Where is he? Meethi walked along the quiet path within the fort. It was barely morning and Bhagat had disappeared from his study. “It’s been getting colder recently. To think the monsoon is coming already,” he said incredulously, his face numbing as another forceful gust brushed his face.

Meethi approached a guard.

“Do you happen to know where Lord Gahkhar is currently?”

“He’s by the garden area, sir.” The man paused. “Though… he ordered the men to carry a large amount of wares…”

“Oh, the glassware.” Bhagat had been speaking without rest about the plans he had for the pieces he bought. “He has some kind of plan, though I don’t know what he was envisioning exactly.”

“I see…”

The man’s gaze drew elsewhere. Meethi turned his gaze with him, examining the birds landing to the ground, perhaps interested in the bread laid for them.

“Lord Gahkhar has changed… considerably sir.” There was cautiousness in his voice. “Ever since that day in the forest… something has changed. I’m not saying he’s strayed from the path, but it seems there’s a different path he’s chosen to reach the same destination.”

No point denying it. Meethi let out a breath. “That’s true.”

“But don’t you think…”

“Think what?”

“Well…” The man made a frown. “Don’t you think this might end up being a bad thing?”

Meethi raised a brow. “How so?”

“Well… a part of me thinks he’s going mad, but another part of me believes what he’s doing is far too advanced, even for us.”

Meethi rested a hand on the warriors shoulder. “I can tell you now, he’s not mad. He’s even told me to cut off his head if he did end up becoming a tyrant… that just goes to show his honor and principles. Everything he’s doing right now is a step towards saving this land.”

“I see….” The guard lowered his head, revealing a faint smile. “He’s the last Gahkhar we know now, it helps knowing that I chose the right family to serve.”

“What’s this?”

Meethi approached the garden area, finding several tools, utensils and equipment scattered on the grass.

“The gardeners wouldn’t be so inept, would they?” He strode to the shed, hand on the door. With a gentle push, it opened effortlessly.

“Ah, Meethi you’re here!” said Bhagat, smiling widely. “Just in time too!”

“My Lord… what are you doing?”

“Oh,” replied Bhagat, staring at the abomination before them. “I’ve setup a salt purification process. Though it’s kinda suspicious, it gets the job done regardless!”

Meethi approached the contraption. A funnel rested over a flask that boiled under the heat from a few logs below it, releasing water vapor. Looking closely at the funnel, residue remained on the paper, while a mainly white residue with few other noticeble impurities settled within the flask.

“Does it… work as intended?”

“Of course!” said Bhagat. “I’ve already tested the first sample and it was better than the salt we had in stock originally!”

Meethi raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Improvements still need to be made though,” admitted Bhagat. “For one, that’s not even filter paper, that’s just some paper I ripped off a few places. Of course, filter paper is more predictable in what it can retain, though it’s salt so it’ll past through a regular paper filter for the most part anyways. Another problem is this fire. Although I can start a fire with my blade, not everyone can. This is going to be a problem when we scale up the process in the future, though for now a few logs will do. I’ve also got to prepare glass formulations so that I can make a larger flask than this, especially one where I can insert a distillation tube, that’ll be important someday.”

Meethi simply stared on at the contraption, spanning the entire wall.

“I see, so the paper build and flask matter greatly…”

“Anyways!” said Bhagat. “I’m going to have to return to my study now, there’s some paperwork to be done. Get a few guards to stand watch and have them make sure no one enters this building until I return.”

He approached the door.

“Wait My Lord! What do we do with the gardening equipment?”

“The gardening tools?” asked Bhagat, the door half-open. “Well, we’ll move this equipment to the small room in the keep. You know, the one with access to the air outside. We’ll move the gardening tools afterwards. But for now, they’ll have to lie there.”

“Alright My Lord,” answered Meethi. “I’ll ensure no one enters.”

Bhagat entered into his study, making sure to close the door shut. “How’s the progress?”

“It’s going My Lord.”

Sitting at the corner of the room was Vishar, the bandages still wrapped around him giving him some trouble as he studied the mathematics Bhagat had devised.

“How goes the math? Derivatives and anti-derivatives shouldn’t be too difficult, I’ve made sure the instructions were clear-cut and defined, though I think trigonometric differentiation might be the most challenging topic, but I don’t think it matters as much in the current moment.”

“Well…” began Vishar. “Everything I’ve read until now has been easy to understand, nothing is that big of a challenge.”

“Really? That’s good to hear considering I spent a good seven all-nighters finishing that book.”

“What’s an all-nighter?”

“It’s when you don’t sleep at all.”

“Oh, that’s…” Vishar raised a brow. “You are a Lord Bhagat!”

Bhagat sat on his chair. “Hm? Well, sure I didn’t need to make it in a week, but I have big dreams Mr. Vishar and a simple book that opens the way to a new era of mathematics is one of them.”

“What?”

Bhagat waved his hand. “Oh yah, have you seen the ledger book I produced?”

Vishar nodded. “I’ve never seen a book like it. But if it’s used for transactions, then shouldn’t you teach an Asthathaman instead? They handle money after all.”

