Laureate can facilitate humanity. But what of the agony which is looked at as lesser to the soul and greater to divinity and the eternity of lords? A pen can write the art of a manuscript, but legacy draws the soul of fire into the world.
Avkasham, sitting on Aarush's back, moved his hand toward his chest—as the devil goes for the appellant even while staying in hell and asking for heaven. Red blood soaked into the glowing matter of cotton as he whispered, "Welcome home... with all my zest, I want you to listen." Nearby, Hygun drew his sword from its guard. As the moon's rays fell upon the blade, a glow divided the sky, highlighting the beauty of man-made craft in this land of living and death. Aarush raised his hand, stopping the blade from a slaughter, making it a division between the dead and the being of the dead, as a bridge stood within them without time or honor but on sheer soul.
"You're quite astute," Avkasham whispered again, as his eyes glowed with darkness and the shame on his face colored his skin in his own blood.
Aarush looked away, his eyes falling upon a wooden horse made for children to ride. The contrast of innocence against the grim reality was sharp, with a smell of burning red wood.
"You will carry me out of the chawl toward a bus station," Avkasham commanded, his voice steady enough to shatter a boulder and make it alive. "Behind it, there is a graveyard. You must burn me there... I gave you the path, you must follow it." As his cold breath collided with his surroundings, the red color of Aarush's shirt began to colonize the cotton around his neck. Hygun looked at Avkasham's crown—a stripped crown that looked as if a thunderstroke had written a single word upon it: "Indraprastha, the horse of Ashvamedha Yagna."
Hygun stood quiet, as his eyes knew who the ruler was, but he didn't know who ruled the rules of Arivate while people's chants only stood for gods:
घालिन लोटांगण, वंदीन चरण डोळ्यांनी पाहिन रूप तुझे ।। प्रेमें आलिंगिन, आनंदें पूजिन। भावें ओवाळिन म्हणे नामा त्वमेव माता च पिता त्वमेव । त्वमेव बंधुश्च सखा त्वमेव । त्वमेव विद्या द्रविणं त्वमेव । त्वमेव सर्वं मम देवदेव कायेन वाचा मनसेंद्रियैर्वा, बुद्धयात्मना वा प्रकृतिस्वभावात् । करोमि यद्यत् सकलं परस्मै, नारायणेति समर्पयामि अच्युतं केशवं रामनारायणं कृष्णदामोदरं वासुदेवं हरि। श्रीधरं माधवं गोपिकाल्लभं, जानकीनायकं रामचंद्रं भजे
These chants never left his ear as the vision struck. Immeasurable, he stood beside holding the thala as the men behind him echoed their chants, which only echoed through the walls. In front of him, the idol stood glowing in the light of diyas while his soul stood on the land, on the wood, while his eyes never moved from the man standing beside him—as he was also wearing the crown where "Indrasur" was written.
"How should I get the flames on the chita?" Aarush whispered. Avkasham chuckled, tapping and banging Aarush's shoulder with a fist.
Thub—Thub—Thub.
Aarush bowed his head, feeling trapped like a hackney carrying a coffin with an imbecile. Then Avkasham whispered, "Send your slave to the graveyard and ask him to wait there." As he looked at the blade, his face read the thoughts that pleaded around the voice outside of his head—not in blood, but with the morals he cared for to serve an empire—as Avkasham looked at Hygun and whispered, "Remember me... Hygun, the orphan of destiny."
Aarush's tone changed, becoming polychromatic, as if he were reinforcing a dead slave he had grown beyond. "Mind your language... Hygun, show me the sword."
As Hygun pulled the katana out of the guard, Aarush gripped the blade. He pulled his hand along the steel as it caught fire like a road dividing cliff and death—burning as bright as the sun but casting no shadow. Hygun looked toward the door as he took his first step out of the wada, his head flooded with chants of legends: "Long live the Indrasur." Looking back, he whispered, "My Lord... come in one piece."
As Hygun's boots giggled around the dry roads, splashing salt before disappearing into the darkness, a question hung in the air: "How is he from Indraprastha?"
Aarush looked at Avkasham. "Shall we turn for our path?" his voice was a mere whisper, like a pine standing in the death of forgery with the foreshadow of eternity that was never wiped by eternity. His glance was crimson red; the blood of a fallen dwarf star began to glow.
Avkasham tapped his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Put me down." A breath of freezing cold followed. Aarush loosened his grip and set him down. Avkasham sat upon the ground, taking the thala from the floor as if he were a warrior guiding his way to the road of bringing the curse of forgiveness—which stood as a blessing with vine and flames to burn it into ashes—dipping his scrapped skin into sindoor to draw a line of tilak. Aarush watched his feet with a glow in his eyes and sweat on his face. Avkasham's smile was like a decay where everything meets the dust and the soul becomes free to choose heaven or hell on the path of karma.
