Chapter Two
His Father's Orders

The streets of Rajat were littered with fools and beggars. Anirudh, who come from a well-off caste, noticed that there were untouchables floating around, like ghosts. He shuddered, picking his way around the garbage that were around the corners of every path. With him shuffled three men, fully clothed and carrying curved iron swords that they would use to protect their prince. Passing women in saris with golden necklaces and jewelry around their wrists and feet, stared at him in surprise. He could well imagine their thoughts. A man of the high nobility himself! A prince! He could not help that he was dressed in elegant clothes, no more than he could do anything about the caste system. Passing men who were sweating as they loaded and unloaded boxes to be later unpacked in the markets, glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes. Most knew him by the speeches he gave. Many, he saw, were enemies who wished they had a dagger with them. But with his escort of three guards, they could not do anything about it.

His father's palace glittered into view. It was all white, cleverfully built, and domed with all the sleek marble Rajat could afford. He climbed the steps after giving orders to the guards to wait for him outside, and assaulted by the scents of chicken and roasted lamb that servants were carrying around in dishes. There was the clang! of dishes being shuffled and reshuffled, picked out and served to guests. The aroma of royal luxury came fresh, smelling of elegant carpet and cleaned marble pillars and wide open space. Anirudh whistled to a servant passing by to lead him to his father's chambers. The young girl, with an unremarkable face and twitching body, ushered him into the room where he could hear groans and whispers coming from inside. He entered, finding his father sprawled on a bed, his forehead covered with sweat, his eyes bloodshot. His eyes instantly turned to his son, and a wave of relief passed over him. "Anirudh," he said, his voice cracked as he licked his lips.

"Father," responded the prince. "How are you doing?"

"You know. Don't ask me. It's time for me to go."

Anirudh's face crumpled into shock. "No, you still have time. Shekhar told me so."

Lines appeared over his father's face as he struggled to lift himself to look his son in the eye. "Listen to me, Ani. You of all my sons know what will happen when I die. That is why I have always secretly liked you most of all your brothers. I will tell you now, and will not repeat myself. Rajat will erupt into rebellion the moment news of my death reaches them. They will be further encouraged by the fact that I won't name a successor. My sons will bicker among themself, but you won't join in, will you? I have a task for you. Travel to Jastrapud, the neighboring village, and call for supporters. We must save our city. Travel further to Heimanth, and Kalpuna, and call for help there also. It is the only way."

"Father, no," gasped Anirudh. It was all too much for him to take in. His father so readily agreed to his death. His brothers killing themselves over a fight to see which of them would take the throne. Much of what his father had said had been true; Anirudh would not join in the bickering, not if he could help it.

"Just tell me you agree," whispered his father's broken voice.

"I do," sobbed Anirudh. "I will carry out what you ask of me."

"That is good." The now-peaceful face of his father broke into a smile, and his eyes closed as his body lay still. His father was gone from this world forever, he knew.

Anirudh silently climbed down the palace steps, never looking back. His promise bit at him.