What is living a "normal" life like?
Kratos pondered on that thought quite a bit, nowadays, given how he was afforded an endless amount of time to just linger on his thoughts. Gone were the days when he had to wake up before the crack of dawn and cycle through the daily drills. He was also no longer required to brood over the next tasks handed to him by the gods. Finally, he also didn't need to plot his vengeance. That was a massive chip off his shoulder. He could now live out the so-called "normal" life that everyone kept talking about.
But did he even deserve to live a "normal" life, after all he'd done?
That was always the question that followed the first. From a purely Spartan perspective, it should be his rightful prize. After all, all that matters in any war is the winner, and Kratos (for all intents and purposes) won. The gods that wronged him were dead. The world that glorified said deities was reduced to ruins. Kratos won.
But what did he win?
The result of any war should be peace, right? But Kratos wasn't in peace. In fact, his psyche constantly danced on the precarious edge of a blade. A blade that, metaphorically, loomed over his neck and threatened to cleave it in two at a moment's notice.
Kratos wondered if this was why Spartan warriors were forced to go through gruelling and torturous training every day, even if there was no war on the horizon. Because when left to their thoughts, they were forced to live the horrors they had to commit in the name of their land. Because most humans are born with a conscience, and one's conscience tends to be their harshest critique. Because the conscience tends to veer towards self-harm when there is no way out of the guilt that consumed you, after realising that there was just not enough soap in the world to wash away the blood that caked your ruinous hands.
It amused him to realise that he was ultimately turning into an Athenian pansy. All they did was waste away their days pondering over useless drivel, like what is right and what is wrong, or why the human mind worked the way it did. A Spartan's purpose is to do, not question.
But there WAS nothing left for Kratos to do. So what was his purpose?
According to the long-haired man, who had brought him back from the warm embrace of Hades (if that even existed anymore), Kratos' current purpose was to learn the language spoken by the people of the land he now walked.
On that note, Kratos learned quite a bit about his current position. For one, the world he was in was called "Bharat". Upon questioning the existence of his homeworld, Greece, Kratos was told that it probably existed somewhere westwards, beyond the fields and oceans of chaos that separated the planes. There were words of Greek artefacts owned by rulers or powerful clans in these lands, and they were rumoured to have been brought over by adventurous traders who sought luck and fortune by crossing through the chaos.
The source of all this information, of course, was the long-haired man who was also his language teacher. The man's name was Rama Bhargava, not a name or root that Kratos was familiar with (which further drove in the point that he was no longer in familiar lands).
"To make this sound, you need to aspirate while making the same 'g' sound," Rama explained while pointing at a letter that looked like घ.
Kratos growled irritatedly and barked, "That's how I pronounced it!"
"You aren't releasing air hard enough. If you don't do that, it will sound like ग," Rama responded while shaking his head. "It's been over two weeks, Kratos. I expected faster progress. We've barely scratched the surface, you still have two other sets of alphabets to go through."
"Why are there so many languages?" Kratos exclaimed in frustration. "Where I come from, everyone spoke just one."
"What does language mean to you?" Rama inquired while placing the square cutting of slate with the chalk letter written on it aside.
"It is a means of communication," Kratos responded. "Which means that one is enough."
"Communication has different orders," Rama corrected. "The way you communicate with your family may differ from the way you communicate with your friends. The way you communicate with your child may differ from the way you communicate with your superiors. Language changes when the person you are speaking to changes, because what you want to convey changes and so does the way you want to convey it. Language changes when culture changes, because what you share most often differs if the life you live differs. The words and phrases a king may use amongst his ministers are vastly different from the language used by the lowly peasant as he communicates with his neighbour."
"You talk a lot," Kratos interjected as Rama took a break to let his words settle.
"It's because you are a great listener," Rama said with a chuckle. "In fact, I used two different languages in my previous 'rant'."
"Why?" Kratos probed.
"You know this is the first time you've ever asked that question," Rama pointed out. "Why? What a great word it is. Many men more learned than I have said that it is one of the most dangerous phrases out there because it cuts right to the core of everything. The cause!"
