Trying out a new writing style - Chapter The First

[a.ratchasi]

Badri, you have stirred interest successfully ! Please give us more...

[Nichiro]

Hello Thambi,
Very interesting indeed. For some time, I got transported by your time capsule to unknown times.
Very good and detailed narrative in the fashion of old chronicles like Marco polo.
Keep it up.
I second PP Madam.

[teat]

Домашн�� обувь � вышивкой логотипа www.igu.ru

[Badri]

Ok, people...I have completed the First Chapter. Added a whole lot more to it than where I left off last time, almost double the amount. I am pasting the whole of it here again, just in case you've forgotten what I had posted earlier. Do let me know your thoughts...

Apologies for the delay


The First Chapter

The little village of Panch was just that - little. It nestled in the foothills of the mighty Panch Mountains that towered above it. It was a self-sufficient community, as most communities in the Kingdom of Gand’har were. It had its own baker and barber, blacksmith and locksmith, merchant and mason and medicine man. It had its own Temple of the Light, with a solitary priest to fulfil the religious longings of its people. In short, as we have had the opportunity to observe already, it was much like many other villages in the Kingdom of Gand’har.

If this be the case, you, the reader are no doubt asking us, the chronicler of this history, why we chose this particular village when there are, no doubt, many more such villages available for the taking. Acknowledging then that legitimate query and attempting to answer it, we would like to draw your attention to the tall and thin man who entered the village of Panch on the afternoon of the fourth day after the full moon in the Bhuvan month of Tarich, and thus started this history.

The man in question was, as pointed out earlier, tall and thin, but we wish to reiterate this description because his height and his substantial lack of girth immediately marked him out as a stranger to these parts, whose people seemed to favour horizontal growth to the vertical. His facial features too were decidedly different from those of the natives of Gand’har, prominent among those being his sharp pointed nose with its slight hook at the tip. Although not immediately visible owing to the somewhat generous coating of dust upon his person, he was fairer in complexion than the natives of Panch, or indeed of Gand’har. His eyes were blue, and his hair, though streaked and discoloured by dust, was a shade of golden brown, and fell down to his shoulders. He was young, not fully thirty yet, but there was an air of maturity to him that made him appear older. In better and cleaner circumstances, women had described him as angelic, majestic, dashing, charming and as one eloquently said with a long drawn out and wistful sigh, “Hmm”.

He was, not unreasonably therefore, the recipient of open stares as he strode into the village. Used as he was to these displays of curiosity, he minded them not, and instead walked up to one of the villagers and accosted him thus:

“Greetings, Goodman. Could you, and if you could, would you, direct me to the residence of the Venerable Nambi?”

The man shook his head. “Wrong village. There is no Nambi, venerable or otherwise, here. Are you sure you have the right village?”

“Ah! Is this not, then the village of Panch?”

“Panch it is, but I repeat, there is no Nambi in this village, never has been.”

The stranger took a while to consider this disconcerting piece of information. He had travelled for nearly four months in search of Nambi of Panch. While, at the time of setting off on his journey, he had anticipated it to take him only three months, it had been unfairly extended thanks entirely to the directions given by well meaning people who had known as little of geography as a peasant did of the current fashion trends in D’har, the capital city of Gand’har, which, needless to say, was very close to nothing.

The consideration stood the stranger in good stead, for he remembered something he ought to have, even before framing his question.

“My apologies, Goodman, but it is not Nambi but Holy Rayun that I seek.”

“Why didn’t you say so then? You will find the priest Rayun at the Temple. If I am not much mistaken, he should be closing the Temple for the afternoon, and if you would but hurry, you can catch him in the act.”

The stranger thanked the villager and strode off in the direction of the Temple, which as every religious Bhuvan citizen ought to know, stands in the Western part of every village, facing the East. And there, as the good villager had remarked, the stranger found a man of indefinite age locking up the Temple. We say indefinite age, because although as per our records, the priest was three hundred and sixty seven years old at the time of this meeting, (which, as you would no doubt realise, is definitely more than the average age of a Bhuvan citizen), he did not look more than seventy. He was built more along the lines of a Gand’harite – short, dark and stocky. The mop of dark, curly hair on his head made him look younger than his years, and his bright eyes showed he still had plenty of strength and vitality left in him. He was dressed in the simple white robes of a priest of the Gods of Light and the stranger had no difficulty in immediately recognizing the Nambi he had come in search of.

