The Last Rudra - Chapter 149

“Have you he

ard the lore of Inna, my lord?” asked Charan, his eyes gleaming. The old suta couldn’t believe his luck. He had never ima

gined that one day he wo

uld serve the crown prince of the realm, the future monarch of Varta. Moreover, bef

ore so many nobles. Each of them was on par with L

ord Oman in wealth and power.

Sitting ami

dst so many betters, he couldn’t help felt conscious of his humble attire. Juga, the little page, hadn’t told him who he was go

ing perform for. But anyway, it didn’t matter too much. If he performed well and managed to impress this regal patron, he mi

ght not have to worry about his livings at least for a year or two. Thinking this, Charan, a eighty years old charan, elders of all magsmen of Minaak, adjusted his lute and cleared his throat. In his heart, he prayed to his clan goddess, Belon, the four-headed female deity.

“No! And I haven’t summoned you to tell me one, old man,” Tissa said in his usual arrogant tone, his hands playing with the co

tton-soft tits of a ravishing maiden, whose face had turned red like the setting sun. His mentor, or as they called in Atl

antia in hushed voices, his brain, Sakuni again had disappeared from the evening meeting.

“Then why has Mighty Lord called for this lowly suta?” asked Charan in his humblest voice.

No doubt it was a rare opportunity for him. However, it did come with its own risks, and Charana, who had traveled to far lands, knew them well. Betters of the outer world were not so forgiving as of Garuna’s. A slight frown of their arched brows could send his shaking head flying off. Though he wasn’t afraid of dying at this age, getting beheaded was not how he wanted to depart from this world.

“I want to know about Nameless. If you have any tale of him, tell me.” Tissa said, bitting the maiden’s cheek; the lass let out a moan. The codger had refused to share anything about his secretive outgoing. Even his best eyes couldn’t track his movements. It didn’t surprise Tissa, for Sakuni was not an ordinary bl

ack-robed. Like his elder brother, he was a master of impersonating arts, not speaking of his unparallel talent in Ind

rajalic magic. This was the reason, despite his disrespectful behavior, Tissa was clinging to his thigh, abandoning all his pride.

“Nameless!” The wrinkled face of Charan drained hearing the word. Though he pulled himself together very soon, It had piqued the attention of his noble audience. Tissa’s hand stopped in the mid-track, exploring the ne

ther regions of the shy lass.

“So you do know! Tell me everything without hiding anything, and I will make sure you don’t have to perform again.” He said, looking directly into the cloudy eyes of the suta. He hadn’t excepted the information about the mysterious s

avage man would so easy to obtain. But again, Sutas were known to gather all kinds of lores and rumors; it was their means of earning a living.

Charan gulped down. His throat dried up as the earth had parched during the draught caused by the son of mist, Susana, the fire-breathing serpent. He mentally recalled the lord of rain, Amresh, and goddess of voice, Vani.

His hands quivered as he looked towards the brainless prince of Atlantia. Charan’s eyes had terror. Did Mahamaya want him dead? The old man wondered. The tale of Nameless. Yes, he knew it. He heard it from a dying suta long ago while traveling through Ahom, the holy land.

But it was not the tale that should be shared with others. They were called Nameless for a reason.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t know it. I detest the sound of No.” seeing the old man mute, Tissa said. His blue eyes had fine red threads. The wine had entered his head.

“I do know it, my lord,” said Suta, regretting coming here. He should have said no.  After all, Juga hadn’t disclosed the patron’s name.

“Then, start it. I have to attend this lady,” said Tissa, his long finger exploring the maiden’s wet cave. Pearl-like tears rolled down the lass’s ruddy eyes.

“Pardon this poor old man, O master of all realm!” Charan placed his head on the floor, ” This poor servant can’t word the tale of Nameless, for the tale is cursed.”

Ouch!

All of a sudden, the maiden screamed out with pain! Her soft hand clasped around Tissa’s muscular arm. Her soul-stealing face grimaced.