"Answer my question!" Kratos growled.
"Fine, fine," Rama said. "No patience at all."
"People are born with a purpose. A warrior's purpose is to fight for a cause he follows and die on the battlefield. A merchant's purpose is to trade and generate wealth. A peasant's purpose is to till the earth and grow crops. A priest's purpose is to perform religious rites, preserve knowledge, and guide the development of civilisation as a whole. To that end, there are topics of discussion that are common amongst one caste that aren't encroached upon by the other. So there isn't a need for someone in, let's say, the Kshatriya (the warrior or ruler) caste to discuss with the Vaishya (merchant or trader) caste. Hence there isn't a need for the Vaishyas to have a language that spans contexts ranging over discussions of statecraft, warfare and politics," Rama explained. "The purpose, cause or duty, is the person's dharma."
"So why are you teaching me all three languages?" Kratos probed. "I don't intend to communicate with rulers or ply myself in politics."
"How do you know your purpose?" Rama responded. "You weren't born here, thus you don't have a caste, and so your purpose in life is fairly open."
"Who decides my purpose," Kratos murmured.
"If you were part of our cycle of reincarnation," Rama said while raising his arms towards the sky "Then the world itself decides for you. But since that isn't the case here, well, I guess you are free to decide what your purpose in life is supposed to be."
"The language I'm teaching you right now is called Sanskrit," Rama continued as he pulled back the slate board. "It is said to be the language spoken by the world itself. It is said that if you can formulate a prose so profound in Sanskrit, the world will respond in kind. The script I am teaching you is just the surface. The beauty of the language runs deep. I'm afraid even I cannot teach you all about it."
"So why don't we start simpler?"
"Because all other languages begin from this. This and Tamil, which is the other language I will teach you," Rama emphasised while raising two fingers.
Kratos growled with a low rumble as he thought of the arduous exercise before him. "All this knowledge is wasted on me."
"Poppycock!" The man snapped back. "Knowledge is never wasted. The more it is distributed, the more it grows."
He then pointed at the rustling leaves of a tree nearby and gently gestured for it to come closer. Then, from within the branches, an apple floated towards him.
"Knowledge is like this fruit here. It is juicy and sweet, filled with good stuff. But amidst all the fleshy goodness lies a seed-" With a quick pull, the apple was broken in two revealing the seeds within. "Now, the apple that remains on the tree, withers and dies. But the apple that is eaten by the common pigeon manages to have its seed carried with the bird as the creature flies away. As the creature defecates, the seed is planted. In the faeces, it finds sustenance. And once the heavens grace the seed with nurturing rain, a new tree grows in its place."
He pointed at Kratos and revealed a mischievous smile, "In our case, I am the tree. The apple is my knowledge. You are the bird. So fly! Oh, great bird! Defecate where your heart calls you and spread the beauty far and wide."
"You are a weird man," Kratos commented. "We will talk no more. Continue your lesson now."
____
"Two. Apples." Kratos said to the panicking vendor standing behind his mobile stall.
"#%!%$& apples are, one cowrie shell each," the man answered while raising two shivering fingers. Kratos let out a growl before producing the shells to complete the transaction. He then accepted the offered fruits and bit into one. A faint, satisfied smile caused the corner of his lips to quirk upwards slightly as a thin trace of juice dripped down the side of his lips.
The sweetness of the apple lingered on Kratos' tongue. He took another look at the red fruit in his hands. It appeared the same as the apples in Greece. It was the same size, the same vibrant shade of red. And the sound it made as he bit into it echoed with the same lively crack as the ones in Greece. But why was it that this one tasted infinitely better than the ones from his home?
He took another bite, and let himself drown in the sweetness. Maybe it was the lack of purpose, the lack of something that needed to be done, that let him just dwell on the small things. Looking up, Kratos was once again enamoured by the vibrant greenery. He was sure that the Greek forests were just as lively and warm, but back home, Kratos wasn't allowed the time or freedom to just look at them.
