(This is the third in the Ram Chandra series by the author.)

THE little girl’s father lived a short twenty-minute walk away from the courtesan-house. One of Vasantpala’s aides led Raavan and his entourage there. On the way, he informed Raavan that the girl never spoke. They didn’t know if she had been born dumb. Raavan had a feeling that that the girl’s loss of speech had more to do with the torture she had suffered at such a young age.
They reached the place to find a modest house in a relatively deserted locality. But it was in better shape than Raavan had expected, considering the state of the little girl. The area around the house was clean. The walls had been reinforced recently with fresh bricks. The roof looked new. There was a small garden outside, with a flower bed. All very tastefully done.
Vasantpala’a aide knocked on the door and stepped aside. A middle-aged man answered the door. He was shorter than Raavan and thin, except for a small potbelly. He wore an expensive silk dhoti. A thick gold chain gleamed around his neck. His long hair was neatly oiled and tied.
Is this your daughter?’ asked Raavan, pointing at the little girl. The man looked at her and then back at Raavan. He noticed the daunting musculature of the pirate-trader. His eyes took in the expensive clothes and jewellery. Obviously, a rich customer.Yes, she is.’
I have something to ask. I want to know….’ The man cut in.One gold coin per hour. You can use a room in my house. If you want to do something different, like with her mouth or backside, the rates go up. However, it you want to tie her up, or beat her, we will have to negotiate. Because if you break any bones, she will not be able to earn anything for a few months at least.’
Raavan stepped closer to the man.
So, what will it be?’ asked the father, a little uncertainly. In answer, Raavan swung his fist viciously at the man’s face. Hitting him squarely on the nose. The sickening crunch confirmed that he had broken a bone. As the man fell to the ground, blood spurting from his nose, Raavan turned to look at the little girl. She was staring at her father. At her father’s blood. She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. Raavan turned to his men.Tie him to that tree. On his knees.’
The man was howling in pain.
Raavan’s men dragged him to a tall coconut palm close by and tried him to it. On his knees. Hands behind the trunk. Both legs secured. Face towards Raavan. Utterly helpless. Still screaming at the top of his lungs.
In the name of Lord Indra, cover this idiot’s mouth,’ said Raavan, his face screwed up in revulsion. One of the guards immediately produced a piece of cloth and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. They gagged him with another, longer piece of cloth which was then secured around the trunk of the tree. Not only could he not create a racket now, he could barely move his head. Only soft, muffled sounds escaped his mouth. Raavan turned to look at Kumbhakarna. Communicating with his eyes. Watch and learn. You,’ said Raavan to the little girl. What’s your name?’ The girl didn’t say anything. Kumbhakarna was about to remind Raavan that she couldn’t speak, but his elder brother signalled for him to be quiet. Come here,’ Raavan said ot her.
She stepped closer. The tall and extravagantly muscled Raavan towered over her. She barely came up to his waist. Suddenly Raavan pulled out a knife. The girl stepped back in alarm.
Don’t be afraid. This knife is for you.’ Saying this, Raavan flipped the knife around and handed it, hilt first, to the girl. She studied it closely. It was long, with a firm metal hilt and cross-guard. The blade was sharp on the outer side and serrated on the inner. The sharper side helped the blade slide smoothly into flesh. The serrated side caused maximum damage and pain while pulling the knife out. Manufactured by the talented metalsmiths of Gokarna, it had been designed by Raavan himself. The little girl held the knife tightly. Her hands were trembling. Then she looked at her father. The man’s eyes widened with fear. His muffled cries became more high-pitched. I am your father…. Forgive me… I am your father… Come with me,’ said Raavan. He walked up to the pathetic figure tied to the tree. The little girl followed.
The man was now shaking, and in a state of utter panic. He struggled against the ropes that confined him. But he had been trussed up well. His muffled cries were the only sounds to be heard. Everyone else was silent.
Raavan slapped the man hard. Oh, shut up!’ Raavan turned to the girl and pointed to the place on her father’s neck, at the base, where the jugular vein and carotid artery carried blood between the head and the heart. Almost as if imparting a lesson, he said to the little girl, making a lashing action with his hand,Make a large, deep cut here, and your father will die in a few minutes.’ Then he pointed to the heart and pressed a hand on the man’s chest. Stab here, and he will die much faster. But you have to make sure get it right. You don’t want the knife to get deflected by the ribs. That is hard bone. Sometimes, the knife can ricochet back from the ribs and you may end up hurting yourself. So, I wouldn’t recommend crying it right now. You can train for it later’ The little girl nodded. Like an eager student. A ferociously eager student. Or,’ continued Raavan, pointing to the man’s lower abdomen. you could stab him here. In the guts. No bones to deflect the knife. But the problem is that it will take time for him to bleed out. We may have to hear him scream for twenty maybe, even thirty minutes, as he bleeds to death. And if the wound is not deep enough, the blood flow will be very slow. It could take hours. And I don’t have that much to time to waste on your father. So, if you are going to stab him here, make sure it’s a deep wound.’ The desperate man was struggling to free himself. It’s up to you now,’ said Raavan.
The little girl looked at her father. All her reserves of self-control seemed to have run out as she shook in fury. She gripped the knife hard in both hands. Her father’s eyes were pleading for mercy. Tears missed with sweat and blood.
Raavan stood aside, waiting for the girl to decide.
But even he was surprised by how quickly it happened.
The girl acted fast. No second thoughts. No hesitation. She stepped up and stabbed her father in the guts. Thrusting her shoulder forward as she did so. Choosing the slow, painful death for him. The man emitted a sound of sheer agony. His eyes were wide in panic and pain. His reactions only seemed to egg the girl on. She pushed the knife in harder, using both her hands. When she finally yanked it out, a fountain of blood spurted out. Dyeing her hands red. Her clothes. Her body. Everything.
She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. She stood there drenched on her father’s warm blood.
Raavan smiled. Good girl.’ But the girl was not done. She stepped forward and stabbed her father again. And again. And again. And again. Always in the abdomen. Always in the guts. She was silent through it all. No sounds of anger. No screaming. No shouting. Just pure, silent rage. She kept stabbing her father until his abdomen was ruptured, and the intestines started spilling out. Kumbhakarna said to Raavan,Dada, make her stop.’
Raavan shook his head. No.
His eyes were fixed on the girl.
She raised he knife and stabbed her father again. When she finally stepped back, she had inflicted nearly twenty-five wounds on his flailing body. Her face, her hands, her body, her clothes, were slick with blood. It was almost like she had bathed in her father’s blood.
She turned around and looked at Raavan. He was momentarily staggered. She was smiling.
She walked up to Raavan, went down on her knees, and placed the bloodied knife at his feet.
Ravan placed her hands on her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.
What is your name?’ he asked. The girl said nothing. Raavan said,I am your master now. You will work for me. You will be loyal to me. And I will protect you.’
The girl remained silent.
Raavan repeated his question. What is your name?’ The little girl had heard what Raavan’s followers called him. Iraiva. The True Lord. She finally spoke. In a childish voice that was disconcertingly calm.Great Iraiva, my name is Samichi.’