शुरुआत // the beginning

THE HUMONGOUS HALL CAME ALIVE with roars of men, women and children alike, as she rose from the shadows and made her way to the silver haired man who had beckoned her. His scarred face adorned with dried blood still managed to exude the hopes of a better tomorrow. His fiery eyes, in addition to his passionate words, seemed to have succeeded in pulling in and momentarily making his fellow rebels forget their battle-scars and the ones lost to the war, for they had gathered again after licking their wounds in private, to hear her speak to them. To give them hope and courage for the final chapter of the battle for their freedom.

After the King was dethroned, and him, along with his wife, and a huge chunk of the Royal Army were murdered mercilessly, the young prince had gone into hiding with the man standing right in front of her. And she was left to be the face of the voices that have been oppressed for years for her's was a heritage of Heroes. Brave revolutionaries who had laid down their lives fighting for the the Kingdom and its Rulers as and when the situation called for it. She was their symbol, she represented what they had to do in order to regain their lives. 

Her beloved Dadasaheb had named her, despite being born in untroubled times, he gave her a name that ended up unknowingly intertwining her fate in a way with her ancestors' that she would later realize. 

As she took the steps to reach the rostrum, the roars from the crowd never lost their intensity. The chants of her name reverberated throughout the room owing to the dome shaped ceiling of the Temple. She joined her hands in greeting and raised them above her head, pausing for a second before orchestrating a well rehearsed move - stretching her neck to gaze on the high ceiling in reverence, as if taking in the wisdom that the subjects of the intricate paintings imparted. Heroes, they had called them, and she was their descendant. The one that will fulfill her destiny by leading them on the path of righteousness and greatness, re-establish peace and prosperity in their society. As she had anticipated, her gestures made the people wild, the chants of her name became deafening. The lit torches and weapons in their hand raised to cheer her. She smirked at the job well done and shifted her gaze upon the crowd. 

Her Maa was a wise old soul, saying things that were on everyone's mind at one point or the other but were hardly ever voiced. One of the things that stayed with her even after her mother's passing was that, names hold substantial power, they are one of the key things that define you. And the other that she could recall, was being told that, in times of war, people will always need somebody to bank on, to look towards hope. From a very young age, she was made conscious of the ancestry of her clan. Their one true purpose was to be the beacon of hope to the people, to be that one early ray of sunlight that escaped the thick cover of gloomy clouds to enliven the Terra. To strengthen their faith in the royals should it ever waver. 

And as she stood tall on the makeshift stage, she realized it was time for her to step up to her role, as her family had done for ages.

Gazing at the people with as much intensity as she could muster, she began by reminding them of the ones they had lost today and promised them revenge for the fallen. The thunder of their voices matched the intensity of the Mashaals they wielded, the dancing flame of the torches mirrored in their eyes - a symbol of their solidarity. The proof of their allegiance towards her and what she represented, both literally and figuratively - The Revolution, for her name was Kranti.

She unsheathes her blood laden sword, the evidence of the latest clash with the Firangs. The sword had been a clan heirloom, its blade fiercer than the warrior that wielded it and as deadly as the blows it delivered.

She raises it to bring a hush among the crowd. Despite the rage in their voices, the fatigue was evident in their faces, she was thankful that the Firangs still abided by the battle protocol of the land they ruled over - war ceased at sunset only to be resumed the following day. It gave time to both the sides to lick their wounds, bury their fallen with dignity and regroup and gather all the hope and courage in them for the next day. Which essentially was the task at her hand. She needed them to be at their best and the only way to get them there was to remind them of their Blood. Because at the end of the day, they were emotional and nothing could rile them better than the promise of vengeance.

She spoke passionately of her family - her gallant brother who had lost his wife and unborn child at the hands of a tyrant who had dared to attack their Kingdom, she spoke of how the very sword in her hands was the one he had drove into the tyrant's chest. Reminding them of his martyrdom, she took a lit torch from the crowd and raised it, before speaking in grave tones, a battle oath that has been around for centuries, the crowd imitating her.

She could see that the people were buzzing with energy again, ready to chance their lives one final time for they were to attack the place where it all had started years ago, coming full circle.

Stepping down, the sea of people parted for her like she was Moses. Reverence evident in their eyes, dominated by vengeance. They were going to be out for blood in a few hours.

She could hardly wait.

