The closest inn was small but crowded. In the hustle and bustle of the inn, the men of the royal party caught scent of the southern fares from the dining room and noticed how famished they were. Soon, they found themselves seated at a long table in the dining room, awaiting their meals. They each selected a steaming plate of rice and a bowl of fish stew, seasoned with warm spices. They ordered some madeira to wash down their food with. For a moment, they had nothing but silent stares to exchange at the table. The fate of their gravely wounded companion was still unknown, and they had seen far too many corpses for a day that was meant for travel.

Once the meals came along, the young tantrics glanced around furtively as the two older men waited to begin their meal. Little Tilak gazed at the warm, scrumptious looking food, his stomach rumbling, about to eat itself. He, then, turned to Rig, seeking permission. Rig gave a faint shake of disapproval. Soon, the Madeira arrived, its spicy aroma filling the air. Guru Briharshi shot out an arm and snatched the flagon, from the servant’s grasp. He, then, took one long swig straight from it, leaving his cup unused.

Lord Commander Abhiram gave the guru a derisive look and scoffed loudly. Guru Briharshi looked in his direction but did not pause his chugging, the wine from the flagon now trickling down his bushy beard onto his neck and chest.

“By Gods! Have some decency, you crazy fool!” The commander snapped.

The sage slammed the flagon down on the table. Knight Officer Rana had wedged himself between the two elderlies the entire day to prevent any altercation, but it was getting more and more difficult.

“Speak clearly, if you have the courage. Or else, hide your words, Prince.” The Guru retorted, addressing the commander directly.

Commander Abhi's lips thinned with anger. “Hide my words? Maybe I should greet you with my fist!” He caught Rana’s upraised glance, silently pleading, but continued to speak. “A child is about to die because instead of reasoning with the enemy, you decided to jeer and taunt.”

“A child is about to die because you were too slow with your sword.” The sage said flatly, pulling his plate of food closer.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” The Commander roared. He jumped to his feet, ready to brawl, and charged at the sage in thumping steps. “STAND UP AND FACE ME!”

“Anger does not deafen the truth. You are getting old and slow.”

“No. But, I will deafen you.” Lord Abhiram declared and pulled the sage up from where he was sitting. His right fist shot at the sage but was blocked successfully. Knight Officer Rana strived to pull the commander away from the bearded man, his grip tight around the commander’s waist. The commander continued to shout and cuss, attempting to land a fist at the sage.

“Stop this! Uncle, please!” Prince Surya’s voice drifted in, followed by his slim figure, hurrying to the table. “What is all this? This is not the Sun palace! Please calm yourselves, Uncle, Guruji.” He prayed to both, joining his hands. Uncle Abhi snatched his fist away from the guru’s grip and went back to his seat, sniffing with contempt.

“Prince Surya, please have my seat.” Rana offered pointing to his spot.

“No, Officer Rana.” The Prince spoke with kindness that forever colored his voice. “I am only here to inform you. Young Alok has woken up. He may live, but he is very weak. I am needed at his bedside. Please do not worry yourself and rest well. I will keep you abreast of his condition.” Saying so, the Prince bowed to the group and took leave.

The commander, at last, heaved a sigh of relief.

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Moonless nights were ideal to pray to Agni Asura, Yaman. The new moon cast no shadows. A gaunt man strode fast, not desiring to spend one moment longer in this dark, dense forest than was needed. Thick twisted tree trunks unfolded into numerous crisscrossing branches, with copious leaves, that hid who knows what spirits.

An ancient owl hooted in the distance marking the late hour of this arrangement, and the insects chirped like a million spirits humming. The sounds spurred the man into a faster pace. He was carrying a sack on his shoulder, which moved and made a clucking sound. The other hand was gripping a clay pot. The liquid from inside the pot was splashing out from the motion.

