Recap:

Valli, a fortune teller, recounts the intertwined destinies of Narobha, a robber of divine origin, and Tara, forced to marry the tyrant Tungabhadra. Guided by the cunning Brahmin Narayana Bhattar, Narobha seeks power. At a religious gathering orchestrated by Tungabhadra and Mahakala, Narobha becomes obsessed with Queen Tara and plots to assassinate the king with a magical keris.

Chapter 10/26: Justifiable Haste?

Part 1/2 of the novella ‘The cursed keris of Taravati’

Valli sat across from Queen Tara in the war room, the weight of the unfolding narrative filled the room. Tara leaned forward, her gaze fixed on Valli, a storm of emotions – sorrow, anger, and a flicker of grim anticipation – swirling in her eyes. Valli, her own expression a mixture of empathy and the detached observation of a storyteller, continued to weave the fateful events.

“Rani,” Valli began, her voice low and steady, “The fate was relentlessly shaping the path of Narobha, the man unknowingly bound to your destiny. Consumed by his sudden infatuation…”

Narobha did not sleep that night.

The thought, “What a woman she is!” echoed in his mind as he recalled Queen Parvata Vardini. Every movement she made, from the unveiling of the red palanquin to her return inside, remained vivid. Her eyes, reminiscent of newborn chicks, her nose, as delicate as a tender mango, and her lips, the hue of polished carnelian, held him spellbound.

Deprived of sleep, driven by his impulsive mind and unaware of the potential adverse effects, he set out for Panaikulam village early in the morning to meet Maran Saththan, the blacksmith.

“It has been just three months. I asked for a year, did I not? The keris is not fully ready,” Maran expressed his displeasure with Narobha’s impatience and impulsiveness. Such customers were difficult to manage.

“But I am running short of time. Does crafting a keris and chanting a few mantras truly require a year? That’s ridiculous!”

“Ahaang. Then go and do it yourself. It is a skill, not as simple as burgling someone’s house,” Maran retorted, turning away and deliberately pricking Narobha’s pride.

Narobha’s anger flared at Maran’s insulting comparison. “What did you say?” he challenged Maran Saththan.

“The truth! A robber is to be called a robber,” Maran shouted back. Driven by impulse and blinded by anger, Narobha seized the half-finished Keris and stabbed Maran, his realization of the gravity of his action coming only afterward.

“What… what have you done? you fool. ” Maran choked out, the pain seizing him. “I tried to help you… why this senseless attack?” His strength failing, he slumped to the workshop floor, his outstretched finger accused Narobha.

“Hear this, Narobha. You came into my workshop, killed me, and stole a half-finished keris. Let me tell you, this keris will kill you. Not only you, it will taste the blood of seven people including you. O God, bring my words to life!” A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the auspicious northeastern sky. Maran Saththan offered a faint smile to Narobha.

Narobha bowed down, collapsed to sit nearby. He struck his forehead with his palm in helplessness and feeling bad about the sin he committed to Maran.

“Hey, Maran… please,” he choked out. “Please take back your words. It was done in anger. I am so .. terribly sorry. I will support for your family. Plea…”. But it was too late. The smile on Maran’s frozen face held a terrifying stillness for Narobha. Unable to bear the overwhelming dread, he fled, running back.

Though the horse was unaware of the murder, Narobha’s terror infected it. Sensing the urgency, and it surged forward, each powerful thud of its hooves sending plumes of dust into the air.

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Note:

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