"A revelation has been received from the spirit of Black Tara herself!"
Raja Kumar Chatur, in front of two of his priests, made his way to Princess Amisha's sacred bier room, where he ordered his man to unlock the door and open it. The princess, who had been sitting stationary on her bier with one leg crossed over the other and her elbow resting with her chin in the palm of her hand. Upon hearing the door open, the princess looked up at the raja, who was wearing his priestly ensemble, and in his facial expression was nothing but destructive fire—she did not have a good feeling about this.
"What do you want?" she asked, still full of the same kind of fear she had felt since coming there two days before.
Grinning a closed, sinister smile, Raja Kumar Chatur looked down at the princess' downtrodden appearance. The strings of jewels remained in her hair, even though it was disheveled and messy, and the sari had been removed from her head by her own doing. A few diamonds, the one Mr. Winston had picked up from the scene of her kidnapping, were missing from different parts of her clothing, and her face was weary and tired, dirty and somewhat sickly-looking. All she had been given to eat was a small bread and water meal during the nighttime, the raja believing that the more simple her meal, the better she would accept her time to perish in sacrifice. Though she had seen her supposed post-mortem image in the raja's magic mirror, Princess Amisha was still not pleased, and she wanted nothing more than for somebody to save her.
"Black Tara herself came to me from your being in my slumber," he said. She looked up at him, anticipating the outcome anxiously. "She wants to be released as soon as possible."
"I thought I was to die by the next new moon!" Princess Amisha assumed, fearful tears streaming down her face.
"No, you are to perish by the morrow," the raja ordered.
"No!" the princess protested. "At least one more—"
"NO!" the raja roared, taking her by the hair and arching her neck back forcefully, causing her to scream as his dagger's blade went against her throat. "You have had eighteen years on this Earth to live! You will spend eternity as our primary Goddess! You will be worshipped, revered, perhaps even lend us your divine power to help us get new followers to our denomination! You saw how beautiful you looked in the mirror, didn't you?! I suppose that wasn't enough! I could kill you right now!"
"NO! Don't! I'll do anything!" the princess begged, the knife drawing closer to her neck as she sobbed with fright at his violent attempt on her.
"Anything? You do realize that it is inevitable that you will die to release Black Tara's power from your being, don't you?" he wondered, calming his rage down as he heard her heavy breathing and sobbing.
Taking the knife away from her throat, he turned to face the princess, who couldn't say or do anything but look up at his below average-looking face. Invisible, demonic fires burned in his dark eyes, and the headdress he wore scared her to death just looking at him with it on his head. He instead took the dagger up to her face, causing her to whimper—was he going to kill her after caressing her with the blade? Instead, he caressed her soft, beautiful white skin with the silver, sharp part of the weapon.
"You are so beautiful," he said, smiling seductively with an evil grin. "You resemble the Maharani."
"My mother?" she said through a heavy, frightful sob.
"Maharani Darshwana Minakshi," the raja said. "You have her skin, her cheekbones, and her black, black hair. My, her death was a perfect example of life giving another life as one dies while doing so. She died in childbirth. Did you know that?"
"Yes, I am well aware of how she died, raja," Princess Amisha said. Their eyes met, and Raja Kumar Chatur looked at hers with awe and amazement.
"The Maharani was the daughter of a British ambassador who married a middle-class woman from our country," the raja revealed, taking the blade away from the intimidated princess. "Your father married for love. It was simply inexcusable and pathetic. My, I would give anything to marry for love, but I knew that my social standing would never allow such notions or ideas. Being the son of a weak Maharaja, he let his heir marry who he wanted. He was a very spoiled young man growing up. I am only a few years younger than he, and I remember when you were born. The entire palace was happy that a new member had joined the family, but they were sad because it was not an heir, a son." He scoffed rudely. "Just after your birth, the Maharani died." He sighed, remembering her in his mind. "She was a beautiful woman, much like you, but her eyes were not blue. They were the color of warm honey." He sighed again. "Every man, regardless of their social class, wanted your mother for themselves, but they all were envious that the future Maharaja had married her. It was a shame considering that the event of her death was a time when all of India mourned over their queen."
