-The warrior, Vikram -
_______
A year earlier, the rains had come late, leaving the village parched and cracked under the relentless summer sun. Vikram had just finished another day of backbreaking chores. His hands were raw, his stomach empty, and his spirits lower than ever. The only reprieve was the brief moments he could steal away to sit under the shade of the old banyan tree at the edge of the village.
It was there that he first saw the dog.
The animal had wandered into the village, its frail body barely standing, its ribs jutting out like jagged stones. Its fur was matted with dirt, its tail limp. Vikram had been sitting with his back against the tree, picking at a piece of stale bread he'd managed to sneak out of the kitchen, when the dog collapsed a few feet away.
For a moment, Vikram simply stared, unsure of what to do. He glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice or care. Carefully, he broke the bread in half and crawled closer to the animal, holding out the smaller piece.
"Here," he whispered, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "You look worse off than me."
The dog lifted its head weakly, its dull eyes meeting Vikram's. It sniffed the bread cautiously before taking it gingerly from his hand. Vikram watched as the animal devoured the morsel, its tail giving the faintest of wags.
"That's all I have," Vikram said apologetically, patting the dog's head. "But if you come back tomorrow, I'll try to get more."
From that day on, the dog became a constant presence in Vikram's life.
____
Despite the little he had, Vikram always found a way to share with the dog. He named him Bheem, after the mighty warrior he'd heard about in the village storyteller's tales. It was a joke, really—Bheem was anything but mighty. He was small, frail, and often too tired to move. But there was a resilience in his eyes that reminded Vikram of the warrior's spirit.
Some days, after finishing his chores, Vikram would sneak away to their spot under the banyan tree, bringing with him scraps of food or a small bowl of water. Bheem would greet him with a wagging tail, his excitement a balm to Vikram's weary heart.
"You're the only one who's happy to see me," Vikram would say, scratching behind the dog's ears. Bheem would respond with a soft bark or a nuzzle, as if to say, I'm here for you.
On rare occasions, when Vikram had a moment of freedom, he'd play with Bheem in the open field behind the house. He would toss small sticks or stones, laughing quietly as the dog bounded after them, his tail wagging furiously.
"You're faster than you look," Vikram would chuckle, watching as Bheem proudly brought back the stick, dropping it at his feet.
On the nights when Vikram was forced to sleep outside after being punished, Bheem would curl up beside him, offering warmth and companionship in the cold. Vikram would rest a hand on the dog's side, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths.
"You're lucky you don't have to deal with people," Vikram would whisper. "But at least you have me. And I have you."
_____
One night, as Vikram sat with Bheem near the edge of the forest, a group of village boys approached. They were the same ones who often taunted Vikram, calling him names and throwing stones when no one was watching.
"Still hanging around that filthy mutt?" one of them sneered. "You're both pathetic."
Vikram stood protectively in front of Bheem, clenching his fists. "Leave us alone."
The boys laughed, circling him like predators. One of them shoved Vikram, causing him to stumble. Another reached down to grab a stick, raising it toward Bheem.
Before Vikram could react, Bheem let out a fierce growl—a sound so unlike the usually timid dog that it startled the boys. His lips pulled back, revealing sharp teeth, and his stance became rigid, as though daring them to come closer.
The boys hesitated, their bravado faltering. "Crazy dog," one muttered before they turned and fled, muttering curses under their breath.
Vikram dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around Bheem. "You saved me," he said, his voice trembling. "You're not just a dog. You're my Bheem."
Bheem barked softly, licking Vikram's cheek as if to say, Always.
_____
The last memory Vikram had of true happiness with Bheem was during the village's annual harvest festival. While his family celebrated in the main courtyard, Vikram had sneaked out to the fields, bringing with him a handful of rice he'd hidden in his pocket.
He sat under the banyan tree, Bheem by his side, as the sounds of music and laughter floated through the air. The dog ate the rice gratefully, his tail wagging as Vikram spoke.
"One day, we'll leave this place," Vikram said, gazing up at the stars. "We'll go somewhere no one can hurt us. Just you and me, Bheem."
The dog rested his head on Vikram's lap, his eyes half-closed. Vikram smiled, running a hand over the dog's soft ears. For a moment, he allowed himself to dream of a life beyond the confines of the village—a life where he and Bheem could be free.
That was the night Vikram realized something: Bheem wasn't just a stray dog. He was family.
___
This memory, like a fire, burned in Vikram's chest, fueling his determination to honor the only soul that had ever truly cared for him.
Later that night, Vikram staggered back to his usual spot outside the house. His body throbbed with pain, and the stale bread he had managed to cling to was now crushed and crumbled. He sat on the dirt, staring at the ground, tears threatening to spill but refusing to fall.
In the distance, a faint, familiar whimper reached his ears. His heart sank as he recognized it.
Bheem lying on his side, his body heaving with labored breaths. The dog's ribs jutted out sharply, his fur matted and patchy. His tongue hung from his mouth as he panted weakly.
"Bheem," Vikram whispered, dropping to his knees beside the dog. His voice cracked as he placed a trembling hand on the animal's frail body. "I'll get you food. Just hold on."
Vikram scrambled to his feet and ran to the house. He managed to grab a small slice of bread from the kitchen before he was caught once again by his uncle.
This was when his uncle started beating him. Vikram clenched the slice of bread tightly in his hand, refusing to let it go, even as his body was thrown to the ground.
When his uncle finally left, muttering curses under his breath, Vikram dragged himself back to Bheem. His body screamed in protest with every step, but he didn't care.
When he reached the spot, he froze.
Bheem lay motionless, his shallow breaths gone. The dog's body was still, his eyes closed as though he had finally found peace.
"No..." Vikram choked out, his voice barely audible. He collapsed beside the lifeless body, the slice of bread still clutched in his hand. He gently placed it next to Bheem, his vision blurring with tears.
He lay down beside his only friend, wrapping his arms around the dog's cold body. For the first time in years, he let himself cry—deep, wrenching sobs that shook his entire frame. He cried for Bheem, for himself, for all the pain and loneliness he had endured.
As dawn broke over the village, Vikram's tears finally dried. His face was streaked with dirt and sorrow, but his heart felt hollow, as though he had poured every ounce of grief out onto the earth.
He looked down at Bheem one last time, brushing a hand over the dog's matted fur.
"I'll never cry again," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
That morning, as the village began to stir, Vikram buried his only friend in a quiet corner of the courtyard. He marked the spot with a small stone and sat beside it until the sun rose fully, its light casting a golden hue over the land.
And in that moment, something inside Vikram shifted. He didn't know what the future held, but he vowed to never let anyone—or anything—break him again.