Kratos' feet moved forward on their own. He observed the birds prancing around between branches, building nests, courting each other. He followed the chatter of the squirrels as they carried their favourite nuts to their horde. He caught the infrequent deer peeking between the trees, running away as he approached them. A strange sense of calmness washed over Kratos, a feeling he had only ever felt once before and that too when was toeing the line between life and death.
After another bite, the apple was finished. Kratos tossed the core aside and chomped down on the second one. But as he took the bite, he noticed that the forest had terminated. Technically, it wasn't finished, it was simply a break in continuity. A break that was caused by a massive ravine that cleft the forest in two.
Kratos approached the ravine uninhibitedly. He neared the edge and looked over into the near-endless darkness that welcomed him from below.
His foot crept closer to the edge, causing a few small rocks to dislodge from beneath him.
Kratos raised the half-eaten apple in front of his palm. As his eyes focused on the red, it started to ooze and drip out as a viscous fluid, coating his hand crimson.
He blinked.
And he was no longer holding an apple in his hand. In its place, Kratos saw the decapitated, hollow-eyed head of Helios hanging.
Kratos' grip loosened, and the head tumbled down the cliff with a sickening squelch as it collided against the rock face repeatedly.
Looking around, Kratos saw the green forest turn red as fires started to swallow all life, and the sky turned grey as storm clouds started to swallow the sun ravenously.
He stood amidst the collapsing world and slowly closed his eyes.
His right leg extended forward, levitating precariously in midair. Slowly, he started to shift his weight.
"There's nothing down there."
The voice brought Kratos back from his trance. The world wasn't burning, and the heavens weren't collapsing around him.
He turned his head and saw Rama walking out of the forest. The man approached the ravine, beside Kratos and looked down.
"There's nothing down there," he repeated. "I've checked."
He then patted Kratos' back and added, "You see the struggle isn't in going down, but coming back up. The rock walls are rather smooth and finding proper hold is difficult."
"You talk as though you have done this before," Kratos commented, to which the man returned a dull gaze and an empathetic sigh.
"Lunch is ready," Rama diverted. "Come quickly or else it will grow cold. And don't do anything stupid."
And with that, the man strolled back into the forest and disappeared between the tree line.
Kratos took one last look into the ravine and narrowed his eyes. Surprisingly, he could now see the bottom and he could see the half-eaten apple shimmering in the darkness, intact.
___
Kratos snarled, the sound rumbling deep within his chest as he swallowed a hand-rolled ball of rice drenched in lentils and vegetables.
"Don't make such unsavoury noises while you eat," Rama's voice carried a stern warning, a sharp edge beneath the calm exterior. "Every grain of rice is a gift from Annapurneshwari. So, even if you find my cooking less than palatable, at least have the decency not to show it."
Rama's chuckle, light and mocking, filled the tense air as he gracefully consumed another morsel of rice.
"The food is adequate," Kratos grumbled through gritted teeth, barely containing his frustration. "But why is there never any meat? It's always
missing!"
"Meat?" Rama replied, his tone laced with incredulity. "Of course, there's no meat. I'm a vegetarian, remember?"
Kratos' glare intensified, his eye blazing with a fury that seemed to challenge the very notion. "Do not look at me with such disdain. Haven't you realized this by now?"
"I assumed you were merely impoverished, unable to afford it," Kratos shot back, his voice dripping with derision.
Rama's response was a dramatic clutch at his chest as if wounded. "Ah, that cuts deeper than any blade."
"You resort to begging," Kratos pointed out bluntly, his accusation hanging heavy between them.
"I do not beg," Rama retorted, his voice rising in anger before he caught himself, taking a deep breath to calm the storm brewing within. "Bhiksha is a request for alms, yes. Technically, it could be seen as begging. But it's not out of poverty." His words stumbled over each other, a rare moment of vulnerability.
"Speak clearly," Kratos commanded, the impatience evident in his tone.