“Greetings Holy One. My name is Valthor and I come from the Northern Kingdom of Hallad.”

The priest turned to face Valthor. “You are a long way from home then.”

“That is true, but it is in search of you that I have come.”

“Why, are priests in short supply in Hallad that you would travel this far to find one?”

“Ah, but it is not the priest Rayun that I have come for; it is the Yati Nambi.”

If Nambi or Rayun felt any surprise on hearing this, he hid it remarkably well. Instead he said, “Ah, that is a different matter altogether. And I thought I had concealed my identity remarkably well.”

“Not nearly well enough, Yati Nambi.”

“So it seems. Come then, let us repair to my humble abode. You are, it would appear even to the most undiscerning, quite travel weary. A bath, I believe, might set right that condition.”

“I share your belief.”

“You are welcome to share my lunch as well,” said the priest.

Whether this was said in jest, Valthor knew not, but followed the priest to his house, which, being very similar to other rustic houses in Gand’har, was quite unremarkable and of no significance to our narration; we would hence gladly give its description a miss, unless of course the reader is intent upon learning of the architectural wonders of the village houses of the Kingdom of Gand’har, in which case, the reader is encouraged to peruse through the volume Architecture and Town Planning In Contemporary Gand’har by this same author, a sound book to be found in any of the Royal Libraries of Gand’har.

It was during lunch that the priest broached upon the subject Valthor was waiting impatiently for. Valthor had just finished eating a second helping of rice and the vegetable stew that Gand’har, among other things, was famous for, when Rayun, or Nambi, if you would so prefer, asked, “So why have you come seeking me?”

“My late lamented father Ahiro spoke highly of you.”

“Ah! You are Ahiro’s son. I should have known; that nose did seem all too familiar. A good man, your father, and a better friend.”

“I believe that is what my father said of you too. That you had both been best of friends in your time.”

“And yet, I hardly believe you would have undertaken a journey of many months just to apprise me of your father’s opinion of our friendship. An opinion, as you might have known, I am aware of.”

“You are right. That is not why I came hither. I have come to learn the Arts from you.”

Nambi stared at the young man for a space and then laughed aloud. A rich laugh that seemed to come from deep within him. “The Arts, do you say?”

“Yes, I believe that is what I said, although of a certainty I fail to find anything remotely amusing about it.”

Nambi laughed the louder on hearing this, and then seeing the look of annoyance upon his guest’s face tried to stifle his merriment.

“Did not your father speak to you of the Arts? He was as good an Artist as I have ever known.”

“I am afraid he did not. For reasons entirely unknown to me, he steadfastly, religiously even, refused to speak of them. And yet, I know, he was a past master.”

“That he was, but did it not occur to you that there might have been a valid reason to his silence?”

“I confess some such thought did occur to me, although I could not divine the reasons behind his reticence. Perhaps you would shed some light?”

“I can more than shed some light, young man, I can tell you exactly why your father was reticent about the Arts. Simply because the Arts have died. That is the reason why I have chosen to conceal myself under the guise of Rayun, the priest rather than Nambi, the Yati.”

“I do not understand. You say the Arts are dead? That one can no longer Practice?”

“Why, is that not what I have said but a minute ago?”

“Yes, undoubtedly, and yet, how would you explain this?”

Valthor took out a little crystal pyramid from the rude cloth bag that he had brought with him and placed it upon the table.

“An Eye,” said Nambi, slowly.

“Yes, it’s an Eye.”

“Or rather what used to be an Eye for I have no doubt it doesn’t work anymore.”

“So you say. For my part, however, I maintain I was able to find you using this very Eye.”

“Impossible,” Nambi burst out explosively.

Valthor shrugged and said simply. “And yet, here I am.”

“And yet here you are, I cannot deny that, when I thought my concealment was near perfect. Not even Ahiro your father knew where I had betaken myself, and he was as close as anyone had ever gotten to me.”

“If you would not mind my asking, why did you think it impossible to find you using the Eye? Perhaps you thought you could conceal yourself from the Eye?”

“Ah, no! No one can conceal himself from the Eye. But the Eye doesn’t work any more. None of the thränya have worked in the centuries since – “

“Yes? The centuries since?”

