A scream tore up a peaceful night like a piece of paper. Ashwin woke up, yet for a moment continued to lie on the bed. The boy strained his ears, trying to catch any alarming sounds and hoping that the scream was just a part of the dream.
Something crashed downstairs. The flashing lights danced on the walls of the dark bedroom. Reluctantly, Ashwin moved aside the blanket and stepped onto the floor. Dozens of men were running in the garden, lighting their way with torches. This couldn’t be anything good, but the boy assured himself that it was probably his father returning home early or something like that.
When he looked into the hallway, there were no servants and no guards. This confused him even more. Ashwin returned to the bedroom and put a cloak over his nightdress. Then he stepped outside the room again. He didn’t see anyone until he reached the main staircase and that made him nervous. The spacious house suddenly seemed hostile, filled with anxious sounds and without any people.
The boy stepped out of the hallway and finally saw people. Though he instantly regretted wishing for that earlier. Near the door, the servants were tied up, kneeling, guarded by armed men. At the foot of the stairs, two soldiers were holding his mother. She was struggling and screaming at them, but the men’s faces showed nothing except contempt. Frozen for a moment by the scene of such outrage, Ashwin regained his senses. He instantly recognized the lotus emblem on the soldiers’ uniform - Rajah’s royal guards. The boy raised his voice at the soldiers, demanding that they unhand his mother and stop treating the vizier’s home like some kind of outlaw’s den.
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He had been taught well. Ashwin knew how he should behave and take charge as the heir of the Cheda family. So, he firmly believed that dealing with this situation in this way was the right thing to do. But his mother screamed:
“Run! Ashwin, hurry and run!”
The boy looked with confusion at her grimaced face, which was filled with fear. One of the soldiers ran up the stairs in a matter of seconds and grabbed Ashwin’s hand. The man pushed the boy and forced him to kneel. Only now did Ashwin realize that his words, carefully chosen by everyone in this house, held no power over these men. The slight pain from rough handling faded in comparison with his fear.
A man with a bushy beard and a dark purple cloak walked into the house. Other soldiers bowed to him, and one reported the situation. The man glanced at the twelve-year-old boy, then stared at his mother and announced:
“Vizier Dalim was plotting treason against his Royal Majesty. His vicious plot was uncovered before he could execute it. By the will of the rajah Virat the Sixth, the Cheda house will be eliminated, its property confiscated, and servants sentenced to lifelong forced labor...”
His last words were drowned in pleadings, excuses, and curses. The entrance hall, once filled with chatter, songs, and laughter, was now left with nothing but wailing.