Free AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2) by Anand Neelakantan

to the motherland, thirty-five of them, and Captain Mahaveera, volunteered to accompany Aswathama on his dangerous mission.
    Aswathama felt a pang of guilt. Why was he doing this? Why was he taking these men to their certain deaths? For what? Ego?
    As though reading his mind, Suyodhana said, “Aswathama, I have done what I can. Some, or perhaps all of them, will die, but they are going with you because they love their country more than their lives. I am sure you will be a worthy leader.”
    “Suyodhana, among all your friends, I am the only one who has not earned your friendship. Allow me to do so.”
    “You talk nonsense, my friend,” Suyodhana said, embracing Aswathama one last time. “Aswathama, I should not ask this of you, yet I must. If you see my Uncle Shakuni, spare his life. I want to look into his face and ask him some questions before I decide what to do with him.”
    ‘What the...’ Aswathama pulled away from Suyodhana, shocked at the request. It would take all his self-control not to kill that Mlecha if he chanced upon him.
    The Crown Prince had already started walking towards the palace. Aswathama did not have the heart to tell him what he thought of Shakuni. Instead, he turned to the Captain. “We will assemble here in an hour. Let the men say their farewells to their families.”
    “Sir.”
    Aswathama hurried home, ignoring the comments of some of the soldiers that their families lived in distant villages. He hated to hear about their poor relations, who waited for the small amounts the soldiers sent back once a year. He could not bear to hear the stories of the young wives, old mothers, little girls and boys, who would be waiting for them to come home. He did not want to hear about their peasant fathers who hid their fears by boasting about their sons. If he listened, he was afraid he would never be able to take them to Gandhara with him.
    When he reached home it was already dawn. He went to the well, drew water, and poured it over his head, enjoying the slithering cold as the water rushed down his body. A breeze caressed him with its ticklish fingers and he shivered with joy. It was going to be very cold in Gandhara, so cold that it snowed. Snow! How would it look and feel? He had never seen such a cold country. How did people survive there? He smiled to himself, trying not to think of the fate of the soldiers waiting for him. No, it would be a grand adventure. “Shakuni, I am coming for you, Mlecha!” he said aloud as he ran towards his room to dress.
    His mother was drawing rangoli patterns in the courtyard, her fingertips white with rice powder. He could hear the tinkle of a bell from the prayer room – his father would be at his puja. Aswathama stopped near his mother, the water dripping from his body making patterns on the cow dung floor. His mother looked up. Her lips were set together and he could sense her anger. He knew she was angered by what had happened in the Sabha. He felt ashamed and shifted his feet, bracing to face her words. But she said nothing, merely looked at him and pushed away the strand of hair that had fallen onto her forehead with the back of her hand. He wanted to reach out and dust the white rice powder from her hair – or was it age that had made her hair grey?
    “Ma, I am going to Gandhara.”
    The bowl of rice powder fell from his mother’s hand, covering the beautiful patterns on the floor. The rangoli blurred as Aswathama felt tears sting his eyes and his chest tighten with a pain that had no name. He fell at his mother’s feet, not wanting to face her. “Ma, give me your blessing before I go.”
    He could feel her hands on his hair. Her shaking fingers ran over his face and a few tears fell on his shoulder. But he did not answer her frantic questions, afraid of his answers. He ran to his room and gathered his weapons. Swords, bows, quiver of arrows, dagger – he bundled them with some clothes. Then he donned his armour and walked out.
    His father was still