight ripping through the silent valley. He, then, took his turn, "What can save you but can also kill you?"

"Water." The sage answered, still calm. The adversaries had now come to the last round of questions, the contest still evenly balanced. "What is true happiness?"

The dacoit replied, losing not one moment as if his mind already anticipated the sage's question, "When man achieves enlightenment." He paused before his mouth curved into a sinister smile as he asked his last question. "What is a man's best friend?"

The sage studied the robber's face for a moment before he gave his last answer.

"His wit."

The dacoit chief broke into a laughter. "Do you know why I am laughing, sage?" He asked between his gasps. "Old friend! You always held the mind over body! And I could predict what you would say. Let me tell you the truth! People do not obey because they admire your wit. They obey because they fear your weapon." Then, he turned to his men. "Bring them to the scaffold."

Several bandits came forward, dragging the prisoners with them. With his arms tied, Warrior Prince Abhiram kicked at them violently with his shoulders, throwing one man to the ground. The old sage was still, his eyes fixed at the Dacoit Chief.

Guru Briharshi spoke, "Jaka, you were wrong in many things today, but you were right about one thing. A man's best friend IS his weapon."

With those perilous words, he flung his arms, sending the two men holding him spinning to the ground. In an instant, his hand was flashing an air longsword that he swung at Chief Jaka. The unexpected attack startled Jaka, but he quickly recovered to brandish his own weapon to break the incoming strike. The sage spun around, whirling his sword. There was a glint and a flash, and the next moment, a severed head rolled on the ground. The stunned audience stood there frozen.

Two figures were standing in the middle, one in white garb, with his head still intact and sword flashing in his grip, and the other a headless corpse that staggered for a couple of steps before falling to the ground in a heap. Blood was spurting from the sliced neck, quickly spreading on the red dirt.

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