Rama's face tightened, the lines of a forced smile barely masking the hurt. "It seems you've managed to find the last shred of ego I possessed and trampled it beneath your feet. Asking for Bhiksha, for alms, is part of living as an ascetic, a Sannyaasi. It's about renouncing worldly attachments, embracing humility through dependency on the divine and the generosity of others."
"Excuses," Kratos interjected coldly. "You're simply leeching off the community."
"I take only what is surplus to them," Rama explained, trying to maintain his composure. "In exchange, I offer my services."
"You serve their gods, not the people themselves," Kratos accused, his voice rising in anger.
"By serving the gods, I serve the community," Rama insisted, his patience wearing thin. "I pray to Indra for rain, for—"
"The gods serve themselves!" Kratos interrupted his voice a low rumble of contempt.
Rama met Kratos' furious gaze with a defiant stare of his own, anger etching deep lines across his face. "Blasphemy, Kratos. Hold your tongue!"
"I speak only truths," Kratos countered fiercely. "To them, we are insignificant. Just as humans disregard the concerns of ants, the gods overlook humans."
The room charged with an electric tension, the air thick with unspoken challenges. After a tense silence, Rama exhaled sharply, his demeanour softening as he rapidly finished his meal. Once his leaf was clean, he poured a drop of water into his right palm and murmured, "Amrutapithanamasi" before sipping it.
"Do not waste food," Rama declared as he picked up his folded leaf and carried it out the door. As he left he revealed a sly grin and said, "Or Annapurneshwari will be very disappointed."
Kratos growled back before descending on his food begrudgingly.
___
"You dislike gods," Rama said,
"Is that a question?" Kratos inquired in return. The duo were currently seated in the shade of the Banyan tree at the centre of the nearby village.
"The inflexion was clearly that of a statement," Rama retorted. "Care to share?"
"No," Kratos said curtly.
"Okay," Rama answered with a shrug.
___
It was a particularly new moon night, with the night sky coloured a rich shade of black dotted prosperously with stars that gleamed like tiny diamonds. Kratos was sat propped against a tree with his eyes closed, deep in meditation. Beside him, lay Rama, on his back.
"I think today marks exactly five months since our first meeting," Rama commented.
Kratos did not respond.
"I think we've known each other long and well enough to discuss deeper, more personal topics, no?" Rama probed.
"No," Kratos denied.
"Come on, now," Rama urged. "Fine, I'll go first, maybe it will motivate you to share in turn."
"It will not," Kratos reaffirmed with a voice tinged with frustration.
"It is true," Rama started, ignoring Kratos' denial altogether. "The gods do not care for the concerns of mortals. What they care for, above all else, is balance. If there is evil, there must be good. If there is life, there must be death. If there is an excess of one, an influx of the other is warranted."
"My purpose... was to bring balance," Rama said, his voice carrying immense pain and trauma in equal quantity. "I was assigned a task - a mission. I did not have a choice. My life was predetermined - my sufferings, destined."
"And yet, you pray to them," Kratos pointed out.
"Ironic, I know," Rama responded with a wry smile. "But ultimately, we must prostrate ourselves to a higher power. When our life is out of our control, we pray to a power that can maybe give us an iota of it."
"Does it help?" Kratos asked, semi-rhetorically.
"Well, no-"
"And yet, you pray," Kratos reiterated.
"I guess it's just hope," Rama pondered. "Hope that maybe someone is listening and will take pity on me."
"But I know that is something I do not deserve," Rama added wistfully.
A heavy pause lingered before Rama broke it by saying, "I know a self-inflicted injury when I see one. You stabbed yourself with a sword, why?"
Kratos stayed silent, before saying, "I was assigned a task - a mission. I had a choice, and I chose poorly. From that point onwards, my life was predetermined - my sufferings were destined. But I did not pray for a higher power to bring me peace, I sought it out on my own - I sought vengeance."
"And did you achieve it?" Rama followed up.
"Yes."
"Did it help?"
"No." Kratos paused.