“Don’t you want to live anymore, old man? ” said Tissa, in a casual tone, as he pulled out his hand from silky lehenga. His finger smeared in virgin blood. Tissa looked at it as if looking at the trophy. An evil smile spread over his handsome face as he licked it clean.

“We are living in the era of Vigyan and knowledge. More so, we Kambhojians. We know well how curses work, so save your fucking excuses, and tell me who is this Nameless. And let me remind you, I have little patience.” Tissa said, tightening his mighty arm around the teary-eyed maiden, sniffing her inebriating virgin smell.

“O, merciful Lord! Believe this old suta. Their tales and so their names were cursed by Vani, the goddess of Voice.” Charan pleaded.

“And how the hell did you come to know of his tale then?” asked Tissa. The old man was annoying him now.

“We, status, are exempt of the divine curse,” replied Charan,

“Oh! What will happen if anyone else hears it?” Tissa looked amused, and his eyes shone with cunningness.

“The listener will become deaf-mute.” replied the old suta.

“Let me see, then!” said the prince of Atlantia, a place ruled by spiritualists.  “Agam, accompany this elder into a chamber where he will tell you the tale of Nameless. Thus we can find this divine curse’s power. ”

He ordered one of his escorts. Agam was a muscular man, a maharathi.

He laughed and got up to his feet, chucking down wine from the cantor.

“Let’s go, weaver of lies,” he jeered at the dumbfounded Charan.

“But …but …” Charan stammered, for he didn’t know what he should do now. He knew if he refused to comply with the eccentric prince, it would anger him.

Or if he did. Old Suta looked towards Agam, who was grinning at him like a fool.

Charan sighed. Maybe it was the will of Mahamaya. He rosed to his feet, gripping his lute.

“How long is this tale of yours, by the way,” asked Tissa, looking at the maiden, who was gasping for breath.

“Long enough to make soul forget how to speak,”  replied Suta, as he trudged out of the opulence assembly hall.

Agam led him to an empty chamber with a rocking chair placed by the large window looking over the city.

The intemperate warrior collapsed into the chair, breathing the fresh air. Suta sat down on the carpeted floor.

“Begin, and save me the boring details,” growled Agam.

Suta took a deep breath. He recalled the dark tale of Nameless. Like the moth-eaten scrolls, his deep-buried memories came rushing, flooding his mind. He saw himself walking down the rugged path of Alkananda, the stormy diary air lashing his face. It was really an unfortunate day of his life.  Young Charna had been walking like this for ten days straight with no human dwellings in sight, only dried thorny stones, howling wind.

Alaknanda had been like this. But it had never deterred sutas from venturing into the harsh terrain and searching for the bodhi tree.

Many died in the arduous journey. A few fell into the gaping ravine. Some starved to death. Many fell prey to the deadly allurements of evil fey. Only a handful of them made it to the holy place, Alomkik, where stood the wisdom tree, surrounded by golden apples.

Inspired by the tales, and filled with curiosity and zeal of youth, like hundred of other young sutas, Charan too set out on the perilous journey.

Within just three days, his group, which consisted of twenty people, reduced to sixteen. The horrors surpassed what the survivors had told them.

The ghosts of sutas, who had perished there, began to hunt them, luring them to death one by one.

Charan broke off the group on a stormy night. He tried to rejoin his companion, but he saw none.

Soon he ran out of ration. And hunger and thirst began to torment him.

He forgot the count of days in the endless hilly terrain. Feeding himself grass, he somehow managed to survive there.

It was evening. Heaven was furious. Lightning was flashing in the dark sky. Charan took shelter in a grotto when he heard someone moaning. Afraid that it might be some new trap sat by faes. He didn’t dare to go check and continued to sit, leaning against the rugged wall.

The man called out for him. But Charan didn’t respond.

Maybe, after abandoning any hope, the man began the tale. And Charna heard it.  If he had given the choice he wouldn’t have listened to it.

As the cursed tale had consumed all his life, his talent, and his ambition of becoming the most famous suta of his time.