In his dream, the kalari was packed, the crowd roaring.
Kannan was there, cheering him as always, and a knot of guilt formed in Shakthan's stomach.
His father stood beside the ring, wearing a wide, proud smile—an expression so alien on that stone face that it terrified Shakthan more than a scowl.
His mother approached through the crowd holding rice and jaggery on a banana leaf. He smiled, opening his mouth to be fed, but she walked right past him without a glance.
Brow wrinkling, he looked to see where she was going. There stood his opponent: a figure with a face covered in shadows, clutching a sword identical to his own.
Shakthan looked down. The sword in his hand was suddenly covered in dents, its edge dull and useless.
"Can I change the sword?" he asked.
The cheering stopped.
Dead silence.
His father started shouting, his smile twisting into rage. The crowd followed, their faces warping with anger.
His mother fed the opponent. The shadow chewed, and the darkness fell away from its face. It morphed into his own.
He was fighting himself.
The imitator stepped into the ring, mimicking Shakthan's every twitch.
"Oh, Shakthan is going to die," a raspy voice whispered from behind.
Shakthan jerked his head around. It was the Old Man, huddled in his tattered blanket, his toothless mouth twisted into a grin.
"Which one?" Shakthan's voice cracked.
The Old Man just laughed, a sound like dry leaves crumbling inside Shakthan's head.
He turned back just as the opponent lunged. Shakthan tried to parry with his dull blade, but the imitator was quicker, stronger.
With a swift, clean slash, the double took his head.
As the head hit the ground, he woke, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat.
"It was just a dream… just a dream," he told the dark room. But he couldn't go back to sleep and lay there, eyes wide open, until he heard the chirp of the birds and caught the scent of incense from the morning prayer.
Rays from the sunrise made the flowing water in the stream shine golden. It wasn't deep enough to dive, so he walked into the cold water, body shivering.
Before he could fully submerge, the sound of rushed footsteps on the pebbles by the bank caught his attention. It was a young boy—one he recognised but didn't know the name of.
The boy was panting and trying hard to say something but couldn't form words in between his deep breaths.
"Calm down… is something wrong?" Shakthan asked, coming out of the water.
"You… you… have been summoned…" the boy managed to say.
"By whom?"
"The Lord… Thamburan's house… immediately. Come, let's go," the boy said, gesturing with his hands.
"Unless the king himself calls me, I'm not rushing before I have my morning bath and prayer. Thamburan can wait," he said, turning his back to the kid.
"Well, the king himself may not have come, but his soldiers did bring his message with them."
"The king's soldiers? Here in Mangalanad?" he asked curiously.
The boy nodded vigorously.
"Fine… you better not be lying. I'll cut both your ears off if it is a lie."
"And if it's true, I get to cut your moustache off," the boy said with a playful smile.
"Beat me in a duel and I'll let you," Shakthan said, twirling his moustache.
Retrieving his clothes from the bank, they walked in the direction of the Thamburan's house.
"Huh. So you were telling the truth," Shakthan said to the boy.
The Thamburan's house was surrounded by soldiers wearing the yellow tunics of the King's army. They stood straight, their weather-beaten complexions and rigid posture reminding him of his own father.
There were about two dozen of them. He also saw other Thamburans from nearby villages gathering. These powerful landowners all maintained their own small policing forces, but the King's army was different. They held a silence that spoke of real war.
A glint of tobacco-stained teeth caught his attention.
Ittamar Thampuran.
The fat scoundrel from Pathamkaav who had tricked him into the Angam to the death.
Why is this ass still here? he thought, his hand twitching toward his dagger.
Then he saw his own master, Lord Madhavan, standing beside the fat lord. But neither of them was in charge. The ornate chair usually reserved for Lord Madhavan was occupied by a stranger clad in the same yellow as the soldiers, but with silk trimmings and heavy gold ornaments.
"Who is that?" he whispered to the boy.
"The Padathalavan," the boy said, his voice hushed with awe. "He commands the whole division."
"I know what a Padathalavan is. I don't need your class," Shakthan chided.
The boy stuck his tongue out.
Shakthan flicked the kid's ear hard before he could pull away.
"Owww!" the boy cried out.
Several dozen glares turned their way.
Shakthan straightened up, ignoring the boy rubbing his ear, and met the eyes of the soldiers.
"So this is the guy?" the Padathalavan said, rising from his seat.
He walked toward Shakthan and looked him in the eyes.
The army leader was shorter than him but made up for it with the intensity in his glare, but Shakthan held on. The Padathalavan was a normal-looking man, but he had that sense of power emanating from him that made your knees weak.
"If you are looking for Shakthan, son of Shakthan, the best fighter in this land, then that is indeed I," he declared, head held high.