“The centuries since the loss of the Chalice,” said the old priest abruptly.

“So I have heard my father say, and often. Yet, I repeat, here I am and I assure you upon my honour, I did seek you out using the Eye.”

“Are you mocking me, young man?” the priest asked sharply.

“Not in the least. I give you my word, I have no such intention.”

Nambi stared at Valthor for a space and then said, “If you do not mind.”

He reached for the crystal pyramid and even as he touched it, felt it pulse slightly at his touch.

“Why, I believe it is alive!”

“A rather redundant statement, don’t you think, after everything I have said about it?” Valthor asked, rather enjoying the surprise he had occasioned the old man.

Nambi merely waved his hand. He took the pyramid and held it close to his face, peering into it. The warmth from his hand caused the pyramid to become cloudy and in the clouds, he could see the mountains that surrounded the village.

“Gods of Light, it is alive,” Nambi said again in a whisper filled with awe.

“So, now that you are convinced that the Arts are not as dead as you thought them to be, are you willing to teach me?” asked Valthor.

“The first lesson a Yati learns is patience, young Valthor. And having already taught that first lesson, perhaps it is as well that I teach you the rest of it too. But first – “

“Yes?”

“Was it from your father Ahiro that you learnt to use the Eye?”

“Ah, no. My father, as I have had the honour to tell you, did not encourage my dabbling in the Arts. The credit or blame for that must go entirely to me.”

“Why, did you learn it all by yourself?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Then your father had no idea the Eye was alive?”

“I can’t say he did. He never touched any of the few thränya that lay about the house in the time I have known him.”

“Ah, that must account for it. Still, I must say I am intrigued. If the Eye has come alive again, then perhaps the Chalice has returned!” The old man’s voice shook with excitement, as he indulged himself this conjecture.

“That, I must confess, was my surmise as well, and that was primarily why I sought you. If the thränya are alive once more, then perhaps the Arts are not dead. My father spoke highly of you, and after his death, when I learnt how to use the Eye, I used it to find you. But –”

“Yes?”

“Why did my father not wish to speak of the Arts? And why too, have you given up the Practice and undertaken to be a priest instead? Not that it is a profession not worth adopting, yet – “

“As to that, there was no point in the Practice when the Chalice was lost. Our powers came to us from the Chalice, you see and when it was lost, it made no more sense to Practice. Besides, we would have failed miserably even if we had tried. As I did, and as very publicly, did you father.”

“So that is why – “

“Yes, the shame of having failed, of having fallen was why your father never again spoke of the Arts. It was no fault of his. None of us could have Practiced without the Chalice but he was proud, your father, and overtly optimistic. He thought there was power still left and tried and failed.”

“I did not know that.”

“I daresay you didn’t! We were particular in concealing that fact even more than we were in concealing our identities.”

Valthor sat in silence on hearing the words of Nambi, grappling with thoughts that were to a certain extent coloured by shame, arising out of certain assumptions he had made in a bid to explain his father’s reticence, none of which were in any way flattering to that good man. Although by virtue of our position as the chroniclers of this history, we are authorised to peek into Valthor’s mind, yet since it is not good form to intrude upon such private reflections, we shall refrain from doing so and instead engage the reader’s attention by explaining some of the terms that this conversation has thrown up, for we are well aware, the reader has had little chance to know who a Yati is or, for that matter, what the thränya are.

Well then, it was in the year 1005 of the Era of Water that Hothrim discovered the method to harness the infinite cosmic energies permeating Bhuva, thereby becoming the first Yati, which in ancient tongue of Old Arbhuvaith, means Practitioner. Although we have used the word discovered, perhaps we should have said “stumbled upon” for indeed it was quite by accident that the young shepherd boy Hothrim unleashed these energies. Since that particular incident has been made the theme of many a ballad and epic, we will not expend our energies (which sadly are neither cosmic nor infinite), in describing it again. Instead, we will quickly narrate to our readers the five thousand years of Yati history that followed Hothrim’s discovery, in the next few minutes, and before we do so, answer one important question that has been doing the rounds in the many books that have been written on this discovery. Which question being, why was Hothrim allowed, by the Gods of Light, to discover these energies.

