A Short Story by Pankti


Author: Pankti
Created: January 29, 2018 at 09:27 am
Upload Type: Short Story, M (16+)  
Category: Fantasy | Fiction | General/Other
Upload Stats: 5 Stars by 1 users with 1 comments and 53 views

The Tale of Two Warriors  

In a world that had forgotten to fight, there lived a princess who existed to make a difference. She was fondly addressed as Mastani. She challenged the old worn out ways in the most unexpected manner ever. She had the heart of an innocent child, a mind of a warrior, a body shining in valor and a face so pretty, no one could resist falling for her.  From her young days itself she had a dear friend who was an angelic figure to her, known as Bajirao. He played with her, made her the food she loved, told her stories of fairies and elves, and made her believe in her own fairytale. On one such evening while she was playing a game in the woods with Mother Nature, she saw something shining vibrantly under a wreath of colorful flowers and long thorny bushes. Nothing seemed to be able to conceal the brilliance which the mysterious magical streak of light carried within itself. Hypnotized in its purity, her feet followed the path that led to the enchantment. Scraping off the bushes, weeds and flowers, she found a luminous scabbard that blinded her for a moment. Still lost in the beauty, her hands followed orders coming from an unknown source and she pulled out the sword from its cover. The birds and animals gazed in silence upon hearing the mesmerizing music produced when the scabbard touched and made love with the sword.


She never had seen such an archetype of shimmer, as she had been raised in the planet of cowards. She ran to Bajirao, showed him the sword and promised to devote her life into finding the purpose of the endowment which had been furnished to her by the Universe. The sword changed little Mastani's vision and her way of perceiving her skills, gifts and wisdom. Day and night, she would gaze at the scabbard, occasionally pulling out the sword and spending hours trying to figure out the secret power encoded within it. She knew that the essence of her whole life was contained in the hard metal of the sword, but did not yet know how. On one such sunrise lost in a trance, a strange man appeared before her and said:


“Trust the sword, prepare for the war;


You are a rare warrior, will win without armor.


Don’t just gaze, sharpen its edge;


Soon will you receive a warning, get ready for some mourning.


Once flashed, don’t forget its effect;


Embrace your independence, ignorance will be detrimental.”


Saying these words, the apparition started disappearing. The words left a flabbergasting effect on the soft heart of the cosseted princess. Her tender understanding was unable to decode the explicit secret in the wise man’s words. Instead, she started fearing the mourning that could ring her door any moment. She chose to be a pigeon which closed her eyes to protect herself from being a prey to the deadly black cat. She was now afraid to tread freely in the woods for she might get attacked by a wild snake; she became coy and refrained to talk about her timid thoughts to Bajirao, and gradually decided to enclose herself to an extent so that nothing would be able to bring her pain. She locked the biggest treasure of her pure real self into an infinitely dark corner and came out as a blob of flesh, with no brilliance at all. Her world started changing, seeping into darkness, distancing her more from love and light each passing moment. She would keep staring at the scabbard in a complete lack of purpose, and continued sharpening the sword for the day of warning that the strange man mentioned about.


Being such a close connection to Mastani, Bajirao couldn’t resist comprehending the root of her pain. He kept persuading her, but she would not melt. After exerting a huge effort, he lost his calm and shouted in a hateful tone. Mastaani wasn’t a soul anymore; she was a dead brain programmed to protect itself from an attack, and without a second thought she pulled out the sword and flung it across the muscular body of Bajirao. The sword sharpened for months and years penetrated his skin in no time and Bajirao started bleeding, staining the royal palace with innocent blood. The walls were stunned; the gold pillars in the room presented a horrendous form with blood all over. Impulsively, the sword fell from her hands but the red shade on her fingers didn’t. She started retreating to a safe place, as fast as she could, pacing away from her errors, striding away from herself.


The fear that resided within her had metamorphosed into remorse. The sight of the blood stained sword would refuse to leave her mind. Won over by her guilt and regret, she could not even gather courage to meet Bajirao and make sure he was alright. Months passed and she dreaded the very thought of the sword, as now she had known what amount of destruction it could cause.


But ultimately she was a fated warrior. Making her experiences as lessons, she realized that each element in the Universe possessed Power, and each element of Power had two facets, both good and bad. The warrior fighting for the good had no choice but to carry the load of making sure she always took care of the innocent and identified evil guised at its best. She started investing consistently into training her heart and body to be strong enough to fight for the right side. There were many warriors around who fought for shillings, but only she knew the importance of the war and chose justice over wealth. The tragic scene of her blood stained fingers made sure her swings were never impulsive and led to the greatest Good.


With passing years, the world has witnessed an exceptional connoisseur in the battlefield. Her single swing possesses the power of that of a hundred soldiers fighting without an elaborate purpose. Sometimes even the Sun looks dull upon watching the brilliance emitted by her sword, but Mastani sees it differently. She never fails noticing the stain of Bajirao’s blood on the shining metal, which makes sure not a drop more of impurity falls upon it. Her battles are not fought to conquer wealth and power, but as a penance of a sin she committed years ago. Bajirao is a warrior too, and people say they never crossed paths again- but the truth is, they reside within each other and no power in the Universe can separate Bajirao from Mastaani.


All scars vanished, but the one given by her remained


All stories perished, but their connection unswayed.



© Pankti - all rights reserved

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Comments & Reviews ( X 2)



babyboomer68
February 13, 2018
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Fascinating Tale
A tale of fantasy with a moral. It is a fascinating one in which a young woman is represented as a warrior and that her strength comes from a sword which she discovered among some bushes. This is a well written story which keeps the reader on the edge of the seat. ~ Sonia
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