“Lads,” the Commander raised his right hand to signal the rest of the party. "Something is not right. Be ready to race your horses.”

Just as the words were uttered, an arrow came flying in from nowhere, and struck his horse. The horse neighed and fell to the ground, but not before the Commander swiftly dismounted. More arrows came hurtling towards the group, and some hit the other horses. Hearing the commotion, Guru Briharshi leapt out of the carriage, just as the driver jumped off his seat and quickly hid underneath the carriage.

“Prince Surya,” the Sage called out, “Race your horse, quick!”

Before Surya could react, an arrow flew in and pierced his thigh. Despite the agony, he did not raise a cry.

“These are deccan bandits! Be careful. Race your horses. Do not dismount!” Tantric Vidyut warned the party.

“We cannot leave, Brother Vidyut!” Alok yelled back, struggling to remain astride his horse.

The Prince gripped the arrow hard and ripped it out of his flesh and tossed it aside.

He noticed little Tilak had tumbled to the ground from his mare and quickly dashed towards the child. In mere seconds, he dismounted and gathered the child in his arms. Just as he turned to mount his ride, a rallying cry escaped from a surrounding boulder, followed by a savage band of men racing towards the group with long pointed spears.

“It is the bandits!” Alok shrieked, as he dismounted too.

Realization set in that they were being ambushed by the bandits, just as the Tantric warned. Tantric Vidyut was still riding his horse, his congealed air weapon gripped tightly in his right hand. He quickly stole a look at the Prince, who was tucking the child sorcerer inside the carriage to safety.

“Lads, stand in attention.” The Knight Commander yelled his orders.

Every man, young and old, waited in anticipation, encircling the royal carriage, weapons drawn and ready, as the hostile band of robbers descended upon them from every direction.

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It was a sweltering summer’s day, not one current of the breeze. Shyama was sitting by the rock, honing his sword with a pointed stone, inspecting the sharpened edge from time to time. He glanced at his son, Joga, who was squatting by the edge of the lake, peering into the water. Only few of his robber companions owned a sword. Most could only carry a spear.

“Do not lean that far. You will fall into the water and drown.” He cautioned the ten-year-old.

He did not know if he did the right thing by bringing the child to their hideout.

After the child’s mother passed away six months ago, there was no one else to look after the child. So, he asked his chief if he could bring the child, to which the chief begrudgingly agreed. It put both the child and the entire gang in danger. But he reasoned that the child would be a young man soon, another pair of hands they could use.

At present, Joga looked back, having heard his father’s call. After a pause, he asked, “Baba, when do you leave today? Can I come?”

“I do not. We have guard duty today. We stay here.” Shyama could discern the uncertainty in the child’s voice. Joga sure must have thieved a fruit here, stolen a toy there, but being a robber was ugly and cruel. The boy was not ready yet. Since he brought the boy over, he would seek guard duty more often, a safer bet. Their den was far from the main road, with miles of barren land, in between, covered with nothing but red dust and pebbles.

“Look, I caught another snail!” The boy exclaimed, holding up his right hand, the tiny snail pinched with his fingers. It was too small for Shyama to see from that distance. Despite so, he gave him an approving nod, and got back to his filing.

Not a second later, he heard a voice behind the mound, calling for him, “Shyama, come quick. We caught a big fish today! The chief orders all of us there!” Shyama was intrigued. Without waiting another second, he followed his companion, with his son in tow.

Turning the corner, they arrived at a rock-strewn clearing, which was their hideout for years now. There was a strange scene on display. The entire band had gathered around the clearing but not one word was spoken. His chief was sitting at his familiar spot, from where he would usually shout orders to his crew, always keeping them on their toes. But even he was silent. In front of him was an old sage, wrapped in a white shawl and a white dhoti, sitting in a dignified manner, back straight, legs crossed under him, hands resting on his knees. He was looking at the chief with a fervent gaze.

At last, the chief’s voice broke the silence of the valley, “So, do you agree to the challenge?”

“….”

“I asked you a question, old man.”

“….”

