QUESTIONS plagued Tūmbṃār, and he felt bad for what he thought and said at the ring. He was alone in the room, covered in casts and could barely move. The pain in his chest resurfaced and he felt at times that it would burst.
He had slept for three days, which given the injuries he sustained, seemed a little short. He was brought quickly to the Servants who mended all afflictions, save the one that struck his heart. And they telling the others of this, made them distraught beyond comprehension. In all their times of travel, Tūmbṃār had not once related this to them, least of all to the sage Vādruhaḥ.
Perhaps he knew and he did not speak of it, but it did not seem all that likely. They could not say much on the matter and while saddened, they held strong to seeing the boy recover. He was thereon brought to Bahṛigfar’s chambers: a room filled with many plants and vegetation, with a high ceiling and open walls, wafting with air that was fresh to the breath. During his slumber, his friends took turns watching him, but out of all of them Iḷēhaḥ sat by his side at all times and would at moments even cry, thinking that now he should at last leave her, to never return from where he went. But her tears would do little to bring him back.
He would wake only when he saw fit (or as his body saw fit).
Yet upon his waking and him seeing his body covered in casts like that day in Vālukyāvaḷūr, he was immediately assaulted by Iḷēhaḥ who embraced him tight and shouted many times: “Fool!”
She of course would not let go, and he bore the pain for a long while. It was not soon after that the others, including Bahṛigfar, were informed of this and they came running to the room in high spirits.
On reaching the room, they all in a pile embraced him, and he cried: “Get off me, Bahṛigfar! Or I really will die this time!”
They were glad he was his normal self, but they could also sense a distance between them. They could see on his face, that he seemed to be mulling over something. Yet when they asked him, he would give no reply on it, pushing it aside as if it did not mean anything. They let him be for that day, but also told him that on his recovery, they would have to leave.
They were after all banished.
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The days passed by quickly, and Tūmbṃār slowly recovered. He spent much of that time in bed either thinking to himself or talking with the others. He felt a little bad of having requisitioned the prince’s chambers for himself, but Bahṛigfar did not care for that and only wished for his friend to become better.
When Tūmbṃār could once more walk, he would pace about the room and look at the city from the balcony. But often his chest would hurt, and the pain that assailed his heart many a time before once more came. Though he did all he could to resist clutching his chest. The light of the sun and the shafts cutting through the canopy would fall on him and warm his otherwise pain-wracked body. The birds would also come his way, and sometimes land upon him as if to give consolation. But he would always speak to them in a gentle voice saying that nothing was wrong. The birds knew better than to trust those words but all the same would fly off.
Then one day King Tı̄ṛvana came by and immediately prostrated to him. “Forgive me, child. I knew not that Lūshhaḥ was with you as he was. I should hope I have neither incurred his nor your displeasure.” He afterward rose and with a stern face, and said, “Yet whatever the case shall be, I shall have to stay true to my word. You and your friends shall no more be able to return here, and there is no more that can be said or done on that point. When you have recovered in full, then will all of you leave, and never shall you set foot here again. If ever you do return, or rather attempt, then I along with my forces shall meet you in battle. Unless fate intervenes, then one of us shall perish: this I am certain. Keep mindful of these words, Tūmbṃār.”
Tūmbṃār while saddened over this, did not argue against that decree and, holding himself resolute with a face of conviction, said, “I understand.”
The King bid him well and when he left, Tūmbṃār thought long and hard to himself. He was unsure whether to feel regretful or not from the way he acted in the stadium. But he knew the exhilaration that wracked him in that moment was not something he wished to let go. His fondness for training had not grown, but his excitement for battle did not cease, and while his cast-laden body quivered from pain, he could ever so slightly feel the desire to once more fight coursing through him.
He went to the mirror on the far side of the room and, looking at himself, he noticed he had grown ever so slightly.
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With six days passed and Tūmbṃār now fully recovered, the group assembled at the northern entrance of the realm. That morning was hazy and the world was silent. All in the city had gathered to see the group off on their travels and the King, his wife, and his son stood at the fore looking to them. Their faces were solemn and they almost seemed to pressure the group to say their farewells now and be on their way quick, lest any lingering doubts take a hold of them.
Yet Iḷēhaḥ approached them and prostrated. She put her head to their feet and said, “I give you the greatest of my gratitude, for showing leniency toward us and sparing Tūmbṃār’s life. No amount of words I can give shall be able to repay this debt to you, even for all the trouble we have brought here.”
The queen raised her and with a smile on her face, said, “Thank not us, but the Light that has held strong by the child. He is the one that saved him and halted the actions of Tı̄ṛvana. No amount of pleading or willpower could have otherwise saved you who protected the child. But I tell you now, that you all have brought greater benefit than malice here, for now we know the Light to remain, to be abiding by you as well as by us—even should we not be able to see it. I pray that a time shall come where the Mrigūhvha as a whole shall be able to witness that greatest of beings that has guided and cherished us for so long.”
And stepping back, the King, the queen, and the prince prostrated to all in the group. The priests stepping forward did likewise, as did all the denizens who had gathered there. Then a silence held. A long one, that unnerved all in the group for they did not think they garnered such respect, least of all for something that was not in their control and one that they did not know until as of recent was by them.