◀▶

अंत || the end

THE YOUNG PRINCE AND THE silver-haired man were perched on their respective horses, whose hoofs were drenched in the blood of those that laid their lives down when dawn approached. The white soil of the battlefield was decorated with splotches of red, blood that despite having been in the veins of enemies, now flowed as one.

Indistinguishable. 

Kranti couldn't help but wonder what freedom could they possibly have in death. 

There stood the Fortress, majestic as ever, regardless of the the one who held the throne. With the sturdy yet age-old walls that had seen countless perishable beings try to attribute its magnificence to themselves by adorning a mere crown fashioned from some expensive substance or the other.

Kranti looked at it in quiet reverence and surged closer, sword at the ready. The Prince and the Silver-haired man following her.

They were at one of the entryways of the Fortress where lay the key to their freedom - the heart of the tyrant that was to be ripped from his flesh. She was following them now, but she knew that when the time came, her lips would be the ones that would taste the sweet victory of revenge.

Dusk was still some time away, not wanting to prolong the war any further than it already had been, they left the rest of their modestly-sized army to fight those guarding the fortress knowing that the adrenaline would get them through. 
As they reached the stairs, fighting off some soldiers that came in their way, they dismounted from the horses and left them to their fate.

With the young Prince now leading the three of them, they were charging towards the throne room, where they knew he would be, still basking in the glory of the fortress they believed he had no right to.

A few broken bones and severed head later, they were only a few hallways away from their destination, she noticed the slight hesitation in the Prince's steps. Not wanting his confidence to waver, she steeled her gaze as she placed her hand on his shoulder and said Vijayi Bhava, the mantra that her brother had instilled in her long ago.

The chinks in his wall of confidence seemed to have pulled themselves back together when he heard the words.

They had been far inside the Fortress which seemed to have drowned out the war waging outside, or maybe it was already over outside, which was why the slight commotion from a nearby room attracted them to it.

The silver - haired man held his sword up in caution, asking them to follow his lead. The Prince voiced his dissent. He had wanted to go straight to the Throne Room and quench his vengeance. Heated gazes were followed by quiet admission of his will.

Kranti followed the elderly man. She understood the nuances of war, no stone unturned. When you lack numbers, you shall have a cement strategy. When you have a wall to break, you break it in a way that it can never be rebuilt again. So she moved forward. Ready to disintegrate the wall, one brick at a time.

Swords at ready, they moved towards the noise, and saw a flash of gunmetal blue escaping the room, quick on their feet, the two set out to follow the escapee.

His feet only took him closer to his end. Maybe he already knew. The three of them found themselves in a room, where lay the ashes of her clan. Vengeance shall be hers, she remembered.

Only two came out of the room, faces triumphed, wasting no time by picking up their pace and charging towards the Throne Room.
This is ends today, her mind chanting repeatedly.

She took charge and directed him to wait. This was about her now. He saw the fire in her eyes and quietly accepted. He had to.

She was the reaper. And it was time to collect.

She moved with a jerk when the sound of a sword clattering on the ground reached her ears. She did not have time to wonder how she heard that sound despite the incessant ringing in her ears.

And there they were. One with the sword pointed at the heart of the other who lay on the floor in wait of his savior. Their eyes flashing, but with entirely different emotions.

Everything stilled for a moment. Only Kranti moved. They saw her coming and relief washed in their eyes.

The life in his eyes was short-lived. For he himself ceased to exist. Just like the rest of his family. This time she made sure to let him know who had been his downfall. She was sure to see the betrayal in his eyes, one that was a mirror of what her Brother had felt in his last moments. Her Brother did not die a martyr, he died knowing that his death would be used by his murderers for political propaganda.

But him, the naive little Prince died knowing he got exactly what was coming for him. His body dropped in an instant, the force of life leaving his body. Eyes still locked on hers. She would later recall the exact moment she saw the light leave his eyes.

She had finally destroyed the last brick in the wall. Effectively making it come down to the ground.

Kranti smiled. Coming full circle, she could finally calm her heart.

The tyrant, as they liked to call him, came up to her, having regained his composure.

He smiled and caught her in an embrace. Bloodied lips softly pressing on her temple. His heart right where it should be.

With hers.

⚔️

g l o s s a r y

▪Dadasaheb: grandfather.
▪Maa: mother.
▪Mashaals: they're wooden torches, one end of which is dipped in oil so that they can burn to give light.
▪Firangs: Foreigners.

u p d a t e

02.10.2017

So this used to be split in 2 parts but now that I'm entering it in the Halloween Contest 2017, I've merged the two parts to conform with the rules.