-The Life of Solitude-

This book is dedicated to my late grandmother who told me bedtime stories from ancient Indian mythology. Her definitive and captivating narration of the past, has kept me motivated to write my own novel.

Lothar, Traetos province, Southern Avestriā*

Eight Mesha later, Mesha 470

The weather in Lothar was pleasant during the month of Belcus. Seros was refulgent in the sky, shining its rays down upon the ground and illuminating the milieu. The moons Arkā and Prohor could be seen in the sky, fully illuminated while the third moon Vaerūn was only partially illuminated. The trees were replenished with the violet-colored petals, sprouting out of its branches while the bluish-green colored leaves danced with the breeze of the wind.

In the vicinity, the sound of the river water could be heard. Mythra Auctisila was sitting at the banks of the tributary of river Nelam. He was staring at the flow of those vicious waves with white edges. The bottom of the river glowed due to the bioluminescent algae that were deposited on the river bed. Mythra rested his buttocks near a rock and folded his legs close to his chest in a crossed manner, curling them towards his abdomen. His chin touched his knees as he stared at the water.

The child who was born about eight Mesha ago, during the Grand Obscura of Lothar, had now become an outcast who was detested by the people of the kingdom.

Mythra Auctisila, the Caligor, as he was called by the people of the village: the same saw him as an ill-omen, just like every other Caligor in the past. He was wearing an ochre-colored, gossamer fabric on the top and dark brown colored, textured pants for his lower torso which were draped around his groin and extended till his knee-length. The sleeves of his upper garment reached till his forearms but not beyond. And for his feet, he was wearing sandals made from light, wooden twigs.

His silky hair was flowing with the breeze while his pale skin made him appear as fair in complexion. Below his thin eyebrows were his cerulean blue hiding deep in his eye sockets. People mistook him for a Blavelus because having blue eyes was a genetic trait of the people belonging to the house of Blavelus. His physique was slender and he was taller for his age. Mythra was staring down at something that he held in his hand.

It was a talisman, the very same that was passed down to him during his birth, or so was he told. This talisman was the only thing that he knew about his parents. One side of the talisman had the symbol of Traetos province engraved upon it. Mythra traced his thumb over the layered surface of that talisman. He flipped the talisman and on the other side of it was engraved his lineage, descending from his mother, Trisha Auctisila. He had never known his father's name.

He stared at that talisman lugubriously, as the last object by which he could know about his parents. His gloomy eyes, a little watery, looked up at the river stream. The loneliness and the feeling of being abandoned in this vast world engulfed his thoughts. The feeling of being berated over and over by the people of the village made him feel melancholic.

Although he was raised by the Roshai who was his guardian since his birth, he still felt the absence of having a real family. He was bereft of them. No mother, no father, no sister, and neither a brother of his blood. No friends either. It was hard to imagine the emotional pain being inflicted on a boy of just eight Mesha, hated by everyone in the village for something he didn't quite understand.

It was impossible to be sympathetic towards him to understand his agony of solitude. The feeling of being an outcast, made him hate himself. The ignorance of his existence by the villagers made him feel that he was invisible to this world. No one, apart from his guardian, cared if Mythra lived or died.

The serenity, the cold breeze of the wind, the sound of the birds chirping nearby, the open grassland and the pellucid sky above, somehow gave him relief. Why did my parents abandon me? Why do the villagers despise me? What have I ever done? All these thoughts dawdled in his mind, all the time. He just wanted to run away from his fate. Some days he wished he had never been born.

The grassland had eventual patches of purple and pink colored flowers, sprouting over a wider area. The edges of the petals glowed, as the rays of Seros kissed them. He could hear the distant chirping of Korka birds. As he was sitting at the banks of the tributary of the river Nelam, staring despondently at the Talisman in his hand, he heard some kids, jubilantly playing on the plain grassland.

The blades of grass were moist and soft, which avoided any injuries on their knees. Mythra was desperate for people to acknowledge him, not as a threat, but as a human. He wanted people to know that he was not something that his fate had labeled him to be. He was not a 'child of hatred'. The dogmatic traditions of the people had turned into a feeling of hate and fear towards him. Mythra became a scapegoat whom people avoided and cursed for being born in their village.

He just wanted to have friends, to have someone to play with, to have someone. He stood up and gradually strolled towards the group of boys playing on the grassland. He was analyzing their reactions and slowly moving forward, hoping that this time they would accept him. All of them were older and taller than him. They were playing a game called Gilidend.

The game was pretty simple but popular across the rural areas. It was played with two sticks, the longer one called the 'dend' and the smaller, oval-shaped piece of wood called the 'Gili'. It was played in two groups.

The people have to stand in a huge circle and at the center of it, one of the people places the Gili on a stone in an inclined manner. The Gili is so placed that it's one end touches the ground while the other end is in the air. The person uses the dend to strike the Gili at the raised end which flips it into the air. After the Gili is flipping in the air, the player has to whip the Gili with his dend, hitting it as far as possible.

