Folly of Wise Men

Chapter - 1 Silence

He strode towards his lover — the jewel of his enemy — and pointed his sickle at her throat. Veerendra rose and fell on his knees, hands clasped together, begging for his daughter's life.

"Not her!"

Indra shook his head, laughing. His eyes bore a wicked light.

"Why not? Why shouldn't I?"

"No! No!!"

"Watch her die and feel the pain as I did."

"Why are you doing this, Indra? I... loved... you. You... cannot do this. Please, Indra," Deepali begged.

"I was merely your passing amusement, disposable once something else catch your eye."

"It's not true. I didn't. I wanted a life with you. Please, I... I can't... I can't believe this. I... I... I'm... I wanted... you,"

This isn't him. I never did that. I wanted a life with him.

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head in disbelief.

"N-no, you're wrong. I... I loved you. I loved you... for who you are." Indra dismissed her with a wry chuckle that ended with the beginning of silence.

I don't want to hurt her. It was not her fault.

Tears welled up in Indra's eyes as doubt crept into his mind. He gritted his teeth, his trembling hands betraying his inner turmoil.

Deepali turned and traced the contours of his face with her delicate fingers.

"You've suffered enough. You don't need to fight any more. If I ask, my father would turn himself in. You just need to spare his life, for my sake."

You should sully yourself to their level for the sake of revolution.

Indra chuckled at the nativity of his lover. He pushed her aside, causing her to tumble to the ground while emitting a yelp.

Say you will sacrifice everything for our brothers and sisters! Say it!

"I will," the words slipped from his lips, their chilliness palpable. Veerendra bolted for the gun, but before his hand could reach it, the sickle flew from Indra's hand and lodged in his head.

There was stillness, followed by a primal, piercing scream from Deepali's lips, tearing through the air with anguish.

The sound reverberated, echoing the depths of her shattered heart as she grappled with the devastating truth before her. The man she loved had murdered her father, and his face, once so pleasant, was bloodstained—a face of an asura.

Her body shook with violent sobs, instinctively backing into a corner. She masked her face with her hands, trying to hide from the world itself.

"Help me, someone, please help me," she mumbled through her sobs.

Now you did it! You said the words, and you did the deed!

"Mother, please help me." She rocked back and forth, muttering the same phrase repeatedly.

You are one of us now. A revolutionary. Throw away the mask and wear ours.

Indra left her alone and turned away from the Haveli. He walked through the rain-soaked streets, his face bearing the stillness of a mannequin.

The silence continued for minutes until it passed with a sudden burst of laughter. Which persisted even as tears streamed down his face.

Through his tears and laughter, he said the words, "I killed him," followed by, "It is over."