"Lord may stand by your side," Avkasham said.
Aarush turned toward his leg, seeking a blessing with the almighty power of a warrior and a fellow hermit, to carry the devil on his back to the death of his own with a path only he knows—whether to take a turn to hell or to impale the soul with sorrow. As Avkasham smiled, turning his seven-chakra energy of morality and life-in-death toward Aarush and replying "Vijay Bhav" in a man's voice. Without realizing it, he had given a blessing that would burn like the sun—as the devil was someone greater than only a devil, but a saint of heart and the glory of death.
As Aarush took his first step out of the wada, he left a whisper behind: "Nothing is real until I come." These words could never match the divide between death and living. This was where the forehead turns for him, and the soul moves for mukti.
Crack—Crack—Crack.
Aarush looked down as he walked through the dead rods of a massacre. Every step provided a sensation of smell—the nervous scent of camphor mixed with the iron of blood. In a low voice, he whispered continuously, "Life comes over death," muttering it like a chant. Avkasham's eyes looked at his hair, his hand dipping into his scalp with blood. The smell of sun rays stood like a left wing where beauty must be admired over trauma.
"May I have your hair?" he whispered with a smile on his face and a glow in his eyes. The moon stood high in the darkness of the sky with a glow around it like tiny small bugs twinkling, craving for love and the forge of their lives, and the equality to stand against the competitor.
Aarush gripped his knuckles so hard they turned bone-white. Avkasham then spoke the sentence that would turn the journey, as the chariot never moved within the land of the obtuse of words: "I will tell you four stories and will ask you a question at the last." He inhaled a deep breath, glazing into the darkness with a bright sun. "If you don't answer me... I will break your head into a hundred pieces. And if the answer is wrong, I will return to the Wada."
Aarush's steps froze. His hand went numb instantly as he counted his fingertips. Avkasham breathed near his ears. "I am beginning... My story, kid."
The words echoed, unraveling clothing, bringing the dead of an era back to the living. The clouds layered into the air as thunder roared with a soul of eternity. Aarush looked around as the concrete road transformed into a path of steps taken by an army of men, with the steps cracking the spines of dead leaves and thorns—every footstep massive and driven by blood.
Flames moved forward with glory as rain dragged the bloody steps with them. Avkasham whispered, his voice turning into that of a man's and his words shifting to Sanskrit:
"न खलु जीवनं शुभम्। अहं त्वाम् दर्शयामि।"
"Life is not a blessing. Let me show you."
As Aarush moved forward, the land of woods turned into two narrow paths where, from a few miles away, the steps of thousands of men approached. Aarush ran to the cliff, gasping "huh-huh," holding Avkasham on his back. He looked at the men standing at the cliff; his hair and shirt were dipped in rain. With a smile, his head was flooded with words: "No... no, not this part, damn it!!"
In the darkness, a few men were standing. A man's voice echoed with the argument of a King, as the soul stood like a diya lit by gods, full of oil and the glory of the warrior's physical body. His voice stood as a blade, not to kill, but to stand against death:
"माझा राजा माझ्या कुटुंबाची काळजी घ्यायला समर्थ आहे. मी त्यांच्या जीवासाठी झुंज देईन आणि ते माझ्या मुलांच्या अन् पुढच्या पिढीच्या पाठीशी उभे राहतील... हो, ते नक्कीच राहतील. जय भवानी!!"
"My King is enough to take care of my family. I will stand for his life, and he will stand for our children's lives and the next generation... yes, he will. Jai Bhavani!!"
He inhaled deeply as other men roared: "Jai Bhavani!" This wasn't a cry for them and their lives; it was a pledge they took to stand for their King and for Swarajya—the self-rule of the next generation where their lives and heads would stand with glory in freedom.
Aarush looked at the men, the ground shocking him as goosebumps ran through his hands. He upped his fists. "Jai Bhavani!!" he roared. Avkasham looked at him as his soul filled with inferno to stand in the valley of Pavankhind. On the ground stood the ultimate souls of purity, glory, manhood, and chivalry; they were the Mavalas, and they were standing in the middle of a massacre of living and death at Ghodkhind.
