The last thing Guha remembered was collapsing before his home. But now, that too was slipping out of his consciousness. Everything—his name, his home, his father, his dying friend Ishit—was fading, leaving him with nothing but the terrifying certainty that he was utterly alone in a vast and endless void.
He felt himself caught in some invisible prison. It was a strange place, devoid of light, darkness, space, or time. The only sensation that remained was the awareness that he existed, but where? He couldn't tell.
At first, Guha thought he had died, but quickly rejected the idea. He had never seen the white-wives, nor heard their soul-stirring elegies, yet he knew of their existence—creatures visible only to the dying, like the green lamp of Igbo visible only to an infant's eyes. He waited for them to come, to carry him to the fabled city of Nysa, but no one came.
As aeons drifted by, his memories began to leak away. He found himself pondering the simplest of questions: "Who am I?" A flood of answers rushed into his mind, but none felt right. He was a girl named Jubi? No. He was an old miner working in a moonstone mine? No, that wasn't it either. A parrot, living on the oak tree near the blue river? That seemed the most plausible.
Guha, or whatever his name was now, settled on the parrot. He thanked Aja, the divine, for watching over him. He remembered everything—he was Pinku, the parrot of the oak tree, and he had escaped a strange cage.
Before him, the world seemed to breathe with joy. The golden sun was dancing on the leaves, the morning breeze carried the sweet fragrance of flowers, and the sky stretched endlessly. Aja's great fruit was rising in the east, and Pinku couldn't afford to be late for the orchard, lest the evil human get to it first. The memory of the bald human left a knot of sorrow in his chest.
Pinku was not like his neighbor, Panto, who was always grumpy. He had once shared a happy life with his beautiful wife, Kaneri. He could still feel her soft feathers against his own, like the silky gown of a nymph warmed by the sun. Her eyes, as dark as elderberries, had always shone with a radiance that could rival the water nymphs. He would have gladly traded any heavenly feast to fly by her side again.
But Kaneri was gone, taken by the cruel human, her voice stilled forever. Pinku couldn't understand why his heart hadn't shattered when he lost her. He had promised Kaneri that they would love each other like the kinnaras of the green mountains, that if one of them should fall, the other would die in mourning. Yet here he was, alive, unable to keep that promise.
But vengeance burned brighter than grief. Pinku had no divine power, but he believed that Aja would guide him. He would avenge Kaneri. He would make mankind pay.
"Hey, brat. Stop daydreaming," Panto's voice screeched, snapping Pinku from his reverie. "Hurry up, Aja's cherry is ripe. We can't be late."
"Sorry, Old Panto," Pinku replied, fluttering his wings and following the old parrot. They flew toward the orchard—only a short flight away but claimed by humans long ago. Panto had told him the story of Aja and how, in the days of yore, the divine father had created the world for all his children, until mankind's greed and cruelty had disturbed the balance. Humans had claimed the land, enslaved animals, and set fire to the sacred woods of Aja. The fires had been so fierce that Aja had opened his third eye, unleashing a terrible wrath on mankind. Yet some humans—those called Dwizas—had stood against the cruelty and sacrificed their lives to protect the innocent. Aja had spared them, but the peace had been short-lived. Soon, mankind had returned to its old ways, and the animals had risen to defend the earth once more.
But the war had come, and with it, the rise of the evil humans. The orchard, with its sweet cherries and pomegranates, was now an enclave of greed, guarded by high walls and the watchful eyes of humans. Pinku and Panto had to be cautious.
Landing quietly on the wall, Pinku dropped a guava, watching it fall with a soft thud. No one responded, not even the gardener. A slight breeze made the gilded swing creak, but the orchard seemed still, empty of humans. Pinku signaled to Panto, and the two parrots swooped down to feast on the juicy elderberries.
They didn't see the pair of red eyes that watched them from the shadowy corner.
Bruno, the gardener, grinned wickedly. Lumora's trinket had worked as promised. The rusty earrings were a marvel—small, inconspicuous, but they camouflaged him perfectly. He couldn't understand why the Minaak smiths didn't craft something like this.
He aimed his crossbow at the young parrot. The arrow, made of direwood, was costly, but it was silent. He aimed at Pinku's heart, watching in anticipation as the bolt neared its target. But then something strange happened.
The young parrot vanished in the blink of an eye, and in his place was the old parrot, Panto. The arrow shot through Panto's body, and in an instant, the old bird was reduced to ash, his soul spiraling upward toward the starry nest of Aja.
Pinku's heart froze. The grief of losing his only friend hit him like a thousand icy daggers. He couldn't understand what had happened, but he knew one thing: mankind would pay.
He ignored the strange sensation of being in a thousand places at once. His fury eclipsed everything else. Bruno, the murderer of his beloved Kaneri and now Panto, would die.
He swooped down at the human, but before he could strike, Bruno caught him in his hands, twisting his neck mercilessly. Pinku's vision blurred, and the pain was unbearable. But death did not come.
Instead, Pinku found himself in a strange state. He was watching through thousands of eyes, his presence felt in countless places at once. But his mind was fixed on one thing: revenge.
He flew toward the orchard, and with him, a thousand parrots rose into the sky. They swarmed the orchard, and Bruno, realizing his mistake, tried to flee. But he tripped, and before he could even make it to the shed, the birds descended upon him in a frenzy.
Bruno screamed, his cries drowned in the maddening cacophony of beaks and talons tearing into his flesh. The orchard, once a place of peace, became a battleground as Pinku and his flock exacted their vengeance.
Bruno's cries faded into the distance as the parrots continued their feast, their anger unyielding. The human had no chance. The animals had reclaimed their justice, and with it, their vengeance. The orchard was no longer a place of greed—it was a reminder that nature always has its reckoning.