Later on Nazir would learn of the news about a freak torrential rain high up on the mountain side of Mt. Sala, where the source of Tamal River came from. Much of the forest there had been destroyed to make way for mining sites and farming lands. With not enough tree roots to retain water in the soil, the rain water flooded down into Tamal in a one single flash. There would be no mention of any particular 'dark tree'.
But that was a story for another time. At the moment, the young man was still catching his breath while the river roared and raged in its full fury. There was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. His 49th life welcomed him with blessing and disaster at the same time, and on the first day to boot. The barrage of surprises had made him rethink his decision.
Should he stay in this life or restart? It's better if he'd stay, wasn't it? At least until he uncover the secret of Falguni and found out why the story had progressed so easily like that. And if he found Falguni to be dangerous or outside his capability, only then would he kill himself and restart.
His moksha would have to wait. One more life. Just one more, Nazir thought.
He gathered his strength and pull himself to his feet. With one more look towards the raging Tamar, Nazir left following a beaten foot path between the thicket. The area was quiet until he reached the edges of the slum. There were people gathering trying to save whoever they could from the river. They stuck out bamboo poles, shouting for anyone who got washed to reach the pole.
There were no signs of the people he'd seen before by the river banks. Even the one taking the dump, the open air lavatory had been washed by the flood too. Women and children were evacuating from their dilapidated houses, carrying whatever valuables they had.
There were town guards in the midst of the rescuers. Their armors had been taken off and they were carrying ropes. One or two of them tied the ropes to their midriffs before jumping into the water to save anyone they could find.
Nazir hid in the crowd and followed the lame and sickly to safer ground. He couldn't risk getting caught by the guards for now. There wasn't much he could do to help in a natural disaster like this. He's weakened, wounded, and he hadn't eaten anything the whole day. The only thing he could do is find a way home, back to the ashram where he was reborn.
All along the banks of Tamal, there were rescue efforts. The market was emptying, the road and streets were filled with town guards and porters, carrying makeshift stretchers to carry the wounded to temples and healing ashrams. Above their heads, the sky was darkening. The rain clouds from Mt. Sala was coming into Antieum at last.
Bells were ringing, and the tall guard towers lit their torches. These are the famed signal towers of Akatara, the lifeline of the mountainous kingdom. The towers here were built on set distances all the way to the capital, Demavi, up north on the coast of the Narrow Sea. The signals warned of coming flood heading to the capital, where the Tamal would split into canals before reaching the open sea.
Water gates would need to be opened and closed systematically to divide the water flow into retaining ponds. It was a race against time, before the heavy rain and fogs of Antieum dimmed the fire signals and the town became practically isolated from the outside world.
Light drizzle of rain started to fall by the time Nazir got close to the ashram. He had safely navigated through the panicking townspeople, but when he reached the gate of the ashram there were Akataran soldiers gathering there. He felt his stomach jumped before calming himself down. It's impossible for these soldiers to come for him, a small criminal, when there was a disaster demanding attention.
And he was right. These soldiers were there for Old Vandrabad.
The maharishi was a powerful sorcerer for Antieum and he would be vital in the rescue effort. Nazir tried to squeeze himself between the towering rusas and soldiers to get into the ashram.
"Hey, aren't you Nazir, Old Vandrabad's disciple?"
One of the soldier saw him and seemed to know Nazir. The soldier approached him and smack his shoulder in a friendly manner.
"What are you doing out here instead of at your master's side, huh? Hey, what happened to your face? You got into a fight, Nazir?" The soldier laughed at him. "Young blood, always looking for trouble! Say, did you win though?"
"Oi, Samir. Someone you know?" Another soldier got curious. Nazir stood awkwardly, trying to escape, but he didn't want to rouse any suspicion.
"Yeah. This kid, Nazir, is the old man's favorite disciple."
"Oh? Then he might come to our household soon."
