~Opurnota~ A tale of dangerous liasions (Ch 2 updated in Pg 7) - Page 4

A shot resonated in the dark and Swayam cursed the universe. Most days, he would have lost the trackers by now. But these men were bloody adamant and it appeared as if they were hell bent on killing him tonight. Another shot rang out and a sharp fiery pain lanced up his arm as a warm liquid soaked his sleeve. He had let down his guard for a moment and they had tracked his position. There was relentless firing at the area. They had successfully managed to ruin his generous disposition. It seemed they were not going to give up on the chase anytime soon. So that really deprived him of all his options. He let out a heavy sigh as a bubbling irritation grew in his gut. And he was actually hoping to avoid this tonight. He ignored the burning ache in his limb as he moved agilely and disappeared under the cloak of the dark. He looked down from his vantage point at the men seeking for him. His lips curled into a cruel sneer. Classic example of fools seeking out their own doom. He let the darkness consume his being , embraced the familiar inky cold as he waited his turn to strike. He was teetering on the fine edge between humanity and insanity. A place he particularly thrived in.

A group of three white men were thoroughly searching the bushes. They could swear they had seen movement there just moments ago.

"Are you sure it was him you saw, James? I mean it could have been just another lowlife thief." one of the party grumbled to the man on his left. The one called James looked very adamant as he replied ,"It was him, I am sure. I saw the mark on his forearm."

"It could have been something else you saw. I really hate to waste my time in here looking for a non entity while I could have been spending my time enjoying one of the lush maidens of Champa bai.", the man continued in a petulant tone. "I heard they kidnapped a new one. Young too of nearly eleven summers. I was to do her initiation and now Champa will probably sell the right to someone else."

That piqued the interest of the third member of the party as he joined in the conversation. "I like initiations. The girls are resistant and it makes things more interesting."

"Well, it will probably take some more days before they completely break this new one.", the one called James replied. "Don't worry Thompson. She will probably still have some fight left in her when you get to her. You will still have your chance."

"I will probably join in.", the third one quipped with a leery grin.

Swayam looked down from his vantage point as the men casually indulged in conversation. His stomach was already churning from the snippets of the conversation he heard. Add to that the dizziness of losing blood and he was one completely pissed man. They came here to kill the Mrityu-vahini and he was almost insulted at their relaxed stance. There was a reason why he carried that title. Well, it was better this way. He can finish the job early.

The first man was not even sure what hit him as he felt a heavy weight drop down on him from the tree. A quick snap of his neck and the man died with the surprised look still on his face. The others were made aware of his presence but he did not give them the time to react. The second one went down without a chance to defend himself as Swayam plunged his dau in the gut of the man who enjoyed young resistant girls. He quickly turned to see the one called Thompson pointing a gun towards him. He rolled his eyes. They were at times too predictable. The man looked thoroughly shocked to see the nonchalant way Swayam reacted to the gun. His hands shook as his jaw opened and closed with a snap. The momentary surprise was all Swayam needed as he wrested the gun from the man's grip in a second and fired it at his chest. The shot resonated in the forest as the man silently slid down to the mossy floor. Swayam looked at his hand still gripping the revolver of the man. He tossed it back offhandedly at the man's corpse. "Yours, I believe." he drawled at the man who was staring back at him with vacant eyes. This was their downfall. Their tendency to underestimate things. Well, he could only hope that one day they would stop being so disregarding. That would be the day things became more fun. He was almost bored at the lack of challenge his adversaries presented.

A wave of lightheadedness hit Swayam as the adrenaline drained out of his system. He propped himself against a tree and glanced down at his arm. He really had lost a lot of blood as the sleeve that covered his arm was now thoroughly soaked. He needed to tend to his wound and knew the perfect place to seek shelter. He just hoped he remained conscious till he reached the refuge.

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It was a resplendent townhouse the likes of which the neighborhood had never seen. The men marveled at the opulent aura of the well manicured front garden and moved on to the lacquered front door of the house. One of the men took initiative and rapped in the brass knocker. Almost immediately the door swung open and an aged man dressed in the traditional garb looked at the party.