“Asthathamans?” asked Bhagat, tapping his footwear on the stone. “Well… there are no Asthathamans in my army. They’re pacifists after all.”

“That’s… true…” Vishar glanced back at the mathematics. “If the derivative of sin (x) is cos (x), then why does the derivative of cos (x) end up being -sin (x)? Shouldn’t it be sin (x)?”

“Nope, I wrote the explanation a few pages behind that.”

Vishars flipped back frantically.

“Oh, I see now.”

Bhagat shifted his hand across the desk, looking into the disorganized mass of documents that lay across his side of the table. A page here, a stack of papers over there. Nothing was organized the way he liked. Nothing at all.

“Wait, what’s this?”

A letter lay under a few loose pages.

He held the slightly-browned letter and brought it up close. A red seal bound the letter, the image of a lion resting by a river, overlooking the rising sun.

The Dhaliwal household.

“Hm, Aabna must have sent me a report.”

He cracked open the red wax seal and unfurled the page long letter.

She reported arriving safely and Param recruiting locals for a new garrison and—

“My God.”

Bhagat’s gut tightened as he recoiled back, leaning against the chair.

“What happened?” asked Vishar, rising from his seat. Bhagat extended the letter and Vishar accepted, a hint of curiosity painted across his face.

“Third… paragraph…”

“Third paragraph…” Vishar’s eyes frantically searched the page before locking in place.

“Only the coming monsoon can cleanse this nightmare, for we came too late. Blood flows from many parts of the city, all the tiny streams collecting into a sea within the city’s gutters. Param has ordered the collection of the… of the dead be lined up for cremation; however, it’ll be a lengthy process. The bodies stretch from one end of… of the temple ground to the… other and we’ve yet to separate them by caste and creed. I was too naive to think there weren’t other ten… tensions in the city. We’ve locked up the perpetrators and have enforced a tight curfew; however, we’re being overwhelmed by many upper-caste petitioners… I’m sorry. I request your orders.”

Vishar handed the letter back and Bhagat got up, walking to the window overlooking the Red Square.

“Param feared this could’ve happened if I had given the city dwellers weapons and it turned out to be true in Oodpur.”

Bhagat crunched the letter tightly, the crumbling noise taking the place of the silence.

“Sorry isn’t enough. Not for the blood that has spilled.”

“But how could it have come to this?”

“It’s been about 20 years Vishar,” spoke Bhagat, shifting his gaze to the bustling streets. “Most of the Kashaaris in Lohaan follow Kasand’s teachings, yes? His teachings state that Taals were meant to die for a righteous cause to restore order. My only guess is that some of the fanatics slaughtering them because they didn’t like how they got along with the Afraaris.”

“But…” Vishar’s voice softened, perhaps even a little defeated. “What can we Taals do if we only wish to survive? We’re given the most menial of tasks that are only worth so much, yet we’re expected to die for someone elses freedom and not our own? To restore this ‘order’ that we ourselves have never benefited from? It’s ironic.”

A flock of pigeons descending down towards the square.

“You’re right,” admitted Bhagat, lowering his head. “Everything you’ve said is right.”

He faced Vishar, examining his lowered face marked with dismay. What did it feel like living as a Taal? What would it feel like being like Vishar and, despite his efforts, joining upper-caste Kashaaris and Sudhists who thought ill of Taals? He closed his eyes. Lord Gahkhar had tried to ensure every warrior was equal and Bhagat kept that practice, but did it help at all when the color of his skin —a distinct shade of brown— made it an easy target for blame in case things went south?

“My only wish…” began Vishar, his footsteps retreating. “Is that people understand that all we’ve ever wanted is a society where everyone is held to the same regard. Forget castes or even creeds. We’re all a people who call ourselves Lohaani because we’ve lived here for all our lives, as did our fathers and forefathers. That’s all I’ve ever asked for. It’s not my fault for the way my skin is.” The door softly shut the moment after.

Bhagat stationed himself. Vishar was a kind man, thoughtful and considerate of others. A true Lohaani, willing to put down his life for the greater cause.

“One problem after another. Money, Faran’s next move and now this.” Bhagat rested a palm on his forehead. “I’ve downplayed the resentment the people feel towards the Haraans and Taals. It’s ridiculous how I haven’t seen this coming and so soon. I thought people would follow the words of the Gods and move on, but this anger that they feel could very well end up breeding more resentment.”

He tapped the stone floor with his sandal.

“I have to end this, before it grows out of control.” He paced over to his desk and, opening a drawer below his desk, he brought out a scrap of paper.

He picked up a peacock feather and dipped it in ink. “I’ll restore order before the Festival of Bright Colors begins, I swear i—

“My Lord!” rang a voice. Quickly the door slammed open as a guard marched in, looking visibly exhausted. “My… Lord…”

“What happened?” Bhagat rested his peacock feather in the ink container and raised himself up. “Speak warrior, why the urgency?”

“Riots, My Lord…” spoke the man, sweat dripping down his face. “Riots… have broken out in the Haraan section of the city.”