Soon, the man arrived at his destination, in front of the ancient Banyan tree. They said it was the largest and the oldest in the land. Its trunk was the breadth of an entire village, its roots running deep to the earth’s core, and leaves so thick that its shade was dark as midnight. They also said that all other trees in this forest were only branches of this monstrous tree. A chill ran through the man that pimpled his skin.

As he advanced warily towards the tree, he found that it grew darker, if that was possible. The fear heightened his senses, and as he moved closer, he sensed the faint outline of someone sitting quietly at the foot of the tree. He studied the figure for a few seconds and then fell to his knees, bowing low in front of the figure.

“O mighty, Agni Asura Yaman. I bow before you.” The man brought his forehead to the wet ground thrice, then sat back on his heels, his hands joined in prayer. The dark figure was silent and unmoving. “Please accept my offering, two chickens and a pot of milk.”

The man took the two items he was carrying and placed them gently in front of the figure, his hands trembling something fierce. The chickens did not cluck anymore, adding to the quiet of the night.

The man gave the figure another bow, and when he sat back, he could discern the figure slowly raising its right arm as if accepting the offerings and asking for his wish.

“O mighty, Agni Asura Yaman. This puny human could ask nothing of you. I only come here to pray to you. Only……only……we had a poor harvest last year. My daughter will have to be wed soon, too. I do not know what I would do if I have another bad harvest this year. The sowing will start soon. If ……if you could watch over us, as we reap this year’s crops, I will be very grateful of my lord, mighty Asura Yaman.”

For a moment, the night was as silent as the dead. Even the air seemed to be still, afraid to move. Then, the mysterious figure moved its arm, holding up its hand in a blessing.

“As you wish.” At last, the demon spoke, his voice deep and brooding.

Soon as the demon uttered those words, the man caught a glimpse of something sharp and shiny, even in that dark moonless night. Two shiny fangs. Hanging from the mouth of the demon. He had heard tales of how menacing demons looked from his mother and grandmother. But that could not prepare him for what he saw now. Dread seized his heart, his breath lost in his chest. He rose silently, feet padding softly on the ground, as he took a few wary steps.

Then, he turned and raced and did not look back until he found himself in the safety of his home.

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The demonic figure snorted as he watched the quickly retreating back of the terrified farmer. Once he disappeared into the woods, the figure slowly rose and walked to where the offerings were placed, dragging its left leg.

It peered into the sack, “Hmm, still alive,” commenting on the state of the chickens.

It then took a sip from the clay pot, tasting the fresh milk and nodding its head in approval. At last, it stood up, collecting the items and other personal effects, and slowly shuffled deeper into the jungle.

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The door to the small hut opened softly, the figure walked in, limping and carrying a sack and a clay pot.

“Allow me, Goddess!” A man rushed to lend his hand to the figure. The man’s face was plump and full, not one hair on it, and his back was hunched and twisted. It was hard to presume his age, as his face did not have wrinkles, but his teeth were crooked and missing. He took the goods from the dark figure and neatly placed them in one corner of the hut.

He, then, stood attentively as the dark figure slowly transformed into a bright form, with long black wavy hair that fell to its knees. It took a woman’s shape, with large almond eyes and soft, supple skin. She was robed in a dull red saree wrapped around her waist that resembled a fishtail at the bottom, with pleats covering the front of her legs. The other end of her saree draped the cloth covering her chest and fell from her shoulder. She turned and shuffled slowly to a low seat.

“We don’t have a lot today. Only one devotee. There are two chickens and some milk.”

“That will do greatly, Goddess.”

The goddess broke into a musical laughter that sang like flowing water.

“You are so easily pleased, Nandi.” She observed. “Where is Shesha?”

“Sleeping.”

“Oh, good. He can have the chickens tomorrow, then.”

“Right, Goddess.”

Suddenly, the ground started to shake violently. The goddess did not move from her seat and waited until the tremor passed. Nandi was lying on the ground and sat up when the quaking stopped.

“Shesha must be waking up.”

“Yes, Goddess.” Nandi agreed.

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