Dust in the air, minds occupied.
An angry mob gathered at the village center. Villagers, whether young or old, carried whatever form of weapon they could find, from axes, and halberds to tongs and rakes, and stood under the old banyan tree whose numerous branches spanned a good twenty meters in all directions.
The men gathered to protect their families, the women gathered to protect their children. The kids gathered because everyone else was there. They stood together last time to fight with their neighboring villages for a better distribution of the forest.
The tree was older than the village, and it had seen the village grow from a single home to its current size. It had witnessed their marriages and their separations. It saw children become men, and then grow old and die. It said goodbye to old friends and welcomed young life into the village. The tree had seen more people grow and leave the village than it had seen seasons come and go. It remembered the sadness of the time when a drought fell on the region, and the happiness to see them prosper.
That day, its emotions were complicated. It was happy that the villagers stood united again but sad that it was murder and evil that had brought them together.
It represented the village and its identity. Lately, the village might have gotten popular as Vrindavan, for its newly found prosperity, but those who had lived in the village for generations still called it the Banyan village.
The Sarpanch approached the podium wearing black clothes as if he was in mourning. He gave his condolences to the grieving family that stood by the podium, and then climbed the podium and addressed the people.
“Brothers and sisters, men and woman,” He started loudly, so everyone could hear his voice. “A tragedy befell our village last night. A beast from the forest invaded our lives and destroyed our peace. It killed our men and disappeared back into the woods before we could do anything.” He took a short pause to let the villagers digest the news before starting again. “It is gone for the day, but won’t it come back at night? Won't it stalk our men, our women, our children? Yesterday, the brave men patrolling in the night fought it off at the cost of their lives! However, what happens next? It successfully hunted last night. It will be hungrier next time, confident and courageous.”
The Sarpanch pointed at the men in the crowd. “What would you do if it invaded your house today and my house tomorrow? How will you fight it? How will you save our family from its claws and fangs?”
He breathed and looked around but didn’t find Mannat and his family in the crowd. He curbed the anger that wanted to lash and closed his eyes. He hadn’t left the town to be humiliated! He still had an account to settle with those people in the town, but he would deal with the three first. He would not stop even when they plead for his forgiveness and make sure no one dares to challenge his authority ever again.
He yelled, “We can’t let the beast roam free! It has tasted blood. It won’t be long before it attacks again. We need to catch it before that happens and bring justice to the brave men it killed.”
“WHO STANDS WITH ME?”
“WE DO!” The men shouted at the top of their lungs.
“WHO STANDS WITH ME?”
The women screamed and the kids squealed.
“WHO STANDS WITH ME?” The Sarpanch gave one last push, and the crowd was shouting and whistling, pumping their weapons into the air, stomping and clapping in unison like frogs at the bottom of a well croaking in the rain.
I will win, The Sarpanch mumbled before he left the podium and joined the crowd.
The crowd didn’t disperse but went straight to the woods. They spread in the forest like a battalion of ants and combed every inch of ground they traveled. No one looked for trails or signs. They shredded bushes they passed, uprooted plants, and stomped herbs.
Their thumping hearts and warmblood only took them so far. Slowly, the group broke into smaller search parties of three or five and continued searching the depths of the woods. There was no technique or subtleness to their method. They had numbers.
It was a Sarpanch’s job to solve the village problems. He would get help from the doctors association if a disease spreads in the village, bribe the count’s soldiers to prune the woods, make sure the craftsman was not idle, and create work opportunities for the workers, the laborers, and the jobless.
Unfortunately, those activities burn money, and the Sarpanch of Mannat’s village was not ready to spend a single dime out of his pocket. Yet he had stood as the village Sarpanch without contention because he knew how to work the people. People were money. People were power. The people were on his side, giving him both money and power.
Not everyone stood with him. There were also voices that called him a liar and a deceitful wimp. Some even went as far as saying he killed the people and was trying to shift the blame.