This talk managed to steal the attention of others soldier too. Nazir grew more uneasy. These soldiers were from the princes' household. Vaguely he remembered just this morning the other disciples had talked about the royal rishi's selection. And this Nazir was on the run as the top candidate. Shit. No wonder these soldiers got curious. They thought that he might be their master's study mate and future adviser, of course they wanted to build some rapport as soon as possible.
"I wouldn't dare," he tried to be humble and avoided the topic.
But the soldiers were persistent and oddly relaxed even though the whole town was in chaos. Either they believe in the power of Old Vandrabad too much or they had faith in someone else. One of the soldier slung an arm around Nazir's shoulder and talked in a hushed manner.
"Tell us, Nazir. Between the two prince, which one do you prefer to serve? We'll keep it secret, don't worry."
"What are you talking about? Of course it would be Prince Darsa."
"But if he's Vandrabad's best kid then he's better suited for Master Aruna."
"Yeah, Aruna's getting out of hand. He needs a steadying hand. Won't you please try to get chosen by him, Nazir?"
And how would he do that? Nazir thought. The soldiers were discussing among themselves, comparing which master was best. Nazir was only an accessory to their discussion. Their merry chat didn't last long though, because not long after Old Vandrabad stepped out of the ashram building.
Beside the rishi was a priest in colorful robes. No, not a normal priest. It was a bissu[1]. A special priest from the north kingdom of Purnavarna that was neither man nor woman. It was Esfandiar, the spiritual adviser of the Crown Prince's household. Esfandiar had rough skin the color of ivories, they wore make up like a woman and keep their beard neatly trimmed like a learned man. In Nazir's memory, Esfandiar was the main parental figure for King Giriva after he was orphaned.
Nazir's main attention was this; Esfandiar wasn't supposed to be in Antieum at the start of the book. The crown prince's household were supposed to be in Demavi, the capital, along with the other princes and princesses.
"Bissu Esfandiar is here?" blurted Nazir.
"Ah, yes. We were supposed to ride for Demavi this morning but because of the flash flood the plan changed. Don't worry, the princes are—"
Nazir's heart thumped loudly in his chest. He had changed the plot quicker than he ever did before. That 2%, it must be a game changer. For the first time in his 49 lifetime, he might finally be able to see that person.
[Thump. Thump.]
From the building two young men stepped out, following the two elders. Nazir couldn't help but hold his breath at the sight of the red and yellow hair.
[Thump. Thump.]
The red haired youth was the young Aruna, the future cruel general under Girivar. The one who would lead the slaughter of royal families across Mora Peninsula. At this point of the book, he was still a cheerful, handsome teenager. Looking confident in the face of disaster, he was probably thinking of gaining merit by saving the people of Antieum. But it was the fair haired one that Nazir had been wishing to meet.
The very Darsana himself. Alive and breathing. That mythical character that was only mentioned as memories by the living main characters. The beloved Arum against the hated Tamal. He was almost the spitting image of Girivar, but his expression was warm, something that was never shown in Girivar's face. Darsana was wrought with worry over the fate of his people, there was no smile or youthful bravado in the way he carried himself.
Darsana was saying something near Aruna's ear. A reprimand. Because Aruna showed a refusal, waving his hand as if dismissing whatever it was Darsana had said. But the gentle prince didn't get angry in the least. Darsana only sighed and smile sadly at his cousin.
This. This person would be a better king than Girivar.
This is someone who could prevent the civil war from happening. The needless slaughters. The divided nation in the face of a demon king resurrection. If Darsana became king, all of those horror could be prevented.
[Thump. Thump. Thump.]
If Nazir could save this prince and made him king.
[Thump.]
He could finally change the story.
And at that moment, Darsana turned his head towards the gate. Their eyes met and the prince smiled. A gentle, kind smile.
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[1]Bissu: a type of priest who served as adviser for ancient Buginese kings. The Buginese traditionally have 4 genders; cis men, cis women, trans men, trans women. Bissus are considered the mix of all 4 genders and thus the perfect conduit between human and gods.