"Why is your hair all wet, son? You have grown like a palm tree, yet still behave like a child," Parvathyamma, Shakthan's mother, chided him as she dried his hair with the train of her silk garment. He scowled and tried to pull away, but a faint smile betrayed his efforts. The loose threads from the vibrantly colored garment tickled his nose.
She held his face, stopping his squirming, and looked into his eyes—the eyes of a mother, that knowing, loved filled look.
"Is something wrong, son?" she asked, and Shakthan's eyes reflected a few more rays of light.
She sat down at the central courtyard of their house, leaning against a pillar of polished wood.
He sat beside her, and she led his head onto her lap and caressed his long hair.
A surge of warmth spread through him like a soft, warm blanket on a cold night.
He closed his eyes and listened to the distant rumble of thunder and the light rain that followed. A stray drop landed on his arm, sliding down his skin to leave a glistening trail.
The faint smell of sandalwood and spices mixed with the fresh scent of a thunderstorm wafted around him.
"I heard about the duel to the death that you signed up for," his mother said.
"You are worried?" he asked, shifting his head up to look at her face.
"Your father was about your age when he married me. Five wars he fought after that, a hundred battles, and each and every time I knew he would come back. You may hate him, but you don't realize how alike you two are," she said, smiling at the frown forming on his face.
"So you are not worried?"
"How can a mother not worry? That's what mothers do. But I trust you and your skills more than I trust my instincts."
Shakthan closed his eyes, a wide grin on his face. He could sense the worry in her voice, even though she hid it well.
"Where is Kannan? You never come home alone. I have food prepared for both of you," she said, looking around.
He rose from her lap and told her what had happened at the marketplace, his eyes never meeting hers. She waited until he was finished, listening carefully, and then pinched his ears.
"That hurt!" he said, pulling back.
"You go around boasting about all your victories and feats but still behave like this. Like a child, I say. Need I tell you to apologize to him now?"
He sat there looking at his feet for a while and then got up to walk toward the door.
"Go to him first thing tomorrow morning. It's already dark and raining," she said, but he walked out into the rain without heeding her calls from behind.
"Stubborn kid… just like his father," she said under her breath, watching him walk into the darkness. She said a quick prayer to the gods to keep her son safe.
---
The rainy night shrouded him in darkness as he watched the clouds clear. Raindrops fell only from the trees now. He walked past the paddy fields, sparkling with the cool blue light of the moon on their raindrop-studded leaves.
The yellow lights from the huts went out one by one. Dogs followed him, wagging their tails, and he stopped to pat each one as it joined the group.
They left him only when he reached the marketplace, where they found a carcass of some small animal.
They were the only residents of the empty marketplace now, along with the midnight moon and his army of stars.
Kannan was nowhere to be found, and he had searched everywhere.
His growling stomach made him regret not eating the food his mother had cooked, and it was already too late.
"Well, you guys saw me. I searched for him and couldn't find him. So tomorrow he is the one who has to apologize," Shakthan said, talking to the dog, who turned his head sideways, still wagging.
"Who is that? What are you doing here so late?" a raspy voice said, and for a moment he thought the dog had talked back.
Then he saw the owner of the voice—an old man with an awkwardly shaped walking stick. He had a ragged blanket over him, and the dirty cloth had camouflaged him so well that Shakthan hadn't noticed him sleeping in the corner of the place that sold spices.
"It's me, Shakthan," he spoke his hands on the hilt of his dagger.
"Oh, forgive me, lord… I can't see well at night. This old age and all… When I was young there was no one who could match me in sight. The best archer in the army… no one was better. Once I killed two eagles with one arrow… mid-flight. The king had given me ten gold coins for it… And once I shot—" the man said, squinting.
"It's fine," he interrupted, looking at the man's missing teeth and the saliva that drooled on his shaggy beard. Repulsed, he turned to walk away when the man called him from behind.
"Is it the magician from the North you are looking for? Be careful… I heard he knows some dark magic too. But I can help you with it. He hides well. I found him in the butcher shop yesterday… or the day before… or maybe it was last week?" the old man said in a dramatic tone.
"Magician? No. I'm looking for my friend Kannan. Have you seen him?"
"Kannan? Didn't he die of tuberculosis a few years ago? He is not a threat anymore, but when he was alive he was the best in what he did. You don't see people as skilled as him nowadays…" the old man said.
"Mad old scoundrel wasting my time," Shakthan mumbled as he walked away. The old man kept calling him, rambling about how he knew where the magician was.
Though it was a bunch of madness, Shakthan's senses were alert.
"Magicians and magic, what a joke," he thought as he walked back home.
All the houses were dark except his, and inside his mother waited by a lit lamp, fanning the food.
She smiled warmly as he entered the house, and the hunger came back as the aroma reached him, making him put the weird encounter and apology behind him.