Of course, Sarpanch’s goons silenced such voices and people before they could raise trouble.
Meanwhile, Mannat and his group of three had long left the village in search of Little Butcher. They were looking for his tracks but hadn’t found anything inspiring so far.
Pandit shook his head in dismay and told Mannat, “We can’t go on blindly like the others. We need a plan.”
“From what I have read and was told, they (the monsters) don’t like sunlight,” Mannat said. “I don’t think Little Butcher will appear in the open until sunset. We need to search for places where someone thin, but tall like him could go hide for the day.”
“Let’s start with the cave,” Khargosh said and they started moving away from the crowd.
They were on the clock. They didn’t just have to Little Butcher, but hide him from the villager's eyes until they find a way to save him. The situation would blow up if someone found them hiding or helping him.
They went their way, but hadn’t gone too far when Mannat whispered, “We are being followed.” The three kept their pace, but neither Pandit nor Khargosh could find the target.
“Are you sure?” Khargosh asked. There was no helping it. The wind was blowing away from them and their pursuer was probably far enough that they couldn’t hear anything either. Usually, they would lay a trap, or lead their stalker around to catch him, but time was of the essence. Their hands were tied. They could neither let the man pursue them nor get rid of him.
“It’s a man, and he’s pretty smug about following us unnoticed,” Mannat said, and then saw the weird glances that he was receiving and shook his head. “I’m ‘sensing’ his mana. And yes, I can also sense you both, and know what you are thinking.” His last words distressed his companions. He quickly added, “No, I can’t read your mind. The two are entirely different concepts. What I do is not different from following a trail, while you hunt animals, I hunt emotions.” He explained just in case.
“It’s absolutely the same thing,” Pandit said jovially. He was being sarcastic and Mannat ignored him. The pat or slap he received on the back did hurt though. He would surely pay back Pandit in the future.
“How far is he?” Khargosh asked, knocking an arrow on the bow.
Pandit was taken back. “Are we really doing this?” He whispered as if their stalker would hear him otherwise, but Mannat’s answer completely shattered his delusions.
“He’s close to sixteen meters behind us. He’s sitting on one of the taller birch trees, about twenty feet from the ground.” Mannat looked around then pointed at a tree far ahead. “He should be in the line with that tree.”
“No way,” Pandit exclaimed. “Why are you so amazing today?”
“You are wrong. I have always been this amazing.” Mannat said, earning a punch on the shoulder.
”Smartass,” Pandit comment before his father gestured him to keep quiet.
Khargosh drew a deep breath, suddenly stopped walking, and raised the bow as if he was going to shoot something in the distance.
“Is he still there?” Khargosh asked, and Mannat nodded his head in expectation.
Could he do it? Suddenly, the old man’s emotions went still as the surface of an undisturbed pond.
Khargosh squatted, then kicked with his back leg and pivoted on the other. Mannat and Pandit looked after him just a step slower, but they only heard the sound of an arrow tearing through the air by the time they turned around. They saw Khargosh standing still with the empty bow raised and the freehand grabbing for another arrow from the quiver to shoot if he had missed. There was no need. A painful howl erupted in the distance a second later, and a man fell from the tree to the ground.
“That’s crazy!” Pandit squealed with wide eyes.
As for Mannat, he marveled silently and considered himself lucky for witnessing the performance.
“Now I want to learn archery,”
“You can’t. You are not born with the required skill set.”
“But brother was,”
“Yes…” Khargosh exhaled silently. “But he had your mother’s anger and no patience.”
Mannat saw their stalker make a move. The man got up using the tree for support and stumbled back the way he had come toward the village. There was no need to catch him. They knew the why and who sent the man to follow them.
“How did you shoot his leg from--” Mannat shook his head. “Forget it. Let’s just get on with it. I believe the cave won’t be the only place we’ll be checking, am I right?”
“--you are. There are more such places in parts of the woods neighboring other villages.” Pandit answered for his father.
The conversation fell again as they made haste for the cave.