It was after much deliberation, we learnt, that the Gods decided to allow Hothrim unlock the secrets that had been hidden from Man since the beginning of creation. The rise of the Dzinns of the Outer Lands is cited as the single most decisive factor that prompted the Gods to make this move. The Yati were thus created as a force of defence to protect Bhuva from the Dzinns. We have this information from the most reliable and highest authority on the subject, no less a personage than the Most Venerable Mensa Jero himself (he, who is also known as the ‘Messenger of the Gods’), and hence hope that this will set to rest the numerous false theories that have been propagated by the more sensation-loving among our brother historians.

That necessary duty having been satisfactorily disposed of, we will now redeem our promise of bringing you up on the Yati history. Hothrim, in direct obedience to the command of the Gods of Light called to himself a select few that possessed, as he called it, the “talent” and began to teach them the Arts. These chosen few thus became the first Yati, who were sworn successively to secrecy and defending Bhuva against the onslaught of its enemies, seen and unseen.

Hothrim was invariably chosen as the leader of the Yati since it was from him that the other Yati drew those infinite and cosmic energies we spoke of. He was therefore somewhat of a channel or a conduit, if you will, of energy and in every way, the Yati depended on him for their powers. He was thus also called the Chalice, in the sense that he contained the power that they quaffed.

Three hundred years after the founding of the Yati order, Hothrim’s life came to an end, as all things do of a necessity. Saddened though the Yati were by the departure of their beloved ruler, they were not entirely unprepared, for Hothrim had groomed and trained a successor. As to the exact name of this successor, we unfortunately have little information, but this much we know that along with the mantle of leadership, he also took on the name Hothrim, both to ensure a sense of continuity among the Yati and also as a mark of respect for his predecessor. Every leader of the Yati community from then on, took the same name, which has since become more a title than a name and at the time of writing this history, there had been fifteen Hothrims in all.

The Yati led their simple lives concealed from the rest of society, meeting covertly as a secret society would, maintaining the cover successfully till the year 3906, which year is famous in all recoded history as the year of the First Invasion of the Dzinns of the Outer Lands. It was for this contingency that the Yati order had been formed, and under the guidance of the Ninth Hothrim Atri, the Yati came out of their cloister. Although there were no more than nine Yati in all of Bhuva at the time of the Invasion, they were still able to repel the advances of the Enemy and secure the land, with the help of the armies of the kings of Bhuva. The grateful kings honoured the Yati and granted them many estates and titles, which, history has recorded, the Yati declined and retired once more to their quiet seclusion.

The Second Invasion of the Dzinns took place when Supa was the Hothrim. Much more has been written about this second invasion than the first, but we will still provide a brief summary of the events for those of our readers who may not have read about the Second Invasion. Bhuva, at the time of the twelfth Hothrim was divided into ten principal kingdoms, and innumerable princely states. The Dzinns played, to use an informal expression, a shrewd game by pitting many of these rulers against one another. Bhuva was thus internally divided and weakened at the moment of the Invasion. This gave the Yati a difficult time, for unlike the previous war, they did not have the support of all the kings, and the internal politics of Bhuva made every step fraught with danger, for there was no knowing whom to trust. It was with the help of the Most Venerable Mensa Jero and a few remaining loyal kings that the Yati were able to fight back and ultimately triumph over the Outlanders. It was also during this War that the thränya were created by the Yati. We quote from the Yati Book of Life

“The Hothrim in his infinite wisdom caused to be created artefacts that were imbued with the power of the Yati that they may aid them in their battle with the dark forces of the Dzinns. These artefacts, the wise Hothrim called thränya, which when translated means objects of power.”

Supa is undoubtedly the most famous Hothrim in the entire history of the Yati. Some attribute his glory to the War while others are of the decided opinion that it was the subsequent Unification of Bhuva that immortalized Supa both in history and literature. We do not wish to involve ourselves in this controversy, as we subscribe to the belief that it was both of these that ultimately made Supa the subject matter of many historical and literary pursuits, and would instead focus on the Unification of Bhuva. Angered by the alliances that had been formed between some of the princes of Bhuva with the Dzinns, Supa summarily dismissed the numerous kingdoms and consolidated all of Bhuva into the Six Kingdoms that we now know so well – Gand’har and Charoon in the South, Hallad and Yakka in the North, Kinn in the East and Sidhe in the West. The remarkable feats of the Yati during the War and their subsequent victory ensured that there was little opposition to this drastic move.

