A Danav By Derailment Of Destiny (5)

"You must hate him, your pita," Chetas said, finally making Rava look up towards him.

He chose his words carefully in this mind, perhaps his half brain taking time to understand things. "No, I do not hate him," He said, still gently. "I do feel anger towards him. For the work he has done. For the words he said. But I'm his putra. This is my duty."

Fruits of their parent's good work are enjoyed by the child, and so shall their sins be like a curse upon them. In this instance, the meaning of those words were quite literal. As a son, Rava had to bear the sins of his father. Answer for the crimes his father had committed. Pay for the hurt his father had caused.

But should he? Why must a child who had nothing to do with it be answerable for crimes and sins its parent had committed?

Chetas stayed quiet though. Nothing he could say would help ease the pain of this child. A curse given by a rishi could not be lifted away by anyone, not even the rishi himself. As such, there was nothing Chetas could do. Absolutely nothing.

One would think that being an Amalung would give him extreme euphoria and confidence, powers to overcome any challenges and repel the dark forces lurking in the shadows and light, alike. And while that was true to some extent, it also came with a severe sense of helplessness. The feeling that even with such great powers, there were still times when that strength became useless, sometimes even a liability.

Resting his head on the tree, Chetas looked up. Warm wind shaking up the branches, chirpings of birds flying and enjoying the freedom that the sky gave them. What should I do now? Chetas questioned himself.

His job was to hunt down the Danav and the man in front of him wasn't one. Should he give back the money? No. It wasn't like Chetas hadn't worked at all. All the investigation and time spent doing this work, it required some remuneration. Looking back at Rava who now fiddled with the grass, Chetas knew what he had to do.

"You should leave," Chetas said, and before Rava could oppose, he continued, "You don't have to stay here. I was paid to kill a Danav and while my client might think you are one, I do not." Chetas stood up, brushing his bottom to clean up any dirt on his pants, "While you might not hate your pita, he certainly does bear that feeling for you. If not him, someone else will hunt you down."

"Maybe they should. Maybe I am a Danav," Rava said, not standing up.

"As an expert on that subject, let me tell, you are not a Danav." Getting no response, Chetas tried another route, "Do you wish to die? If so, I can fulfil that wish. After all, that is what I have been paid for," Chetas said, pointing at the pouch hanging on his waist, "Quiet heavily too."

Rava's head shot up, looking at Chetas. Churning the question inside his mind and thinking over it for a couple of minutes, Rava finally shook his head. His eyes now stripped of fear, yet still holding on to uncertainty.

"Good, then stand up," Chetas offered a hand but Rava refused. He leaned forward by pushing himself with his arm and with a grunt stood on his leg by himself.

This was a man who became Danav by the derailment of his destiny.

If a single event had gone different, the crippled man in front of Chetas would've lived an entirely different life. Perhaps if the father hadn't taken that job, if the man hadn't taken the money from the nobleman, if the nobleman hadn't been greedy, if the Rishi had kept his cool and not placed a curse on him. If I wasn't the one who was called here for the job.

Just one different turn of destiny, and Rava could've been a healthy boy, one who was able to play like a normal boy, work like a normal human. A man who wouldn't have had to hide his face. A man whose heart might still be filled with warmth.

Or perhaps a heart as cruel as his pita, Chetas wondered. Would Rava still be a Danav then? Not by appearance, perhaps but one of heart and soul?

Chetas untied the pouch from his waist and threw it towards Rava, who caught it effortlessly. His face showed confusion.

"Take that money and head west. A week from here, with your pace, you'll find yourself in the Satara village. Look for a man named Kushal. He'll take you in if you give him half of that," Chetas said, pointing at the pouch held within Rava's hand. With his naivety, chances are Kushal would take more than half. But any help is better than this … "He'll find you some work, give you a place to live and food to eat."

"But—"

"No buts. If you wish to live a long life. That's the only way."

Rava looked back at the hut, contemplating over the option. Finally reaching a decision, he nodded his head and bowed with his palm in front of his face and kept saying the words of gratitude.

Rava stood straight and hobbled towards his hut, opened the pouch and took a few coins out of it, placing them in front of the door. Taking his satchel, Rava nodded at Chetas again and headed westward as per his instructions.

Chetas sighed at the fading sight of Rava, hopping towards his new life, leaving Chetas still addled with the thought of who the Danav really was?

Was it the pitaji who hurt and beat people up in the name of work and money, who wished for his son's death? Or was it the nobleman who placed greed over a person's life? Was it Chetas' client who couldn't look past the appearance and deemed a kind soul as nothing but a monster? Or perhaps it was the Rishi who decided to curse the child for the sins of his pitaji?

Would a world without any Danav still be riddled with them?

A gurgling noise rumbled from Chetas' stomach. Scratching his head, he regretted not taking a few coins from the pouch for himself. Then again…

Chetas walked back to the hut, the sound of loud snoring rang from the dark corner of the home that smelled of shit, more so than before. He looked at the shiny coins Rava left on the doorstep. Four silver coins. Not enough to live by but enough for two night's meals.

His gaze fell upon the bag of fruits Rava had brought and found few apples within it. Guess there are always some exceptions.

Chetas took an apple from the bag and pocketed two of those coins in the doorway. He looked one last time at the darkness within the house, hoping the father didn't see him, and headed towards the village. Taking a bite from the sickeningly sweet fruit, Chetas whistled a tune stuck in his head. Hoping the next job of his gave him something more than just a fruit and two silver coins.

He still hated apples.