Recap:

Driven by Parvata Vardini’s revelations about his true parentage and Narobha’s treachery, Pasupati is consumed by vengeance. His mother reveals that Narobha murdered his father, Tungabhadra, using the cursed Keris. Pasupati, fueled by this knowledge, retrieves the Keris with the help of the loyal Nambi, setting a deadly plan in motion. The stage is set for a confrontation and a potential shift in power within the kingdom.

Chapter 20/26: Treacherous Termination

Part 2/2 of the novella ‘The cursed keris of Taravati’

Narobha and Jeyasinghan came out of the palace hall. Narobha offered him a new brownish-white horse, imported by an Arab merchant. It looked mighty and powerful. The palace horse trainer received it on Jeyasinghan’s behalf and brought it to the horse tent for training.

When Jeyasinghan thanked him, Narobha patted him on the shoulder with a smile, as Pasupati watched from the aisle. Though both of them knew about Pasupati’s presence, only Jeyasinghan met his gaze eye to eye with a deceitful smile. Pasupati left at once, pretending that he didn’t mind. Jeyasinghan departed on the other side. Narobha reached his residence, refreshed himself, and stood on the terrace looking at the Manvi River. He enjoyed the sea breeze from the distant beach, enriched by its journey along the Manvi.

He was waiting for his palm toddy to begin his happy hour. Narobha turned around, expecting his attendant with the porcelain pot of toddy. But it was Nambi, Jeyasinghan’s assistant. On seeing Narobha, Nambi bowed his head in respect. Narobha didn’t mind, as Nambi often loitered inside the palace and royal homes, and turned back towards the Manvi.

A flock of parrots flew back to their mango tree near the palace after hunting all day. Narobha might not have been able to distinguish between the green parrots and the raw mangoes on the tree. The parrots’ ‘keewq.. keewq..’ calls filled the air, making the place lively and cheerful.

Nambi looked at Narobha’s back, which gleamed like a black rock, and the slight roll of flesh trying to form a bend on his belly from behind. He brought his hand to the back of his shoulder to take it – it was the unfinished-cursed-keris, glittering in the evening sunlight.

With his hand trembling, he saw the sharp tip reflecting a drop of sunlight, pulled his hand back momentarily, and then pushed the keris with full force into Narobha’s back. Before Narobha realized what was happening, the sharp keris punctured his stomach and emerged on the other side. The tip, that was holding the drop of sunlight a moment earlier, dripped Narobha’s brownish blood onto the floor.

With a wild roar that shook the surroundings, startling the parrots into flight, Narobha tried to turn and grab Nambi. As Nambi’s hand fumbled on the handle, he gripped the keris with both hands and fled, leaving a trail of blood across the corridor. He burst through the door just as Pasupati was stepping into his father’s residence.

On seeing Pasupati, Nambi, with a broad smile on his face on the successful execution of his assignment, said, “Oh, my King, I…”

Pasupati shut Nambi’s mouth with his hand, grabbed the keris from him, and stabbed him in his stomach.

“Aahhh… Maharaj…” Nambi shouted in pain.

“You thankless dog! How dare you kill my father?” Pasupati shouted and plunged the keris once again into Nambi’s stomach. Realizing what was happening, Nambi fell to the ground with a painful smile on his face.

On the other side, Parvata Vardini, hearing Narobha’s agonizing cry, raced to the stairs. The sight of him in a spreading pool of crimson made her gasp, and she instinctively reached down, her hand closing her mouth in a silent scream of shock.

But in Narobha’s fading vision, it wasn’t his wife. It was Maran Saththan, blacksmith of Panai Kulam, his face contorted in a triumphant, chilling smile, a spectral hand pressed mockingly to his own lips.

Parvata Vardini knelt, tears streaming down her face as she cradled Narobha’s punctured body in her arms, a desperate attempt to hold onto the life that was rapidly escaping away.

Through Narobha’s eyes, however, Maran Saththan’s form seemed to thickened, the spectral figure lifting him with unnatural ease, pulling him into a cold embrace.

“You haven’t died yet?” Narobha choked out, his voice a bare whisper.

The figure of Maran Saththan threw back his head, a booming, spectral laugh that seemed to physically shake the very foundations of the terrace, sending terrified parrots scattering from their roosts outside. “I was waiting for you, my impulsive customer! All this time.”

“How…?” Narobha’s eyes flickered, losing focus.

“Ask me why, Narobha,” the spectral voice hissed, laced with ancient malice. “Grudge. I need more blood. I am still so thirsty…”

Narobha’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly, irrevocably, sealed shut. Gently guided by her distraught daughters-in-laws, Parvata Vardini, her heart shattered, finally moved away from the lifeless weight in her arms.

—

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Note:

• This fiction is a retelling of a mythology.
• Images generated with ImageFx of Google Gemini.
• Awkward sentences are removed by AI for a smoother reading experience.