The Yati, brought out forcibly once more from their seclusion attempted to return to it, but were not successful. Supa’s move had brought on them the additional responsibility of maintaining the new political structure of Bhuva, and in aiding the legitimate kings put down uprisings from some of the more rebellious of the erstwhile royal houses, which state continued until two hundred years ago, when the last Hothrim Alalah passed away without appointing a successor, for, in his own words recorded in the Yati Book of Life, “…the successor is yet to come…”

This then was the reason that the once famous Yati order became disbanded following the death of their fifteenth Hothrim Alalah. The surviving Yati did their best to conceal their loss of power (although as the reader would no doubt remember, some like Ahiro, the father of Valthor, had hoped all was not truly lost, and had tried to recover the former glory only to fail and bring shame upon themselves) and slipped away into concealment, each taking on a different name and profession, and changing that name and profession every hundred years so, lest people begin to grow unduly suspicious of their abnormal longevity.

Having thus given the long history of the Yati in as brief a discourse as possible, which discourse, we sincerely hope has not occasioned any boredom to our readers, we will now return to Valthor, whom we had left sitting in the humble cottage of Nambi, thinking sad and apologetic thoughts of his dear departed father.

“You have done well, young Valthor, in seeking me out,” said Nambi, bringing Valthor out of his reverie. “And if you were able to learn the use of the Eye with no guidance, you would make a worthy student, I am sure.”

Valthor bowed. “I thank you for your confidence.”

“And I thank you for the initiative you have taken. If indeed the Chalice has returned, which we must find out at the earliest, it brings great joy to my heart, and I am sure, to my brethren, who even now would be planning a visit to Panch, unless they have become unduly indolent in their dotage.”

“Ah, but are the other Yati planning a trip to Panch?”

“That is so. You see, quite unaware of your impending visit, we had been planning for a reunion. It has been many years since we’ve met, and though we each came to know in our own way of the demise of your father, and saddened though we were at the loss of our dear friend, we could not, owing to certain promises given, make it to the funeral.”

“That, sir, is an amazing coincidence!”

“Yes, or perhaps it is the way of the Gods of Light. For many years we remained even unaware of the location of each other, and it was not until a little before Ahiro’s death that the rest of us came in contact with one another. Your father – he steadfastly refused to divulge himself to us - we only heard of his sad demise. But perhaps, things shall change now. Once again, the Yati Host shall convene and perhaps, we shall have a reliving of the great days we have seen.”

Exactly seventeen days later, the Yati Host was indeed convened. If the reader feels outraged at our skipping the interim period, we assure the reader that nothing of interest happened in Panch during this time. Unless the reader has an extraordinary interest in the birthing of cattle and pigs, which were chiefly among the things that kept the good people of Panch busy during the next seventeen days, there is very little to report from a historian’s perspective.

The author of a book on social history may perhaps use this break to dwell on the lives of the rural folk of Gand’har. An author of one those abominable romances, that we find burgeoning these days, would perhaps focus on the love stories that unfold from time to time in a village such as Panch, or even invent them should there by no such affairs currently underway. However, as historians, we shall overcome such temptations to prevaricate or dwell on topics insignificant to our current chronicle, and instead strictly confine ourselves to narrating such facts and conversations as are relevant to our history. A trend, we wish to add, we intend to follow throughout this account, sincerely hoping all the while, that this sound philosophy would have the full blessings of our astute readers.

This declaration of intent having been successfully made, we then return to the Host of Yati that gathered under the roof of the Priest Rayun, also known as the Yati Nambi. The first to arrive was Yati Gargi, a woman of, we would like to say, extreme energy and enthusiasm. She was a tall and well-built Yakka, a kingdom where, as everyone knows, women are the dominant species. Her hair was cut short and she dressed more like a man than as befits one of her sex, but that oddity, we shall again ascribe to her kingdom where the men are more or less ornamental and women do all the work, from administration to agriculture. This is not to say that while being boisterous, she wasn’t beautiful. While definitely not the delicate beauty one has come to expect out of the fairer sex, hers was a more subtle beauty, cleverly disguised.

“Well, well, well Nambi, old friend! How has life treated you? Tolerably, I presume. And who is this young lad with the serious face and the long nose? A disciple? A helping hand? A son adopted in your old age?”