Just as Iḷēhaḥ was about to approach and raise them, Bahṛigfar shot from his position and embraced Tūmbṃār tightly.
Tears flowed from his eyes and he bawled. “Forgive me, Tūmbṃār! Forgive me! I did not intend for this to have happened. How I wished to help you—how I should have helped you. And yet fear enveloped me against my own father, and I could do naught as your doom came. I wished it did not come to this, but you kept to your resolve, even should it mean your death. And now you are to leave, and I do not know if I shall ever see you again! No, I surely will not.” He looked Tūmbṃār in the eyes, and said in a low voice, “Promise me you shall not return, Tūmbṃār. Do not return to perish like a madman. I know my father would slay you and any whom come along with you.”
Tūmbṃār, with a melancholy smile on his face, shook his head. “I won’t make a promise that I can’t keep. Maybe one day I’ll come back. But if I do, I assure you and everyone here, that none shall die on account of me. In fact, none will die at all. I know there will come a time, when I can reason with the King, your father, but I can’t do that now. I don’t have the power and I don’t know when I’ll obtain it. But since Lūshhaḥ is with me, as well as my teacher, I’m sure things will work out in the end.” The smile became great and he patted friend’s shoulder, while laughing. “So don’t keep such a sad face. I’m sure it’s not fit for an heir to bawl his eyes out as you are now!”
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Bahṛigfar nodded and wiped away his tears. “Keep good my dearest friend, Tūmbṃār, as all of you: Iḷēhaḥ, Feyūnhaḥ, Nakthaḥm, Sanyhaḥmān, Vrihkhaḥ, Aiṛth, and Dhīṇahi!” And with those parting words he walked beside his parents and once more prostrated.
From behind appeared Zvarañt and his men, and he said, “It is time now that you left these woods. I shall guide all of you. Come now!”
Iḷēhaḥ walked back slowly, but when she reached the others, she took a deep breath and shouted: “That One and All shall manifest in you!”
All the others in the group shouted likewise with the wolf raising a great howl.
All the Mrigūhvha raised their heads, and they could see the smiles upon the members of the group. And all raising themselves responded: “As in you!”
The group turned away and walked across the bridge into the mist-laden woods. Tūmbṃār took glances every so often, but it was not long before those of the city became obscured by the mist. And as they entered the woods their presence wholly vanished as if they disappeared. The golden light also seemed dimmed and beyond the veil of the territory of the Deer and the Bulls, the space became normal. And this greatly saddened Tūmbṃār. He had told Bahṛigfar to not bawl, and yet he himself felt the urge to do so now.
Dhīṇahi came by his side and held onto his hand and pulled him forward with the rest. She mumbled some words, and though her speech was incomprehensible, it eased the boy’s sadness. Even without being able to speak to the others, he was glad at that moment to be by them.
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The ground gradually descended, and it was not long before the golden haze and mist altogether vanished. The trees as well thinned, and the path widened. And all the animals that would have otherwise marched beside them, scurried to their groves or burrows or other places from where they would not be disturbed. Yet they would hear cries and shouts that resonated in tune and seemed as if like a song for their departure. The leaves and branches also rustled with the melody and now it seemed to all of them as if the forest itself were singing for them.
They continued on like this for some time, until even the song vanished, and the forest and its inhabitants became, as it were, still. The stone tiles on the ground without notice had as well disappeared and only then did they notice the firm soil they plodded upon. The sky above was clear and its brilliant blue seemed to mix with the green and gray of the leaves as if the boundary between the two had dissolved. Light shafts from above, brightened their path, and in silence they walked for what seemed like an eternity through the long trail in the woods.
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At last they reached a set of wide stone stairs, enveloped above by the thick canopy that obstructed the light yet arched like gates. Along the sides were the illuminating mushrooms, their light blue hues ever so faintly lighting the stones and the bases of the trees as well as the group themselves. Yet it was strange, for it seemed the darkness of the path was almost artificial. A stark difference rested between where the group stood and the steps themselves. The light from above had not receded under the canopy and instead basked all who stood underneath.
Zvarañt turned behind to face the group and said, “This is as far as I can take you. But let me first say a few words before we part ways.” He in likewise to the Mrigūhvha prostrated to them, and continued, “Though it seems unbecoming of one in my position to accord such respect to you, yet let this be for now, for I can see the Light shining within you all. You Tūmbṃār, I know not where the road shall take you, but so long as you keep your focus directed toward the Light, you shall find the answers you seek. I have an idea of what is ailed your mind as of late, but worry not, for those answers will come so long as you are patient.” And rising he said, “To you Iḷēhaḥ and Nakthaḥm I owe the greatest apology. Though things were mended between us, I was not in the right for having struck you out of blinded rage. Forgive me, O great goddess and great Yavhaḥṃār of the Lower Realms.”
Iḷēhaḥ folded her hands and said, “All is well between us Zvarañt! I look forward to the day we shall once again meet, be it here or in the Heavens.”