"Vengeance turned you blind, as my devotion did to me," Rama summarised. "If I had rebelled against my purpose, I would have ended up in your place. If you had succumbed to yours, you would be in mine. In both cases, what remains is a hollow man. A sinful man."
"Hmm," Kratos hummed. He pondered over an alternate future. One where he had truly become a servant of the gods. A tool through and through. Would it have been better?
'Useless thoughts,' he admonished. Why bother thinking of what could have been when the past has already played itself out?
As he returned to the present mentally, Kratos was surprised to hear the gentle breathing of Rama, as he delved into a deep sleep. Even since they'd met, Rama had never once truly put himself to rest properly, instead relying solely on meditation and micro-naps throughout the day.
Kratos never asked why the man lived this way, as he did not care for the peculiarities of others unless it affected him directly. Nonetheless, it was an observation.
Kratos let himself immerse himself in the pleasant nightly breeze, which complemented the gentle breathing of the sleeping man. And slowly, sleep came for him too.
___
Kratos awoke to the sound of metal cutting through the wind. It was a sound he was extremely intimated with and one that was often followed by bloodshed. Almost by instinct, his eyes darted open and his body entered a low stance ready to leap into action.
Weirdly, no weapon appeared. Kratos' gaze scanned the environment, with his radar tuned for any source of danger. None were there. However, there was something different. Something that would have been missed had it not been for his acute awareness. In Rama's hand, lay his axe. The tool wasn't there before.
At that moment, Rama let out a moan in pain.
"I'm sorry... brother..." he mumbled. His eyes started to bubble with tears.
"I'm sorry... mother..." he mumbled. He let out a scream and broke down into a wail.
"Are you satisfied now... father?"
Kratos approached the hysterical man and tried to shake him awake.
"Rama!" He called out. But the man grew more distressed. "RAMA!"
At that moment, Rama's eyes snapped open, but they lacked clarity - they were glazed all over. His left hand yanked upwards and grabbed Kratos by the throat.
"Ra... ma...," Kratos rasped.
He tried to loosen the man's grip, but his strength was unexpectedly great. How could a man who abhorred meat have such vigour?
After understanding that there was no need to control his strength anymore, Kratos applied more pressure and released himself from Rama's clutches.
"Come to your senses!" Kratos yelled while massaging his neck. But his final word was caught in his throat as an axe hurtled towards where his head was supposed to be. With a dangerous twang, the tool-turned-weapon embedded itself in the trunk of the tree where Kratos lay before.
Kratos let out a growl while looking into the eyes of his attacker. But his attacker's gaze was dead - empty. But Kratos could feel the bloodlust emanating from the man. The man who preached non-violence had definitely spilt blood - human blood. And it wasn't just a drop, or a dollop, but a veritable ocean of it.
There were signs everywhere. The wariness, the measuring gaze, and the predatory aura... Kratos had only seen it in the eyes of those warriors who spent a large part of their lives on the battlefield. He saw it every day when he looked at his reflection.
But Kratos chalked it aside against his better judgement. He wanted to believe that things were as they appeared.
"Wake up, man!" Kratos yelled. Rama tilted his head with a swift jerk, and like a spring uncoiling, he leapt from his position, hurtling dangerously towards Kratos.
Kratos dodged by instinct, avoiding a punch that could have shattered a rib. Rama did not relent, though, as successive attacks followed. His movements were exaggerated and easy to predict, but they carried with it a deadly force and momentum.
Each attack was just as dangerous as the last, for any layman. Kratos was certain he could body some of these hits, and he affirmed his hypothesis by blocking some of the attacks rather than dodging them. However, this led to his first error.
Rama's sweeping kick hit Kratos' right shin. The next one arrived like a pendulum returning, which Kratos tried to redirect to his other side, but Rama twisted in the last minute and the attack struck his right shin once again. Kratos moved to create distance, but an exaggerated leap from Rama covered the distance seamlessly, and two more strikes hit Kratos's right shin.