“Welcome, Gargi. This young lad is Ahiro’s son –“

“Ah, the nose alone should have told me! I am getting old, friend Nambi, that is what it is, missing even the most obvious. Well, young man, sorry about your father. I couldn’t come for the funeral. Anyway, Ahiro wouldn’t have preferred it. Odd the way he totally shut us all out. Even you, Nambi, and you were his closest friend.”

“True, Gargi, although I daresay we shall not discuss that in front of our young friend lest we hurt his feelings – “

“Pah! Don’t go all tender and soft-hearted, Nambi. Hurt feelings never harmed anyone. Make them tougher, if you ask me.”

If Nambi made any retort to that, we have no way of knowing, for the next two people to come to the Host seized all attention.

The first was a woman, thin to the point of being skeletal and exquisitely well-dressed. Her face had a rare and striking beauty that made painfully obvious, the lack of the same in Gargi. She held a perfumed handkerchief in her hand, holding it between two bejewelled fingers daintily, and indeed if we were to make an attempt to describe the jewellery she wore on her person, we might find it easier instead to refer the reader to the latest catalogues from any of the leading jewellers of D’har, the capital city of Gan’dhar. Her manner and comportment left no one with any doubts that she was from among the elite that graced the royal court of His Majesty Vanji, Emperor of Gand’har.

Her companion was a portly man, with a large rubicund face, adorned with florid whiskers. The astute reader would have without doubt surmised and given us credit for the rare sensitivity with which we have alluded to the gentleman’s frame, by using such a discreet word as portly, while lesser authors might have easily accused him of being obese, overweight, corpulent or even fat! He was dressed in a full length white robe that was stretched rather tightly across his somewhat generous abdomen, and as he walked into the cottage, one cannot help but comment on the great difficulty he encountered in trying to walk through the narrow doorway.

The lady was making rather unflattering observations about the trouble one encounters while travelling on country roads, especially when such a one is more used to the exceptionally well-laid roads of the capital when she spied Gargi and Nambi and broke off to say, “Gargi my dear, I see the centuries have done little to improve your coiffure or your taste in dressing.”

“Ah, Aliyah how observant of you!” countered Gargi. “I see you still haven’t gotten over your irrational fear of eating. And I am astonished you can carry all those ornaments you are wearing, dear, absolutely stunned. I wonder how much they must weigh!”

Marchioness Aliyah, to use her full title, bristled slightly but quickly recovered, moving on to Nambi. “And how are you my dear friend?”

Nambi bowed. “Exceedingly wonderful, now that I have seen you, my lady.”

“And isn’t anyone going to welcome poor old Bhariv?” boomed the portly gentleman, having finally succeeded in getting his body through the doorway.

“Oh Bhariv, but how could we ever forget you,” Gargi exclaimed, walking towards him and taking his hand in hers. “Alas my friend, you have gotten fatter since I saw you last, and you promised to control your diet.”

“Dear Gargi, many a promise have I made in my long life, and well, I will be dashed if I am to keep them all! But come, tell me, how is everything with you? And you too, my friend Nambi.”

While these pleasantries were being exchanged as is customary amongst friends who reunite after nearly a century, Valthor slipped out of the cottage to be alone for a while. Unlike the last time, we shall, on this occasion, endeavour to learn of the young man’s thoughts, for we believe this will prove fruitful in our attempt to understand his character.

This then was the burden of Valthor’s thoughts that it was indeed a wonderful thing in this world to have friends. Having grown up with his father, moving from village to village, leading a life of quiet seclusion, Valthor had not had the opportunity to form any enduring friendships and upon perceiving the joy with which these friends had reunited, he could not help but feel a pang of regret at having lost a valuable asset in life.

A particularly loud peal of laughter from within the cottage however drew him in and as he entered, he saw the Marchioness and Bhariv look at him in surprise.

“Who is this? Another member of the Host?” Bhariv asked.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” said the Marchioness, pinching the bridge of her nose as though trying to recollect, “is he related to Ahiro? I don’t believe anyone in the world can have a nose like that and not be related to Ahiro,” said Aliyah.

“Years at the court are finally paying off well, Aliyah,” Gargi said, and added, “That is Ahiro’s son.”

“Ah, Ahiro’s son. Well, no wonder,” said Aliyah. “The nose does give him away, doesn’t it?”