And Nakthaḥm bowed. “And the same for me, O Great King of the Bears! You had every right to distrust me, even slay me if you so desired. But nonetheless I give you my gratitude in not only sparing but helping to resuscitate me in my time of need. I do not know if I should be able to repay this debt, but I hope you shall grant us your services when the invasion of my kin comes to pass.”
“Debt!” shouted Zvarañt in surprise. “There is no debt you owe me, Nakthaḥm!” he said laughing. “And glad I would be to assist the Agents of the Dehaḥṃār.”
Zvarañt turned to the others said, “Feyūnhaḥ, be not angered at Iḷēhaḥ or any other who tries to hide their troubles and history. For while there may be merit in knowing what troubles the maiden, forcing such information here and now should bring only spite between you and her. You yourself must surely have your own troubles that you wish not for others to know. Understand these words that many before me have spoken: ‘Do not speak or prod for that which agitates the minds of others.’”
Feyūnhaḥ bowed and said, “I shall heed those words, King Zvarañt. Thank you for what all you have done for us.” She prostrated to his feet and kissed them, and the Bear-King rose her.
Approaching Sanyhaḥmān he said, “O Vachūṇaṃār, you who share the namesake with that great forbear who was one of the dearest friends to Sītṛa, continue to aid your friends in their quest and I promise you that they in turn shall aid you. The Vachūṇaṃār shall not be left to dwindle into the night! That great forbear will surely not allow it, so fear not for your brethren. Though he may at put times but forth unreasonable tests, know he does not do so without purpose.”
And Sanyhaḥmān laughed and bowed to the Bear-King. “You needn’t tell me that! I shall help them regardless. And yes I understand that much about the monkey-king,” he said as he sighed, “but I suspect at the very least, our burdens will come to end soon. I need only wait!”
“Indeed, my fellow Daivhaḥhō!”
He next approached Aiṛth and said, “A more foolhardy priestess, I have never met!” But putting his hands on her shoulders, he continued, “Yet all the same, your devotion stands greater than all others here. To both the Gods and those to whom are dear to you. Though at times you would risk your life, do not hesitate to rely on those around you, for they will not abandon you. As you will not abandon this child.”
“And I shall heed those words, King Zvarañt of the Ṛkṣhaḥn!” she said, as she prostrated and put her head to his feet.
Then bending to Dhīṇahi, he said, “You still have yet to speak, but I have no doubts that your voice shall return when the scars of your life have mended. And dearly do I hope that that shall happen soon, but strange times are upon us. It will, in the end, be in your discretion to decide when it is you shall overcome the afflictions that ail you.” She cocked her head in confusion, but soon after brimmed with delight and patted the Bear-King’s fur, laughing. And he laughed in likeness.
He looked to Vrihkhaḥ, and said, “Great wolf! I know there be a curse that causes you to maintain that form, and though you cannot tell me what or who it is you really are, know that with time, shall even this be cured. But it is strange, for I cannot say what manner of curse this is. There were those in the past that had been cursed to take the forms of animals, yet when they had done so, they acted more like beasts. Yet you seem to retain some semblance of sanity, nay even more so! But I suppose those questions will be answered when you are free of the curse.” The wolf howled and seemed to give a great smile as he bore his teeth.
And at last he approached Tūmbṃār, and said, “Your journey shall go on for much longer, of that I have no doubt. But make sure to never lose sight of the Light. Look to him when you require aid, and he will come. Never shall he abandon those who devote themselves to him, this I am certain. But regardless, I hope that the next time time we meet, you shall have acquired greater power than you already have, and are at last ready to face the detestable ilk of the Hells. I pray for your success, Tūmbṃār, as all of you!”
Tūmbṃār nodded and said, “Thank you, Zvarañt, for all the help you gave me! I’ll make sure to train myself more and find the answers I need.”
The Bear-King smiled and returning to his retinue, he faced all of the members of the group. “Now it is time that we part. I shall now have to make my journey back to the Heavens and all of you will surely have to journey toward the northern end of this continent. Vyāythaḥ’s speed to you all, and I hope we shall meet again when the time presents itself. Farewell, friends! That One and All shall manifest in you!”
And with those words he took his leave and the Ṛkṣhaḥn marched into the woods, thumping the ground with every step. Their forms diminished and it was not long till they entirely vanished around the bend, the sound of their marching no more audible and the forest now eerily silent.
“I hope we see them again,” said Sanyhaḥmān, feeling a bit sad.
“As do I,” said Nakthaḥm. “But now it is time we made our way out of these dreaded woods. I do not wish to linger here any longer, the trees seem to not want my gaze directed their way. Nor I theirs after having been impaled one too many times.”
He looked at his garments that had been patched up since then. He had refused before to take any other clothes, adamant of wearing the same pair—much like Iḷēhaḥ.
He sighed, “I quite liked these clothes.”
“Worry not, Nakthaḥm!” said Aiṛth, clutching the hem of his coat. “When we shall rest again, I shall better mend this!”
He was quite surprised at this and laughed. “Do as you will, Aiṛth.”
“Good, then let us be off, friends!” said Iḷēhaḥ, and the others followed behind her.