“If you think YOU are my prized prisoner, you are highly misguided. I know you work as the High Master of Rakhtaprastha, Prince Surya’s Guru. And I know who your companions are, over there.” The dacoit chief jerked his head towards a group of strangers, huddled at a corner, held back by the band mates. Among them, a short and stout elderly man with a shiny forehead was still thrashing and kicking, despite being restrained. Beside him, were standing several younger men, some of them in regal clothes, others in black robes, all held back and quiet.

“I also know,” the dacoit chief continued, “how precious your friends here are, particularly the one they call the golden Prince!” The royal Prince!

“And I cannot guarantee their good health. My men are cruel and dangerous. So, the only way I can promise the safe passage of you and your friends is if you agree to my condition.”

There was another long and disquieting pause. At last, the sage spoke calmly, “You will die with my hands today. No condition will buy you your life.”

The Dacoit chief broke into a laughter. “I am not buying my life, old man! I am only asking you to answer three question! And if I die, I die. But if I do not, you will.” The chief said menacingly.

“Just ask the damned questions, you bastard!” The combative old man bellowed from the side.

“Ah! The Warrior Prince of Rakhtaprastha! Prince Abhiram with his infamous temper! What a lucky day that I have been blessed with such an illustrious guest?! I thought I would never see you in flesh! But life has many wonders waiting for us. Alas, you are impotent today, Prince Abhiram!” The Chief turned to the Warrior Prince. “So, stay quiet or else you won’t have any tongue to speak.” He said darkly.

The short bald man glared at the bandit but went quiet.

The chief continued, his tone lighter now, “So, shall we begin? Just out of fairness, here are the rules to this game. Three questions each, that will test your wit, and mine. Each of us must answer all three of them correctly. If you win, we will let you and your friends go. If I win, you will stay. If both of us win, we will fight till death to decide the winner. Do you agree to the terms of the game?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful! Since I feel generous, I will let the guest ask the first question.” The chief smiled grimly.

“My question to you, Dacoit Jaka, is what is the source of all life?”

Jaka jeered at the sage. “Every word you speak, even your questions are so banal. The answer is right here, in our midst, the prince of Rakhtaprastha, Surya, the burning Sun. Now, if that is to your satisfaction, here is my turn to ask. Tell me, Sage Briharshi, what is the source of all death?”

“Time.” The Sage continued without waiting for the Dacoit chief to accept his answer. “What is many but one?”

“The path to god, that, as you can see, I have long abandoned.” The dacoit exploded into a raucous laughter roared through the silent valley. He, then, took his turn, “What can save you but can also kill you?”

“Water.” The sage answered, still calm. Now, the two adversaries had come to the last bout of questions, the contest still evenly balanced. “What is true happiness?"

The Dacoit replied losing not one moment as if his mind already anticipated the question that the sage asked, “When man achieves enlightenment”. He paused before his mouth curved into a cutting smile, as he asked his last question. “What is a man’s best friend?”

The sage studied the robber’s face for a moment before he gave his last answer,

“His wit.”

The dacoit chief broke into a laughter. “Do you know why I am laughing, sage?” He said with derision. “Because I know you and I know that is what you would say, the wit! Old friend! You always held the mind above the body! Let me tell you a truth! People do not obey because they admire your wit. They obey because they fear your weapon.” Then, he turned to his men. “Bring them to the scaffold.”

Several bandits came forward, dragging all the prisoners with them. His arms being restrained, Warrior Prince Abhiram kicked at them violently with his shoulders, causing one man to be thrown to the ground. The old sage was still, his eyes fixed at the Dacoit Chief.

Guru Briharshi spoke, “Jaka, you were wrong in many things today, but you were right about one thing. A man’s best friend IS his weapon.”

And with those words, he swayed his arms sending the two men holding him spinning to the ground. In an instant, his hand was flashing a longsword that he swung at Jaka. The unexpected attack startled Jaka, but he quickly recovered to hold out his own blade to break the incoming strike. Not a second passed before the Sage spun around whirling his sword. There was a glint and a flash, and the next moment, a severed head rolled on the ground. The stunned audience stood there frozen.

There were two figures standing in the middle, one in white garb, with his head still intact and sword flashing in his grip, and the other a headless corpse that staggered for a couple of steps before falling to the ground in a heap. Blood was spurting from the sliced neck, quickly spreading on the ground.

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