“It is always a pleasure to meet the children of old friends. Although, amongst the five of us, only Ahiro married and sired a son. What is your name, boy?” asked Bhariv. “Or do we have to live the rest of our lives calling you Ahiro’s son?”

“His name his Valthor,” Nambi supplied. “And he has brought some amazing news – “

“Surely not more amazing than what I have from the Court!” exclaimed Aliyah.

“Pah! If you are going to begin a tale of the adventures of some dandy in your court, Aliyah, I am going to take a walk,” announced Gargi.

“No, no, this is real intrigue. Roomurr Myll has it that-”

“Who is Roomurr Myll?” interurrpted Gargi.

“He’s the most well-informed person in D’har, and I daresay, all of Gand’har, besides being the owner of some of the finest vineyards this side of the continent.”

“Ah, grapevine?”

“Yes, and now please do not interrupt me,” said Aliyah. “As I was saying, Roomurr has it that there is a serious plot going on to depose Vanji and I daresay they might succeed before the next full moon.”

And having delivered that piece of information, she sat back, awaiting the flurry of exclamations she had reasonably expected.

“Oh but there are always plots in any court – “ Gargi began, indifferently.

“Why didn’t you do something about it then –“ Nambi began, hotly.

“Haven’t heard anything flattering about Vanji. Something like this – “ Bhariv began, philosophically.

We would like to point out to the reader that all this was said simultaneously and not one after another as has been depicted, for obvious reasons, in the text. Although with three people speaking all at once, little sense could be made of what anyone said, the Marchioness satisfied with the reaction her news had evinced, continued.

“The generalissimo of the royal army Ehercito is behind it, which means, with the entire army against him, Vanji doesn’t stand a chance. Now, Nambi, do you profess to have information that is more sensational than this?”

“As to that, you would be the better judge, I suppose, but the information that Valthor has brought stunned me, to say the least. Valthor, may I have the Eye?”

Valthor obediently gave the crystal pyramid to Nambi, who held it in his hands, and said, “Valthor found me out using the Eye.”

“That’s impossible – “ Gargi began, protestingly.

“Is this a joke – “ Bhariv began, angrily.

“There is no way – “Aliyah began, decidedly.

As we have pointed out earlier, all this was said simultaneously as well, and much confusion reigned as each plied Nambi and Valthor with question after question and insisted upon handling the Eye, till finally, everyone drew back to his or her seat, convinced that the Eye had indeed come alive, thereby making real the possibility that the Chalice could indeed have returned.

To get over the astonishment of both the probable deposition of the King of Gand’har and the possible return of the Hothrim did not take the Yati very long. It took them even less time to come to a consensus that the next logical step was to find the Hothrim. The Marchioness announced with conviction that with the upheavals likely to take place in D’har, her absence from the Court would go largely unnoticed, thereby allowing her to embark on the quest for the Hothrim. Gargi stated flatly that even with no upheavals, the Court would not miss the Marchioness, and before the lady could figure out if Gargi had merely jested, went on to pledge her availability for the quest. The portly Bhariv, stroking his luxuriant whiskers, declared that he’d go without food for a day than be left out, which remark rather stunned his friends and convinced them of his sincerity, for as they all well knew, such statements did not come easily from Bhariv.

“It is settled then,” said Gargi. “We shall leave at the earliest.”

“Perhaps you’ve all thought of this already,” said Valthor, “but how exactly do you propose to go about the task of finding the Hothrim?”

There was a brief silence following this question, as the Yati considered it.

“The young one does have a point, doesn’t he?” said Bhariv.

“That he does, but admitting that fact does little to answer the question he has raised,” said Gargi.

“Well, it may not be that difficult,” said Aliyah, “for I believe I have an idea.”

“Do you now? That is certainly one more than I do,” said Gargi.

“Oh, but doesn’t surprise me at all, dear Gargi,” said Aliyah. “Coming up with ideas has never been your particular strength.”

Gargi shrugged. “Oh, but I never pretended to be the brains of the outfit! But come, let me not deny everyone the pleasure of learning this famous idea of yours.”

“This then is my idea: let us use the Eye to learn of the whereabouts of the Hothrim, if indeed the new Hothrim has emerged.”

“Do you know, I was about to suggest the same thing myself,” Nambi said with a slow smile.

