Long Live the King

By Ashutosh Vikram Singh

Chapter 1

Chaos reigns supreme. The King is dead. Long live the new king.

It has been more than 25 years and 45 weeks since the last king was elected in one of the most memorable in an era of less than spectacular civil wars. The number of casualties wasn’t too high, rather it was the sheer ferocity which sent shockwaves through the nation, even in the most remote forests inhabited by savages & white-skinned devils.

And thus it was a pleasant surprise when the aftermath of this violent war was a generation of relative calm. Not since the reign of Calinga, the 1453rd king whose reign lasted exactly 14 weeks, 5 days and 3 hours before he was killed by a freak incident involving an ox, a llama and a fully grown gorilla, had the country witnessed such peace among its populace. King Rumi, the 3001st lineal king of these lands, had been a witch doctor and a trinket seller before ascending to the highest office in the country. He was elected unopposed, as was the tradition, but he was an unlikely king, to say the least. Having filed the nomination to win a bet after a night of incessant drinking, he ran off to the remote forests and lived with the savages for the fear of his life once he sobered up. But after an entire year of violence, pillaging and sacrificial blood-letting following his predecessor’s death, all the potential candidates were either dead or too maimed to be considered eligible. When the royal guards finally found him 5 weeks after his election, he is supposed to have reached near insanity. But through his incompetence, cowardice or sheer dumb luck, a man who should’ve been nothing more than a speck of dust in the history of this glorious nation became its longest-ever reigning monarch.

That night, after dressing the King’s body in royal costumes and finishing all the work for his funeral, Sumer stepped out of the resting chambers. He knew he was the primary target of all other contenders - being the adopted son of a former king he was popular among the masses and rich enough to fund his own campaign. His advisors had in fact tried to stop him from visiting, but he had to at least pay respects to a man he called father.

Lost in his thoughts, he never saw the white robe of Lokesh appear before him.

“Hello, brother” the devilish smile always creeped Sumer out.

“What are you doing here?” his response was curt. Lokesh’s sword may come out late, but Sumer knew it will be the sharpest.

“I just wanted to ensure you’re okay. You shouldn’t roam around without your guards. They are all out for you, you know that right?”

“Is that so? What about the 3rd verse of scripture 6 which prohibits violence for a week following monarch’s de…” Lokesh waved him off as a leer came on his wolfish face, “That’s just a gesture everyone follows brother. You never know when things could get violent….”

Before he could avoid it, Sumer’s knife was sunk deep into his brother’s heart. Blood gushed out of the mouth and the limp body fell down with a thud. Sumer wiped the knife on his white dress,

“i always dreaded this day brother, but now that it's done I think it is all for the good. you would have made a terrible king anyway.” He spat on the corpse and walked away, singing a tune for himself.

Chapter 2

It was a small hut, made of straw and mud. The original inhabitants lay slain on the floor, their possessions looted and bodies stripped of valuables. Kanika had decided it was dark enough to rest in this village and her retinue had emptied it of its inhabitants the only way they knew. She had been involved in a fighting retreat for the past few months against Sumer’s men, but as the capital faded into distance new challengers popped up - regional lords looking to reach the capital and strengthen their claims, but she wasn’t worried about them. The temple priests never chose anyone from outside the sacred walls of Rakhigarhi as their king. They would rather choose Aruvak, the mad King who had a 3-day reign before jumping into the holy pyre which led to another war and more than a third of the country dead, than a lord from outside Rakhigarhi. Kanika knew she had to worry about only one man if she wanted the throne.

Jayesh, her personal priest and secret lover dropped onto the bloody bed.

“Jayesh, don't lie among the corpses”

“I am tired of all this war and strategy and stuff, come make love to me” he started taking off his clothes.

“Stop it Jayesh.”

The dead made Kanika uneasy. In truth, she had never really killed anyone in a battle before. The only daughter of the richest minister in Rumi’s court, she never had to go to far-off forests to fight futile wars. Although an excellent archer, she was what the white devils would call a ‘tourney knight’. During every battle fought for her candidature, she had been near the vanguard, too afraid to piss herself in front of all her men. If Jayesh ever found out the truth, Kanika was sure her slave would not hesitate to throw her to the dogs.

“Come here baby,” he sat naked in the bead with the dead body of an old man wrapped around him, “daddy wants you in the bed”. She had noticed his inclination towards the grotesque as the war dragged longer, but this was too much even for her. The zombie-like movements of the dead man, half of whose face had been bitten off by what looked like a tiger’s claws, almost made her puke. “Stop this sh…” she shouted in anger and swung her father’s great sword at the dead man, but Jayesh had already come to his senses and threw aside the body. The steel sliced off his head like butter and landed with a thud against the muddy walls.

