Page 1 of The Burning Mountain
PART I
THE SERPENT OF THIANVELLI
1
THE HOTPOT INCIDENT
“If you’re looking for a place to stay the night, you’re welcome here, stranger, but…we are passing through hard times and I’m afraid any fare we offer you will only be modest,” said the man who had come out of the thatched house in response to Veer’s call.
Behind him, Veer and Chandra could see into the sparse interior of the mud hut. It appeared he already had three mouths to feed, besides his wife, who stood concealed by the doorjamb. The inconsolable cry of a baby interrupted their entire conversation.
The man wore a plain khaddardhotiand a shirt with bare sleeves to allow for the dry weather, not unlike Veer’s usual clothing in disguise; although, the man’s was much more threadbare.
Veer and Chandra were passing through one of the outlying villages of Thianvelli on their way to the capital city, Thanepur. After their stint in the mysterious forest of Dandakaranya, where they managed to find the fourth key piece, the Lotus Key showed Thianvelli as their next destination. But unlike before,the picture was less clear and seemed to fluctuate between two images.
Veer held the opinion—and the yaksha of the magical forest agreed with him—that the key piece must have been broken into two. However, they had no way of confirming it before getting to the capital. They were anxious to see their friends and the rest of the troop, who had been spirited away from Dandakaranya and told to await Veer and Chandra’s arrival in Thianvelli.
It should be the height of autumn here according to the changing seasons, so Veer thought nothing of the bare trees. But Chandra soon disabused him of the notion. Withered trees this far south indicated something seriously wrong, and the simplest explanation would be a drought.
As they had walked through the village, this suspicion became pronounced. Most of the huts were in a dilapidated condition. Some lay abandoned, their palm-thatched roofs stripped to the bone. A cow, the sole occupant of a sizable pen, followed them with listless eyes, too tired to do anything but sit beneath the bare branches of a dried-out besom tree. Children were nowhere to be seen. When Veer and Chandra were on the outskirts of the village, they saw one too many fields lying fallow and too many funeral pyres as the city burned their dead.
“That’s all right. We come from a far-off place and the journey has been exhausting. May I impose on you to offer some water for my wife? We’ll have to leave again, but have just enough time for a brief rest,” said Veer.
Relief spread across the man’s face at the simple request. “Of course, please, sit and rest here on the cot,” he said, showing them to a woven jute cot sitting outside. One of its legs was missing and a pile of stones supported one corner.
Veer and Chandra sat gingerly on it, but it held. The man’s wife came outside to offer them earthen tumblers of cool water.Chandra fell into conversation with her and soon the women moved to the inside of the house, leaving the men outside.
“So, where are you heading?” asked the man curiously. “Haven’t met many travelers traveling this way lately.”
“We’re going to visit my wife’s parents who reside in Thanepur,” said Veer, giving him a well-rehearsed excuse.
“Ah, I see. You’re lucky,” said the man. He took the tumbler Veer had emptied and dunked it back into a crock to fill again. It was customary to not stop at one drink, the superstition being that they were inviting misfortune otherwise. “Thianvelli’s capital wasn’t hit that hard by the famine.”
“Is that what’s happening here? Famine?” asked Veer, glancing around.
“Well, the drought mostly caused the famine. Rainfall was erratic this year. But we haven’t received the funds that were supposed to help us either,” said the man, grimacing as he handed Veer the tumbler of water. “Today is theNagaPanchamifestival and other than observe a proper fast, we barely can spare anything as an offering to the snake-god.”
“Really?” said Veer, drinking the water more slowly this time around.
“Yes, we’ve been really unlucky,” said the man, warming up to the topic. “Lots of people don’t speak aloud for fear of being punished, but between you and me, the new king’s not like his predecessor. He cares little about us. No wonder the people who can leave have been fleeing this country.” Resentment coated the man’s words. “But I have a family to take care of and an ancestral land I’m tied to. I dare not leave. Or my forefathers would never forgive me.”
“Why is the village’s headman not concerned?”
“The headman?” scoffed the man. “A more miserly man you wouldn’t find in the next fifty villages. Although he’s the richest man in this village, he still toadies to the current rulers, tryingto secure his position. We’re like afterthoughts to him. If you see his house, you’ll understand what I mean. It’s just down this road, once you turn onto the main street. You can’t miss it. It’s the most palatial dwelling in the village.”
Chandra stepped out from the house, a baby sleeping in the crook of her arm, accompanied by the lady of the house.
She strolled up to them. Veer’s eyebrows rose in question. “The baby had some teething pains. He’s asleep now,” she said, cooing at the baby, rocking him. The serene smile on her face spoke of nostalgia, and Veer wondered if she was thinking about Sarun. His mood sobered, as it had been doing at unexpected moments, ever since she revealed the true nature of events that led to his friend’s murder at her hands.
Unlike what she had proclaimed at her public trial, she hadn’t killed his friend, Virat, due to a mistaken identity. Nor had she wanted to murder her husband.
The truth, according to her, was Virat had tried to kill her maid using his mind-control abilities, and in the fight that took place, Chandra had managed to defeat Virat with her maid’s help. She took the blame to protect her maid, who besides being pregnant with Sarun, was also her dear friend.
The story was convoluted with just enough truth for it to be entirely plausible. And although Veer had said he was going to reserve judgment until he knew more details, already a greater part of him was starting to have doubts.
She raised her head and caught his expression, and her cheer faded. Veer mourned the loss of her carefree smile—one of her more unforgettable features—as it had burrowed itself obstinately in his memory all these years, despite his best efforts to erase it. He resented the awkwardness that seemed to crop up between them at random instances, when before their relationship was simpler.
He scowled. Perhaps “simple” was the wrong term to use. They butted heads often, trading both verbal and physical jabs, under the guise of training, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy sparing with her. Enjoyed her sharp tongue, even prior to their arranged marriage to end the war between their kingdoms of Rajgarh and Amaravathi.