“Well, I am glad the idea finds your approval. How about the others?”

“It is an excellent idea, Aliyah. Using the Eye is, of course, the easiest and most readily available way to trace the whereabouts of the Hothrim,” said Bhariv.

“But of course it is,” chimed Gargi. “It is perhaps years of not using any of the thrànya that has made us overlook the most obvious.”

“I agree to that too,” Bhariv said. “Before Alalah’s departure, it would have been the only solution to the problem we face, while now, we have almost forgotten it.”

“Very well then, if all are in agreement, I propose we fetch the Eye and perform a Seeking,” said the Marchioness.

The idea was no sooner proposed than adopted and put into action, and the four Yati and one novice stood around the crystal pyramid aptly called the Eye, for its expert user could see what he wished using the Eye, even such things that would be hidden to the human organ of the same name. Since it was Aliyah’s idea, she held the Eye in her hands, bringing her mind to focus on it, feeling at once, as she has once felt, the familiar surge in her mind that announced the channelling of the infinite cosmic energies through her, as it had done in the days before the loss of the Chalice.

Warmed by her hand and the energies she had brought to bear on it, the Eye clouded once again, and in the clouds they could see –

“An old man!” cried Gargi. “And he looks more dead than alive! Is that the Hothrim?”

“Those hills behind him seem all too familiar,” Aliyah said, with a frown upon her face. “Where have I seen them?”

“Gods of Light, it is the Hermit of the High Hills,” said Bhariv.

“Ah, that explains the hills then,” Aliyah said.

“And that explains the old man,” Nambi said. “Yet, I find it difficult to believe that the next Hothrim is the Hermit! Why, the Hermit has been around since probably the time of the first Hothrim, Hothrim himself!”

“That is true. And if indeed he was to be the next Hothrim, why, Alalah would have said so, instead of recording that the successor is yet to come,” Bhariv said.

“This is a pretty puzzle, to be sure,” Gargi declared. “And I dislike puzzles.”

“I am not surprised – ” Aliyah began only to be interrupted by Valthor.

That young man who had been a silent observer now said, “The Hermit may not the Hothrim, but perhaps he might possess information about the Hothrim. I believe if we were to journey to High Hills, and seek the Hermit, we may learn more concerning our Hothrim than we would by wondering why the Eye chose to show us the Hermit, when Aunt Aliyah, without doubt, asked to be shown the Hothrim.”

Gargi, who happened to be sitting next to him, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully, thumped him soundly on the back, causing him to wince, for she had a strong hand. “This one has the wisdom that made Ahiro famous, I say! I agree with the young one. Let us journey to High Hills then, and ask the Hermit about the Hothrim.”

“An admirable plan indeed,” said Aliyah, “and it is better than idle speculation.”

“I agree,” said Bhariv. “Still, I wonder why the Eye chose not to reveal the Hothrim, and show the Hermit instead.”

“Why don’t we carry that little puzzle with us, Bhariv?” said Nambi. “It will keep us from getting bored along the way.”

And thus it was that the four Yati and one novice left the little village of Panch upon a quest to find their new Hothrim exactly twenty days from the day when Valthor arrived at Panch in search of Nambi the Yati.

[pavalamani pragasam]

Yes, it gives a nice feeling to board the time machine. But I cant help conveying my misgiving about not many having the leisure I have for such ambling tales or the taste for such old fare unlike the fast food of our times.

[Badri]

Hello Mrs PP!! How is your vacation going? Been quite a while!! Nice of you to drop by and read the rest of my chapter. Do you really think it is ambling?

Am working on Chapter the Second...that one is gripping, though!!

[pavalamani pragasam]

As I had already said it is a pleasure to read your language- so easy, pleasing & pleasantly sarcastic. But such lenghthy narrations will find a limited viewership; quality of the vewership or quantity is the writer's conscious choice. Hope you your deliberate choice is satisfying to you.

[NM]

Thambi,
Very nice indeed! Simple English...! Am really amazed on how you came up with such strange names....

[a.ratchasi]

Badri, I hope you have not taken the tamil movie adage " Late a vanthallum latest a varuven" too seriously!!

[Badri]

Badri, I hope you have not taken the tamil movie adage " Late a vanthallum latest a varuven" too seriously!!

Enna AR? enna solla vareenga?