The people from the opposing group who are standing in a circle have to field the flying Gili and make an attempt to catch it and bring it back to the center of the circle. By this time, the person who hit the Gili, to win, has to reach the predetermined destination on the circle.

It was a fun sport and Mythra was yearning to play with somebody. He was tired of being lonely and being ignored. "Can I play?" he asked, humbly and eagerly.

"NO! What are you doing here?! I already told you, you don't have enough strength to play this game. Get away from here, Caligor" disgruntled one of the boys. He was stout and tall as compared to Mythra.

"No, I can play! I am strong enough," replied Mythra, nettled by their rejection. But he was yearning to play.

"I said," said the same boy with gritted teeth, "Get out of here!" he yelled.

"I am stronger than you!" replied Mythra ferociously, never leaving the older boy's arrogant stare. The rest of the boys gathered near him and surrounded him from all sides. Mythra felt like a dwarf among them: looking up to their faces as they stood there, taller and slender. Mythra felt daunted as they surrounded him from all sides.

"Oh, really?" said the boy as he felt challenged by Mythra.

"Stronger than me huh?... Well, let's find out, " he said and patted Mythra on the back, almost tossing him forward. Mythra stumbled while trying to stop his scowl from showing at the not so friendly act. The boy had allowed him to play with them but his intentions were anything but benign.

Everyone resumed their places in a circle. Mythra also stood in that circle, being the shortest and youngest of them all. He was feeling exuberant on being offered a place to play with them but little did he know about their malicious motives.

Being just eight Mesha old, he was still credulous to understand the duplicity of the world. The boy hit the Gili with his Dend and as it flipped into the air, he took his aim and hit the Gili deliberately towards Mythra. The Gili was launched towards Mythra at a tremendous speed and being new to the game, Mythra was confused and unguarded.

The Gili hit him straight on the left side of his forehead and he collapsed backward. The rest of the boys chortled as Mythra fell with a bump on his head. They mocked him and ridiculed him for his gullibility. Some of them pretended to help him. "Are you all right?" taunted one of the boys in a jocular tone.

"I told you, this game isn't meant for you," said the boy who had allowed him to play with them. He grinned, deviously.

"No, no...I am fine. I want to play," said Mythra, rubbing the bump on his head and getting his feet under him. His naiveté and yearning to be recognized by the people were unfortunately being used to bully him. He still couldn't understand that the boys were just hurting him for their amusement.

Once again he stood in the circle and when the boy flipped the Gili, Mythra felt ready, but the Gili came even faster. There was again a hit, only this time, the Gili was just shy of his eye on the right side. It was a detrimental hit. The boys once again guffawed as Mythra fell backward.

It was not just a bump anymore. He had incurred a laceration. His senses were dulled by this impact and he couldn't get up. The boys gathered around him and laughed at him as he was recumbent on the ground, trying to regain his senses. None of them would help him.

"Auctisila, huh,?" he taunted with a hint of envy, stressing on Mythra's high born family name. The boy loosened his own lower garment and committed a nefarious deed. He urinated on Mythra, who was lying there on the ground, comatose and bleeding. The other boys also followed his action and urinated on Mythra, lying at their feet. Blackness accumulated at the periphery of Mythra's eyes and his vision was blurred.

"Remember this the next time you desire to play with us, bloody Caligor," snorted the boy. All of them walked away, leaving Mythra unconscious on the ground.

After a while, Mythra opened his eyes. He saw the leaves of the tree gradually floating in the air and descending towards the ground. It was almost afternoon. Seros was merely above the horizon. Mythra hadn't realized for how long he had been unconscious. Some of the falling leaves touched his face.

He lifted his back from the damn grass by putting his upper body weight on his elbows and sat there, his legs stretched and his spine bent. His neck was heavy and he could smell the stink of piss all over his clothes. He felt an agonizing pain on his forehead. As he touched there, his fingers were tainted in red. Mythra panicked but there was no one to help him. The boys had already abandoned him a long time ago.

He quickly stood up, adjusting his balance, and ran towards the water. He gazed into a small pond at the embankment. He cupped his palms into a bowl and splashed the water over his face. He rubbed his hands all over his body to get rid of that acrid smell. The cold water cleared the blood from his face but it didn't help him much to get rid of that smell. The red-colored fluid dripped on the ground from his chin. He flinched in at the wet injury as the splashing water left a stinging pain at his wound.

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Footnotes

• Seron (Month) of Belcus is one of the 16 months from the calendar.

• 'Korka' is an aerial species.

• 'Nelam' is the name of a river.

• 'Mesha' means a year.

• 'Avestria' is the name of the continent derived from the name of the flower called 'Avester' which is found predominantly on that continent.