"Yes," the leader said, and silence lingered for a while as he inspected Shakthan from top to bottom.
"Well, what do you want of me?" he asked, feeling disturbed by the look.
The silence from the men gathered was disturbed by heavy footsteps, and as they got closer, Shakthan turned to see who it was—and his eyes widened as he saw Kannan.
Kannan walked forward.
And something in Shakthan's chest twisted—a feeling he immediately crushed.
Not fear. Never fear.
Just… the old ache of being left behind.
Kannan gave the Padathalavan a neat salute, his curled wrist on his chest and his head down.
"And who are you?" the leader asked.
"I am Kannan, son of Kelu. I heard you are appointing men to the elite forces of the King, His Highness Raja Veera Varma. I would like to be a part of it, Padanayar," he said, head still down.
Shakthan ground his teeth.
Son of a bitch is taking revenge on me, he thought. He could hear people whisper, and he shut his eyes tight.
"Wh—" Shakthan started, but was immediately interrupted.
"We are here only for the best fighters, and as per your Lord's words, Shakthan here is the one," the Padathalavan said.
Shakthan laughed out loud, but it was hollow. Kannan stood there like a squirrel cornered by a cat, his eyes having lost all the confidence they had.
"So, you are going to forfeit the Angam to the death? You do know it's not so warrior-like to run away from promises," Lord Ittamar shouted.
Shakthan looked at Ittamar's ugly, triumphant smile. The old fool thought he had trapped him.
You idiot, Shakthan thought. I never wanted to leave. I hate the heat of the capital. I hate the idea of leaving my mother's kitchen.
He looked at Kannan, who was standing tall, looking more like a warrior than he had ever seen him.
But I will die before I let him walk away with the glory while I rot here.
Shakthan stepped forward, his chest swelling not with bravery, but with pure, cold jealousy.
"Padanayar Angunnu, I have an Angam to the death in three months' time. I will certainly be joining you after that, and you don't have to fill my spot with anyone unworthy meanwhile," he said.
"Only if you are alive after that Angam," Kannan whispered under his breath, but loudly enough for Shakthan to hear.
"Talk loud like a man, you dog," Shakthan shouted, his entire body shivering with rage.
Kannan's eyes were calm and composed. He said nothing.
"Three months? That's a long time. We cannot wait for that long," the Padathalavan said, his voice flat. He turned his gaze to Kannan. "In that case, I think it would be better to choose someone else. We'll arrange a contest tomorrow. May the best win."
A sudden panic hit Shakthan.
Without me, Kannan does have a chance of winning it. I cannot let that happen, he thought.
"Padanayar!… Ittamar Thampuran!… If it's all the same, I'd like to have my Angam tomorrow," Shakthan shouted.
Whispers and gasps rose from the crowd.
Ittamar was genuinely surprised, but his face lit up. It was as if the prey had jumped directly into the predator's open mouth.
"My champion needs time to prepare. Isn't it mandatory to have at least some time span for an Angam to death? Rules are rules. Unless you agree to forgo all rules," Ittamar declared, looking around for approval from the crowd.
"Shakthan, no! Don't fall into his trap again…" Kannan said, stepping toward him.
"Why do you care?" Shakthan answered, his teeth still clenched.
"Please… listen to me. You can take this position, I will not compete, if that's your problem…" Kannan begged.
"Huh… you think I'm scared of you? You were nothing but my dog and now you bark at me? You think you can bite me? Move away," he said, shoving Kannan aside.
"An Angam without any rules of the Kalari? How will the winner be decided then?" Shakthan asked.
Ittamar spat the tobacco he was chewing, ran his tongue around his mouth, and spat again—this time right at Shakthan's feet.
"The only rules are that you fight inside the Kalari and that you only win once your opponent is dead. I need two days' time to bring my champion. The whole event will be witnessed by the respected Padathalavan here. Is that fine?" Ittamar said.
Before Kannan could say something, Shakthan spoke:
"Fine by me. What about you, Padanayar Angunnu?" Shakthan asked the leader.
The Padathalavan looked at the two young men. One burning with rage, the other cold with fear.
"Two days," he said, his voice flat. "But if I am not entertained, I choose the next best person and leave you here to rot. I Do not like waste my time, So it better be worth it..."
The whispers from the crowd grew louder, even the soldiers joined in.
Kannan glared at Shakthan, who did not meet his eyes and kept smiling—a façade to hide the fear.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He felt a weight in his chest.
What have I done, Shakthan thought.
And as if he could read his mind, Kannan answered, his voice devoid of anger, leaving only a cold, terrifying pity.
"You've dug your own grave…"