In the pitch-black night, the thunderous sound of galloping horses echoed through the dense forest. Twenty soldiers raced down a rugged dirt path. Clad in thick chainmail, heavy metal helmets, and tightly secured dhotis, they rode in a tight formation. In the center of their ranks was a magnificent, finely crafted wooden chariot pulled by two mighty steeds. The soldiers formed a protective wall around it, desperately guarding the chariot from the thirty pursuers chasing them with drawn swords and knocked bows.
These thirty men were no ordinary fighters; they were Vyadhs—ruthless bounty hunters. They dressed like common mercenaries in simple cloth and leather armor, but their heads were wrapped in pale yellow and white turbans, the fabric pulled up to conceal their faces.
Inside the bouncing chariot, resting on a soft velvet seat, was a girl of about twelve. Dressed in a sky-blue silk lehenga and a golden choli, she looked as delicate as a blooming flower. Silver anklets adorned her feet, and a pearl necklace rested against her collarbone. Her innocent face was marked by terrified, tear-filled eyes, and her soft black hair cascaded all the way down to her knees. She was trembling, hunted by the merciless Vyadhs.
Driven by the bounty, the hunters spurred their horses, intent on capturing or killing the Princess.
Drawing their bowstrings back, the hunters unleashed a rain of arrows upon the chariot and its royal guard. Arrows struck the chariot's wooden frame, the guards' bodies, and their horses. Thanks to their heavy chainmail and iron helmets, the soldiers deflected most of the fatal blows, but their mounts were not as lucky. Several horses shrieked as arrows pierced their flesh.
Under the relentless barrage, the soldiers retaliated. Drawing their own bows, they fired back with lethal precision, their arrows tearing right through the chests of the unarmored hunters.
A fierce exchange of arrows erupted between the two sides. Thwack! Thwack! A volley of arrows slammed into the chariot's roof. Inside, Princess Kritika gasped in horror as the sharp iron tips pierced right through the wood, hovering just inches above her.
Sitting opposite her was a thirty-year-old man. He wore chainmail hidden beneath a white tunic, with a dhoti tied firmly around his waist, his thick black hair falling to his shoulders.
"There is no need to be afraid, Princess Kritika ji," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. "We will get you back to the palace safely."
"Yes, Virendra ji," Kritika whispered, still trembling.
Suddenly, a frantic knocking battered the chariot window. Virendra and Kritika turned as a soldier riding alongside called out. Virendra pushed the wooden shutter open. "What is it?"
"Commander Virendra ji!" the soldier shouted, panic twisting his face. "We have lost thirteen men! The hunters only have eleven left. What do we do?"
Virendra's eyes widened in shock. "How did we lose so many?!"
"They are using bolas and targeting the horses!" the soldier cried. "We cannot hold our ground against them!"
Cold sweat broke out on Virendra's forehead. He opened his mouth to shout a new order, but before the words could leave his lips, a stray arrow whistled through the dark. Shhhk! It pierced straight through the back of the soldier's iron helmet. The man was killed instantly, his lifeless body tumbling off his galloping horse.
In the distance, a hunter cheered, pointing at his handiwork. "What a shot! Did you see that?" His comrades erupted in cruel laughter.
Boiling with rage, Virendra shouted orders to his remaining men to stay alive, then slammed the chariot window shut.
Seeing her loyal guard die right before her eyes, tears finally spilled down Princess Kritika's cheeks. Virendra sank back into his seat, his jaw clenched tight, and roared at the charioteer to drive the horses even faster.