Amar kept his expression steady, but inside, he was reeling. The name Namkasura had caught him off guard. He had expected some connection to Raavan, perhaps a follower or acquaintance. But to learn that this man had been the Commander of Raavan's army—a position of immense power and prestige—was far beyond his expectations.
So the drawings in the corridor were real. Not myth, not allegory. History.
There were still parts he didn't understand, especially the final mural, where Raavan was seen laughing while Namkasura held something in his hand. That moment had puzzled him ever since he entered this forgotten prison.
Breaking the silence, Amar finally asked, "If you were Raavan's commander… how did you end up here? And what was it you found in that last drawing near the entrance—the one where Raavan was laughing? What did you discover?"
Namkasura raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You ask many questions, boy. But since you've awakened me, you deserve some answers."
He leaned against the stone wall behind him, his voice slipping into the rhythm of memory.
"I didn't begin as a commander. I was just a soldier, one among thousands. But through countless wars and conquests under Lankapati's banner, I earned my merit. Once, I even saved his life in battle. As a reward for my unwavering loyalty and dedication, he made me commander of his army. It was a title he never gave lightly—Raavan trusted very few outside of his blood. But I won his trust. And for a while, life was… glorious."
Namkasura's eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if staring into the past. "But everything changed during one particular war. I was gravely injured and forced to retreat deep into an enemy region. Alone, bleeding, and near death, I stumbled upon an ancient ruin—and within it, a shimmering spring."
Amar leaned in, already piecing it together.
"Desperate and parched, I drank from the spring," Namkasura continued. "What happened next was… miraculous. My wounds vanished. My body surged with power I'd never known. It wasn't just healing—it was transformation. My senses heightened. I could hear the footsteps of soldiers long before they arrived. I could smell steel in the air. I could feel life itself coursing through me like a river of fire."
He paused, watching Amar closely for a reaction. But Amar, though burning with curiosity, kept a straight face.
Namkasura smirked. "Good. You don't flinch easily. I respect that." He continued. "I returned to the battlefield soon after. My enemies were stunned—I had been presumed dead. They struck me again, this time through the heart. But even that wound healed. There was pain… but no death. I rose again, unstoppable. I slaughtered them all. It was the first time I felt truly invincible."
Amar couldn't contain himself. The words came tumbling out: "What was that liquid? Is the effect permanent? Is that what gave Raavan the confidence to defy the gods themselves?"
Namkasura chuckled, the sound echoing in the stone chamber like a distant drum.
"Easy, boy," he said. "I'm not spinning you a bedtime tale. This isn't a fantasy—it's my life."
He folded his arms. "I was thirty-five when I drank that water. And I have been thirty-five ever since."
Amar's eyes widened. Immortality. Eternal youth. The very concepts defied the natural order. Yet the man in front of him was living proof. His body was ageless, his power still intact after millions of years.
Before Amar could speak again, Namkasura went on. "You're not the only one who was shocked. Kumbhakaran had the same reaction when I told him. At first, Raavan didn't believe it either—he was skeptical. But the war was still raging, and the spring was deep in enemy territory. So he fought for it. For months."
He looked down, voice darkening. "Eventually, we won. And Raavan came to me and demanded to see the spring himself. I led him there. He and Kumbhakaran drank from it… and they felt it too. The strength. The youth. The euphoria."
Namkasura's jaw tightened. "And then… he laughed. That laugh... I can still hear it."
Amar sensed the shift. "What did he do?"
"He slaughtered everyone who had witnessed the miracle," Namkasura said bitterly. "Every last soldier. I protested silently, but I was powerless. I was loyal, yes—but not blind. That day, I realized something had changed in him."
He exhaled slowly, the memory still weighing on him.
"After the massacre, he collected every drop of that liquid. Stored it in a sacred kalash. Then he boarded his Pushpak Vimana and vanished. Days later, I saw him again—sitting on the throne, smiling as if nothing had happened."
Amar could feel the tension, the suppressed emotion under Namkasura's calm exterior.
"He gave me a reward," the rakshasa continued. "An entire kingdom. He made a royal decree. It was the greatest honor of my life."
Amar, now more cautious, raised his hand slightly. Namkasura gave him a half-amused sigh.
"Go on. Ask."
"If Raavan gave you a kingdom… then why were you erased from history? Why are you here, trapped in this forgotten prison beneath the earth?"
Namkasura's smile faded. His gaze hardened, though it wasn't directed at Amar.
"I was getting to that," he said coldly. "Lankapati moved the capital shortly afterward—from this city to a new one built around the spring. He called it Lanka. He took the miracle water with him, hiding its existence from even his closest allies."
Namkasura's eyes narrowed. "I was appointed as the ruler of his former capital—the city above us. He left me behind, claiming it was to maintain order. But over time, I began to suspect otherwise. Perhaps… he feared me. Perhaps he wanted to keep the power of the spring for himself."
The weight of his words settled between them like a tombstone.
"One day, I woke up here," he added. "Trapped. Sealed. Betrayed."