After halting at Kurnool for a fortnight, Prince Surya’s party rode out for the central kingdom of Rakhtaprastha. That meant another ten long days of arduous journey on the road. At the break of dawn on the eleventh day, the prince’s mini procession made its way to Kundali, Rakhtaprastha’s capital. The city had just begun to stir into motion. The party of the travelers received curious stares from the few townsfolk who were up and about. It was unusual to see a group of sorcerers passing through the city.

High Minister Janak was halfway down the street from the palace gates, waiting to receive the party. He had received the pigeon mail beforehand that apprised him of the brawl resulting in wounded men.

Seeing the approaching travelers, High Minister Janak ran up to Commander Abhiram, who led the entourage. “Lord Commander, welcome back!”

Commander Abhiram climbed off his horse and pulled the minister into a powerful hug. “High Minister Janak!” The commander bellowed. “You offend me. I was sick for a fortnight in that town, and you do not come down to see me?”

“I…Lord Commander…I…” The minister faltered at the unexpected accusation.

The commander gave a thunderous laughter. “I jest, Minister Janak. It is great to see you.” Then he lowered his tone as he continued to walk the rest of the path, leading his horse with the reins still in his hand. “Janak, the wounded guests….see that they take good care of them. The boy risked his life for us.”

“Not to worry. I have made arrangements for their stay and treatment and have alerted our friends in the North, too. They can rest here as long as they need.” The minister then turned to inspect the rest of the riders and the carriage following them.

“The injured are in the carriage with the Prince.” The commander let him know, to which the minister nodded.

Up ahead were the palace sentries who gave them a salute as the two passed through the colossal, gilded gates. A stable boy appeared and whisked away the commander’s horse to the stable.

“The royal healer has spent the past two days in the palace in anticipation of your arrival. I will immediately send a servant to wake him up. And…” The minister hesitated.

“What is it?” Commander Abhiram asked, lacking patience at the trepidation.

“His Royal Highness the King has ordered me to bring you to him, at once, soon as you arrive.”

“Damn it.” The commander cursed under his breath. “The sun has barely come out, and my brother is ready to roast me on fire about those damned bandits!”

The minister looked around with unease. There were not many people to overhear their exchange. Only a few servants of the royal household were out and about. The rest of the travelers were still several steps behind the two.

“You and Mahaguru Briharshi.” The minister added.

The commander’s eyes glared for a second. “Very well. Then, the guru can explain his actions directly to the king, and so will I.” He fumed once more before stomping off to the palace courtyard.

--------XXX-------XXX--------XXX--------

Prince Surya set down the inked quill on the rosewood table beside the palm-leaf page he was scribbling on and scrutinized the three sentences he wrote. On the other side of the table, few discarded versions of the letter were neatly stacked on top of each other. Surya was writing this letter to his friend Indra. It had been a fortnight since he last communicated with Indra. Surya wanted the letter to be heartfelt and not a mere courtesy, but he struggled to find the precise words to describe the state of his mind.

The memory of the spirit, her helpless stare, and long, agonizing wails sat heavy in his heart, weighing under his own guilt of letting the young apprentice get maimed. Surya had walked up to his master, Guru Briharshi, and demanded to know why he pushed him away from the brawl, Surya’s chance at earning a bit of honor. The guru said that the bandits were not worth spilling his royal blood over. Surya took the letter he was writing and stuck it into the rejected pile.

He stretched his neck and let his face awash in the cascade of sunlight that flooded in through the open window. Surya’s bed-chamber was in the eastern wing of the palace, with tall, large windows facing the east that allowed the sun to brighten his room first thing in the morning. The gold-threaded tapestries on the wall would gleam in the daylight, further illuminating the inside. In adoration of his first-borne, the king had assigned Surya the room facing the sun, his namesake. That morning, Surya threw open the windows and drew back the curtains in hope that the warm, cleansing light would dispel the strange chill that had taken hold in his heart since he had the otherworldly experience.

Surya pulled another palm-leaf page from the pile of empty papers when the guard by his door announced the arrival of Queen Rukmini. The queen’s small dainty figure rushed in through the doors, ran across the room, and threw one waifish arm around the prince, who was still seated at his study table.

“My son, my dear son.” The queen breathed, giving her son a fair long squeeze. Once she let go, she straightened and gave him a pained smile. Her face was small and thin, and wrinkles alluded her. If not for the greying roots of her long, generously oiled, and tightly braided hair, she may have looked like the day she had borne him.

“I begged your father to take me to you, down south, but he would not listen. Are you all right, my child? What have you been eating? You look thin!” She grimaced, running her hand over Surya’s arm and shoulder.

“Mother.” The prince stood up and bowed down to touch her feet in respect before coming back up with a trained, reassuring smile on his face. “I am all right. You see things that are not there.” Surya covered his injured leg well with his palm. “It is the others I worry about.” His voice stiffened as he ended the sentence.

“Here,” Queen Rukmini picked up some ceremonial leaves of Holy Basil from the brass plate she was holding and brought them to Surya’s lips. “I just finished the prayers at the Shiva temple. These are from the ceremony.” A bitter raw taste filled Surya’s mouth as he chewed the leaves his mother fed him. The bitterness, however, was diluted by a sip of the Holy Water from the cup she offered him next.

They moved to a padded bench, pushed against a wall. The mother placed the brass plate on the rosewood side table and cradled her son’s face in her now empty hands.

“Gods protect you from any evil eye, my precious son. Those dreadful bandits!” The queen said, stroking his hair with the gentleness of a mother. “My miracle child! How I prayed for years! And then your master, Guru Briharshi appeared at our palace gates, one little golden flower in his hand. He told me to crush it into a paste and consume it with food. And one year later, I had you, my precious little child of gold.” As she spoke, tears rolled down her cheeks. The prince brushed them off and took her stroking hand into his palms.

“I know of this tale, mother. And you saved some of that flower and had Smita the second time?” Smita, the royal’s second child, was four years younger than him. She was adored; he was treasured.

“That is what I tell her, Surya, but with you, it is the truth.”

Surya sighed. “Mother, I must go, visit our guests. One is still recovering. Let me bring some of these holy offerings.”

“Let you bring? They are my guests, too.” The queen looked offended. “I will come and see those boys who saved my family.”

“Then, I have to warn you…” The prince stopped himself.

“What is it, child? They do not accept Lord Shiva’s offerings?”

“Not that. But the injured one has lost his arm. I do not know if it is a sight you can abide by.”

“A sight I can abide?” Queen Rukmini scoffed. “You underestimate your mother, child! I am a daughter of the great sword master of the east. There is little that daunts me. Now, take me to your friends and bring some sweets too.”

The mother-son pair headed out and walked towards the west wing of the palace, stopping by the royal pantry on the way.

-------XXX--------XXX---------XXX-------