The fifth barely grazed him, but Kratos could feel the result of the repeated hits as he felt something crack. He could not place his full weight on his right leg anymore without experiencing a shooting pain electrocuting him.
An angry growl escaped Kratos as he adjusted his posture, preparing himself for the sixth strike to his shin. Rama feinted and went for Kratos' left, but Kratos anticipated this. He did not underestimate his opponent just because the man was asleep.
Kratos caught Rama in a grapple, locking the man's lower body with a hip grab.
"AAAARGH!" Kratos bellowed while charging forward. Elbow strikes rained down on his back, but he did not stop. Like a bull, Kratos burst through a tree in his path using Rama as a shield, shattering the towering plant into smithereens. But Rama did not hesitate in his attacks.
Kratos bit through the pain and pushed through another tree, and another, and another. But Rama was jabbing with unwavering intensity.
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!" Kratos yelled. His gaze turned a tint of red as an outcropping of stone appeared before him. Pushing all of his power into his legs, Kratos barrelled onwards and collided with the structure without hesitation.
The earth rumbled in shock, as the man cut through rock like a hot knife through butter. Through sheer strength, Kratos passed through the structure, causing it to destabilise and crumble. As he exited from the other side, he tossed Rama, grabbed him by his legs, spun him around, and tossed him away into the dense forest. Rama hurtled like a ragdoll, destroying everything in his path, and disappearing into the greenery.
Kratos grunted, letting the bubbling anger settle. The crimson tint in his eyes started to diminish.
But a boom distracted him. A split second later, a sharp pain radiated through his face as his sight was momentarily blocked by a hairy foot.
Kratos felt his jaws dislodging slightly. He dodged once again through pure instinct, weaved, and then sent a punch where he estimated Rama's head to be.
Fist hit flesh, and the attack connected.
The red grew darker, deeper.
Anger.
Kratos's sight turned narrow, like a horse wearing an immensely restrictive blinder. All he saw was blood-red.
All he felt was the sensation of his bone pummelling against the bone of his opponent.
He heard a crack, something broke - nothing on his body.
A moment of clarity made itself known - a split second. And what Kratos saw was his hands wrapped around Rama's neck, his opponent's eyes nearly bursting out of their sockets as his face grew pallid through suffocation.
Kratos could feel his opponent struggling. A sense of euphoria started to course through Kratos as he felt the life slowly leaving the man. Kratos took a deep breath as a morbid smile started to crack on his ashen face.
"I... I'm awak-" Rama managed to say, but Kratos was having none of it. With a hard motion, Kratos snapped the man's neck and dismounted the prone body.
___
Complete clarity arrived a whole minute later, as the red settled and true colour returned to the world. Kratos collapsed onto the ground as he gazed at his palms in horror. His eyes alternated between the empty, bloodshot eyes of the dead Rama and his own bruised digits. The weight of his actions was finally dawning on him.
"What have I done?"
"Hideaway all you want, convince yourself that your life will be any different," a ghastly voice echoed from within Kratos' skull. It was a voice he remembered.
"Athena," he growled.
"No matter where you go, you cannot conceal what you are - your true nature," she said derisively. "You have and always will be a hound that bites the hand that feeds it."
"You are, and always will be, a mons-"
A loud inhale of air followed by a hacking cough pulled Kratos back into reality. The man who Kratos thought- no KNEW was dead, seemingly awoke from it, as if it was just another bout of slumber.
Rama massaged his neck as he stood up, "I apologise for hurting you."
"What?!" Kratos snapped.
"I'm sorry for putting you through that ordeal. I hope you aren't injured. Let me inspect you-"
Kratos slapped away the dead man's hand and looked at him in disbelief, "You are dead!"
Rama tilted his head before feeling his pulse by his jugular, "My beating heart says otherwise."
The man revealed a wry smile before sheating his axe by his waist. "Wow, that's quite a bit of damage. I hope no one was maimed or killed."
Kratos watched the man walk away, through the hole he'd made in the rock formation, still unable to process what exactly had taken place.
___
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