After twilight faded on the horizon, Queen Nakeera left the temple on the east side of the kingdom that was two kilometers from her residence. She was accompanied by her firstborn, eight-year-old Prince Narandi Nrisi and some Brahman priests. She had developed an illness that no doctor had been able to identify in three months. She just drank sandalwood bark tea, received treatment with preventive medicinal massage and plenty of rest, and once a week she went to the temple to make offerings in the grace of receiving a cure. On the path the carriage followed, everything seemed harmonious. As she talked with her little heir about how he would grow up and reign justly and conquer many thrones, kings, queens and obtain many princesses, prosper greatly in wealth and opulence, ascend to nirvana and receive all the blessings of the gods. An arrow pierced the carriage. A warning of danger. The tension got them down. Nakeera placed her dagger in Narandi's hand and said "whoever comes along, rip his throat out" from under the seat she pulled out a jeweled gold sword that she had inherited from her mother Nakendrarani. She stuffed a few rolls of small parchments into her son's clothes and said that if anything happened to her from now on, he should run and deliver the parchments to the wise men of the palace urgently. More arrows came. The boy was scared. Nakeera calmed him down saying that he is a warrior and should chase away the fear before that feeling completely overwhelms him. "take a deep breath, be brave my heir and fight without fear, maybe my glorious moment has come to leave this body and ascend to heaven" she kissed him and told him never to forget her words. She then pushed him out of the carriage. As he fell to the ground, Narandi saw the dead priests and saw black masked men with arrows in their hands. He peeked through the rips in the cloth that his mother was no longer in. he thought of calling his name, of even crying. But he suppressed the feeling and ran into the woods on the left side of the road. A few bushwhackers followed him. While his mother had fled on the right side of the road. Nakeera ran as fast as she could. The bujives caught up with her, but he didn't give in easily. he fought them fiercely, defending himself with his gouri sword, hitting them as best he could. Her excellence with the sword was sensational, her blows were powerful, even weakened by illness. He was about to defeat them, when an arrow hit her in the belly region. A poisoned arrow. She pulled it out herself. Blood flowed. Nakeera continued fighting, slamming her sword into the stomachs of some and cutting off heads. One more arrow, above the navel. He snatched it up bravely, even as it made her stagger from the deep pains. With that he had killed ten of those who tried to kill her. Another arrow between her breasts, in the middle of her chest. This one cannot start. His lips quivered, blood pouring out of his mouth. He fell. But still trying to resist. She crawled as if she wanted to reach farther. She leaned against a tree. She straightened herself up straight. Her end came painfully. She always imagined her end in old age as the example of the great kings and queens who renounced everything and left to meditate in the forest. She would go with her king for sure. They would go together, exhausted from their real tasks, but with their duty accomplished. Her son would inherit the lions' throne and conquer the world. He would be famous and you would have many sons of equal power. But fate had tricked her, even in her beautiful youth, her hairdo undone, her brocade silk robe stained with blood. His hands paralyzed without being able to lift the sword. The retrospective in her mind began to pass, bringing the good memories of childhood and adolescence, and also sadness. She prayed to God to take care of her dear son. She delivered him into the hands of the Lord as she did when she presented him in the temple when he was born. With much effort she crossed her legs and got into a meditative position. Tears streamed from her emerald eyes. The treacherous bujiva anchored in front of her ready to launch the last arrow. Nakeera could no longer breathe, no longer could she align the vital points to ascend. But she closed her eyes and recited "Jay Sitaram" so the arrow from the bujiva hit the middle between her eyes. After having afflicted its prey, the bujiva cut a long lock of hair from Nakeera's now-deceased body and smeared it on the blood that dripped from his forehead. she kept it in a tissue. She also took the golden sword and then left. In all that time, on the other side of the road, in the woods, Narandi swallowed his own fear, chased away the affliction that had taken hold of him and tried to defend himself from his hunters. She used the few martial skills she had learned in lessons at the royal court. When the hail of arrows came, he took refuge in a thick tree. His heart was pounding fast. He couldn't think straight. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and remembered his mother's words. He ran as fast as he followed the rhythm of his heartbeat. He leaned back against a bush of fallen logs, out of sight of the bush hunters. He got rid of a part of his clothing and undid his hairdo. He crawled to get to the other trees, these being thinner trunks. He studied his opponents, he was just a child and those bujvas had unusual abilities and were adults. He gripped the dagger between his hands. He thought. He took off the top of his garment, smeared wet dirt on his chest, arms, legs, back, and face. So to camouflage yourself from enemies. He climbed into one of the trees and proceeded to stealthily attack them. He had a chance to steal a bow and arrow from one of them, when he attacked him from behind by jumping on his back and slitting his throat. He couldn't feel what it was like to kill a man, he hadn't learned to hunt yet, but he was being forced to learn the hard way, to survive his predators. He climbed like a small tiger on another log and waited for the moment to pounce. He jumped on the back of a monkey and slit its throat. He stole her arrow holder and arrows. Dai started to attack one by one using their own weapons. He tried his luck when shooting the first arrows, but his strength was not enough for the object to reach the desired speed and hit the target. This was extremely painful for Narandi, who had not yet learned to handle certain weapons. And archery was one of them. However, his mother trusted him with the courage of a warrior, even if he was not yet an adult and the boy bet on that courage built into him. He wasn't sure how many there were, but he had already bled three throats. Anger took hold in his chest, he was a kshatrya prince and that feeling was easy to feel and part of his wild nature. As he couldn't shoot the arrows well, he used them in such a way that he could hurt his enemies. And he did. He jumped up and stabbed each one in the neck with his own hands, an arrow. Gradually he managed to eliminate these bujivas by force of will and cunning. He searched the woods to see if there were any more of them. Finally rest. He can breathe a sigh of relief. He walked to the side of the road. No one from the palace had come to meet them or even help them. Could it be that the king, his father, had not been warned of the danger they were going through?. He scrambled across to the right. Seeing the bloody trail of struggle and the scattered bodies. The hope that his mother was all right welled up in his chest. He walked further, the tiredness persisting in his chest, but his perseverance was greater. Finally the tears flowed, he could cry then like a boy when he had the horrendous vision of the mother's body, deceased leaning against a tree with an arrow pierced through the head attached to the trunk. He screamed in pain. He rested his head on the corpse's thigh, just as he did when he asked for his mother's lap. And he cried until there were no more tears. He fell asleep from being so exhausted from crying and screaming. The body of the boy and the mother were collected from the site and taken to the palace, after three lonely days in the woods. Elsewhere King Gajendra Nrisi had also been ambushed and killed, during his return to the kingdom from a long journey. The couple's bodies were embalmed and the priests followed the protocols, performing the funeral rites. Everyone was very saddened by the tragedy that had befallen the monarchs of the kingdom. During the days of mourning, ministers and priests were murdered, and so the nebulous current of death raged through the palace.