It took her a few seconds to realise what had transpired. When it did, she fell down on her knees and let out a howl of pain. Men rushed into the hut to find their leader crying on the floor with the priest’s headless body lying in her lap. “Freaking traitor” one commander spat while others nodded.

The moon came out and the men roasted pigs, hares and deers over the fire, ready for another night of debauchery and drinking. Most of them had already accepted the fact they will be long dead before this war was over, and had nothing left to lose anymore. They were the ones who had no shred of humanity left in them and went to battles with a grin on their faces. But during nights like these, they were also the ones who sang their hearts out and danced to the tune of the strings. While this merriment went all around, Kanika was locked inside with her lover's limp and cold body. She wasn’t crying and sat like a statue in the middle of the hut. She paid no attention to the songs they sang in her honour, songs of victory and of love and family, she never heard the cries of joy and horror as the men drank, danced and took turns defiling the girls they had kidnapped from neighbouring villages.

She never realised when these shouts turned into war cries and steel clashed against steel as Sumer’s men descended upon her drunk and helpless army from their vantage point. She never heard the screams of her men as they died one by one, and she never noticed them pouring sulphur inside the hut and setting it on fire. As Sumer stood before the pyre of his adversary and the traitor, he realised that she didn’t scream when they burned her.

Chapter 3

Rakhigarhi was covered with flowers, gold and the smell of sweet incense, in contrast to the shabby condition of its victors. After defeating Kanika’s forces, Sumer fought a long war against smaller lords, who initially united against him but later fell apart to infighting, and the priests declared him as the 3002nd King of the empire. He had rushed to the capital with just his vanguard to reach on time for the coronation. As he walked barefoot through the city, women fell on their knees for him while men cried and worshipped the ground he stepped on. “So that’s what he meant when he said I’ll feel like a god”, he was ecstatic and took big swings of the beer pitcher. A beautiful maiden came running towards him, naked and beautiful, and he let his men take care of her who proceeded to use her body and throw it around like a rag-doll. The crowd chanted his name and called him their messiah. If he thought a building was ugly they burned it down for him, if he thought a person was ugly they burned him down for him. The city was drenched with liquor, the crazy and sweltering heat of the fires burning all around. This madness lasted until noon when the priests came down and told Sumer to hurry up before this mob burned down the scriptorium itself.

Sumer had been to the scriptorium countless times before, but never inside the main house. Unlike other houses of the brotherhood which were open for common folks, this was a sealed house that only they could enter. It was the centre of power for the brotherhood, which had gained prominence during the reign of Saraya, the 378th queen. The priests decided that every election should be preceded by civil war so that the new king was always chosen unopposed, a tradition which has been followed for thousands of years now.

Sumer stood in front of the gold-plated gates of the house for some moments, staring at the intricately designed pillars and roof tiles. All he could think of was how he would raze this building down tomorrow. He was a king’s scion and shouldn’t have been required to win a war only to get what he was owed anyway. As he walked down the long hallway flanked by walls plated with gold and priests loaded with diamonds he smiled gleefully at the prospect of burning all of it down soon. In the main chamber, he was left alone with the elder priests to complete the coronation process.

Nobody moved or spoke. Some time passed before Sumer spoke, “So are we gonna start this stupidity or not?”

The eldest coughed and spoke in a voice beguiling his age, “our traditions are a joke for you, are they not?”

Sumer was taken aback by the accusation. He had always assumed the brotherhood to be a group of cowards who ran away from real life to hide behind the facade of this semi-religion. But now, surrounded by geriatrics who could barely walk, he felt threatened.

“take your voice a notch down you old filth”, he spat on the sacred floor. “I am your king. get over with these little games you play so I can go outside this…. place. I have better things to do than boost your fragile egos.” He felt his voice cracking a little bit. ‘Why am I unnerved by these old hags’

They were not concerned with his anger, “Do you know why there have been more than three thousand kings in our history, so many of them have come and gone and yet the brotherhood keeps getting stronger?”

“Cause you’re cowards and nobody gives a shit about your stupid….” he could feel his heart bursting out of his chest.

“Because we don’t play with swords and arrows little man,” the old man spoke with spite, “swords and arrows are the toys of little men like you. We”, he raised his hand, “we play with knowledge. And knowledge, you idiot, is the toy of the gods.”

Sumer tried to speak but words refused to form. The old man gave him a smile, “you have lived an idiot’s life, little man. Be thankful you’ll go down in the book as a king. Most people are just forgotten as you would be eventually.”

Before Sumer could avoid it, sharp steel fell upon him from all sides, dark figures with white hands stabbing him mercilessly till his body was just a lifeless crimson heap.

The eldest coughed and spoke again, “Tell them he fell ill and is being treated, we’ll give him a reign of…… let's say a week. And send the list of new candidates to my room.” He walked over to the lifeless body, “The King is dead. Long live the new King.”

By Ashutosh Vikram Singh