Avkasham whispered as the blades were about to collide:
"बाजीप्रभू देशपांडे आपल्या छातीत अभिमानाने आणि क्षात्रतेजाने गर्जना करत राजांना म्हणाले, 'राजा, मी अर्ध्या सैन्यासह याच घोडखिंडीत झुंज देत थांबतो. आपण उरलेल्या अर्ध्या शूर मावळ्यांना सोबत घेऊन विशालगडाकडे प्रस्थान करा. पण माझी आपल्या चरणी एकच शेवटची इच्छा आहे: 'विशालगडावर पोहोचल्यावर त्या पाच तोफांचे आवाज माझ्या कानावर पडू द्या, म्हणजे मी आणि माझे मावळे आमचा देह आनंदाने त्यागून स्वर्गाच्या वाटेवर मुक्त होऊ!'"
"Baji Prabhu Deshpande, roaring with pride and warrior-spirit (Kshatratej) within his chest, said to the King, 'King, I shall stay right here in Ghodkhind to fight with half the army. You must depart for Vishalgad taking the other half of our brave Mavalas with you. But I have only one final wish at your feet: Let the sound of those five cannon shots reach my ears upon your arrival at Vishalgad, so that I and my Mavalas may joyfully sacrifice our bodies and be free on the path to heaven!'"
Aarush stood at the cliff, looking at the men below, his hand gripped tight in the darkness with flames raging in his head, while Avkasham whispered:
"अरुष बघ... ती शूर माणसं समोर 'चक्रव्यूह' रचून उभी आहेत, जो समोरून येणाऱ्या दहा हजार सैनिकांच्या फौजेची दाणादाण उडवू शकतो. बाजीप्रभू त्या फौजेसमोर ढाल बनून उभे होते, तर त्यांच्या मागे मावळ्यांचे तीन स्तर होते. पावसाचे थेंब डोक्यावर आदळत असताना आणि घशातला कोरडा थुंका गिळत असताना, प्रत्येक माणूस पूर्ण ताकदीने एकच मंत्र पुटपुटत होता— 'जय भवानी!! जय शिवाजी!!' म्हणूनच मला मानवांमध्ये रस आहे... जेव्हा त्यांच्या जिंकण्याची कोणतीही शक्यता नसते, तेव्हाच ते खरं शौर्य दाखवतात. चल पुढे सरक, मी तुला तो चक्रव्यूह दाखवतो."
"Look Aarush... the men of chivalry stand firm, forming a Chakravyuha designed to unleash chaos upon the army of ten thousand marching toward them. Baji Prabhu stood at the vanguard, while behind him, his men formed three unbreakable layers. As the heavy rain slapped against their heads and they swallowed their cold saliva, every single man whispered one chant with total glory: 'Jai Bhavani!! Jai Shivaji!!' This is why I am fascinated by humans; they are most brilliant when they have no chance at all. Move forward... I will show you the Chakravyuha."
As Aarush took steps at the cliff seeing the men, the fire burned in his soul. Avkasham pricked Aarush's hair, counting "one-two-nine-ten," taking them from the follicles as blood clotted around the roots, but Aarush didn't care. He looked down the valley and whispered, "What kind of Chakravyuha?" Avkasham, holding the hair in one hand, whispered in his ears:
"पहिला स्तर हातात तलवार घेऊन पूर्ण जोशात लढेल, आपल्या पराक्रमाने शत्रूला धूळ चारेल. दुसरा स्तर शत्रूवर दगडांचा वर्षाव करेल आणि बाणांचा मारा करेल. तिसरा स्तर त्या सैनिकांना टिपून मारेल जे पहिल्या दोन स्तरांतून सुटून बाहेर येतील, आणि आपल्या राजासाठी खिंडीचे द्वार शेवटपर्यंत लढवत ठेवतील. पण जो सर्वात समोर उभा आहे, तो तसूभरही हलणार नाही; कारण त्याने मृत्यूला नाकारण्यासाठी नव्हे, तर आपल्या आत्म्यासाठी दोन दांडपट्टे हाती धरले आहेत. तो आत्म्याकडे जीवनाचं दान मागत नाहीये, तर एका शूरवीराचे मरण मागत आहे... तो म्हणजे थोर अनाम योद्धा बाजीप्रभू देशपांडे."
"The first layer, wielding Talwars, will fight with total fury, slamming the enemy with their glory. The second layer will rain down rocks and fire arrows upon the foe. The third layer will intercept those who slip through the first two, holding the gate for their King until the very end. But the one standing at the absolute front will never yield; he wields two Dandpattas not to reject his death, but to stand for a soul that asks not for a coward's life, but for the 'Dana' of a glorious end. It was the unsung warrior, Baji Prabhu Deshpande."
As he pricked Aarush's hair one by one, counting in his heart, "one hundred and one - two hundred," the sound of thunder on the clouds could be heard with the scent of soil, for blood had not yet been shed. Aarush looked at the men standing as lightning moved behind him, holding Avkasham on his back.