"We are here to meet Saheb. He had fixed this time of the day." the servant acknowledged them with a curt nod and led them down the hallway to the parlor room. The men took in with wide eyes the luxury that surrounded them. They were all from well to do noble zamindar families but even they were not immune to the show of extensive riches around. Seemed like the tales of the fortune of the young man was not a myth afterall. They were all inclined to believe that it was exaggerated but they could not refute the evidence before their own eyes. The centre of attention in the study was the hearth flanked by gold leafing and two tall shelves that stretched to cover the expanse of the room. It was made from dark cherry wood and the gleam was a sure sign of its exclusivity. There were books in varying thickness with blue, red and gold spines lined up flawlessly for perusal. An elegant gold and crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and a chaise lounge rested nearby with comfy cushions thrown in a haphazard yet enchanting manner. Chairs and lounges were placed strategically in the room to make most of the sunlight and the view out of the rectangular window pane. A huge antique desk dominated the room with its sturdy build and one of the men in the crowd murmured "It is one of those Chippendale pieces. I have heard of them. Worth a small fortune". The table was magnificent in its deluxe beauty but the man sitting behind it was no less so.

The man was dressed in a fashion befitting a young gentlemen brought up in London. His morning coat hung over the chair and his light grey waistcoat was emphasized by the white cotton of his shirt. He fiddled with his tie as the corded muscles of his arms flexed in rhythm with the movement of his hand. The young Raja of Jaitpur silently perused the small gathering of zamindars that had come to greet him. His hazel eyes took in their bedazzled expressions as he continued to play with his tie. He waited for them to acknowledge him when they were done drooling over the room. Manners were so hard to come by in this century. He discreetly cleared his throat and that brought the men out of their daze as their eyes finally took him in. He felt gratified for a moment at their sheepish expressions but it lasted only a moment and then the usual feeling of disgruntlement set in. Lord alone knows how much longer he would have to endure these social visits. He was positively sick of them. None provided stimulating company enough to engage Raja Reyansh Raizada.

"We are honored to have you in our city, Raja Saab.", one of the men who seemed to be in the leadership of the small gathering started hoping to break the ice between them. "The pleasure is mine." he replied politely as was necessary. He knew the drill of such meetings and went through it with practiced ease, quickly acknowledging and making a show of getting acquainted with everyone in the party. He had gone through this in some five cities already.

His father was a Raja and as all rajas of the time he wanted his family to be the most magnificent in the city of Jaitpur. Something worthy of fearful respect. But the grandeur of the aristocrats was diminishing. The kings were a shadow of their former selves and they no longer commanded the same respect in the masses as they used to. No, the chain of command had shifted to the foreigners. They were the ones who evoked fearful respect in the eyes of the lowly commoners. Something that did not sit well with the Raja of Jaitpur. The king of Jaitpur reached a conclusion. He needed to alleviate his respect. If the foreigners were what the people had come to respect, then by all means his son would become one. And so it had happened. The eight year old Reyansh was handed over to the British governor in his province for proper guidance. The British were only too glad to take him on. It was a wise investment. One that guaranteed results. A prince cultivated in the British lands would not only be loyal to their government but also instrumental in winning over the trust of the natives and quell the thought of further revolts.

Reyansh Raizada had thus dispatched from his native country at the young age of eight to embark upon a formal education amongst the genteel of England, young enough to only retain vague memories of the noise, heat and the dirt of his birthplace. He started his education in the Dragon school, which the Maharaj's advisers assured were the finest preparatory school in the land. Dragon school had led to college at Eton and Oxford university. Along the way, he had picked up a passionate love for the polo field and a thorough distaste for jazz and cross country running. The boy left his literary establishment a handsome, young, sophisticated man with not the slightest trace of a foreign accent. The Maharaj would have been proud to see his son. After all Reyansh Raizada was more British than the British themselves but unfortunately , he died while the strapping young man was still in Southampton indulging himself to a daily bout of polo. Reyansh was left broken hearted but certainly not broke. His father had left him twenty million dollars in assets, along with a yatch in Nice, and some three sturdy stallions in Suffolk. But then the British government had concluded that a trip to his home country was long overdue. He was affronted to learn that he would be without the services of his trusted manservant, Eugene but was determined to endure his duration of six months in India without the help of Eugene. How difficult could it possibly be?

He was quick to revise his former opinion of the situation. It was very hard indeed. He felt like a fish out of water with the different customs of different cities. He longed to retire to his suite in the Ritz. He made a mental note to embark on a vacation to the south of France as soon as this trip was over.

He was vaguely aware of the men saying something about some leisurely recreation in the evening. Something about entertainment and a beautiful courtesan. He nodded rhythmically whenever necessary and feigned an interested look in whatever the men were saying. Four more months to go and he would be on his way to England and his beloved polo fields once again.

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