Princess Amisha stared at him inquisitively, trying to find the connection between her mother and her suffering at the temple being all alone in her sacred bier room. Inside, she was praying hard for her life to be salvaged; better yet, though it was least likely to happen, it would be so much better if the raja spared her life and let her go.
"Nevertheless, the Maharaja was happy to have a child even if it was a daughter. I remember seeing you for the first time when you were just a baby. I was a young man, and having just inherited my priesthood here at temple Kālē Tārā Rakta. My father had died and left me the position held by him and his father before him, and once I held you for the first time, I knew that my grandfather's prophecy would be fulfilled in the coming years. We all watched you grow in grace and beauty, and with it, your heart became the most desired in all of India. You are also very bound to your Hindu faith, another indicator that you are indeed Black Tara's blood host and incarnation."
"What will…you do with…my blood?" the princess asked nervously.
"I cannot tell you, for it would never make a difference. You will be dead by the early morning," the raja told her. "After, a ceremony initiating you into our pantheon as our primary Goddess will take place. Think of it, rajkumari—everyone wants to reach spiritual purity; you, my dear, already have. This is just a much better, honorable way of going."
The raja left the presence of the princess, ordering his men to lock the large wooden door. As it closed, she collapsed on the stone floor and began sobbing, her face buried on her knees as her warm, salty tears fell to soak different parts of her lavish, ruined skirt. I pray somebody frees me from this madness, she thought as she sobbed heavily.
"What the hell?" Alfred wondered as he saw a familiar drivable cart through his binoculars. "Is that the cart our friends were taken away in?"
"Let me see that!" Arthur ordered, snatching the binoculars away from him to get a closer look. "Yes, that is! Why is it parked near a Hindu temple?"
"A temple? What are they doing with them at a temple? I never knew temples had prisons!" Francis exclaimed with disbelief as he shrugged.
"Hmm, something is wrong this picture. Why the hell would they be taken here?" Alfred said. "This is so screwed up."
"There's only one way to find out, gentlemen," Arthur said conspiratorially. "We need disguises to blend in."
"How the hell—"
"Shh! Someone's coming!" the Brit said in a forceful whisper, cutting the Frenchman off from finishing his sentence.
They ducked behind the shrub, peering through the branches to see a few of the raja's priests walking by in a ceremonious manner. Luckily, there were only three, and one the count of three, each of the three men grabbed a priest and started beating him in the bush senselessly until they were unconscious. Then, they stripped them of their garments and placed them over their clothes. It took a bit of time to tie the turbans correctly, but when they emerged from hiding, they looked at each other. Alfred laughed hysterically at how he looked.
"I look like freak! HAHAHAHAHA!" he wailed humorously. Arthur punched his shoulder with frustration, trying to quiet him down.
"Stop it, you wanker! We'll be exposed!" he hissed.
"Sorry," the American said, looking at them. "You can't see my hair in this turban, can you?"
"No, but you are white as anything. We have to be subtle but quick with our movements so we are not caught," Arthur advised. "Where is the entrance?"
"Over there, I think," Francis said, pointing at the temple. He turned to Alfred with a curious look on his face. "Do you know any of the language they speak here?"
"Eh, no, I wish," Alfred said, sighing sadly.
"You mean to tell me you spent so much time with the princess that you didn't learn any of her language?" Francis asked, scolding him.
"I didn't pick it up and I don't understand her. Besides he speaks English to me," Alfred reminded him.
"Humph," Francis grunted.
"Let's go!" Arthur said forcefully, trying to mimic the ceremonious gait of the temple's priests.
Surprisingly, there were no guards surrounding the temple, allowing Alfred, Arthur and Francis easy, discreet access. Upon entering, they looked at their surroundings curiously, and noticed that for such a humble temple, the interior was quite lavish. There were statues of a black-skinned goddess with three eyes dancing on top of a woman's corpse being burned on a pyre. Any adornments on the naked goddess' statue were made of pure gold, and in her several hands were various things, including a bow and arrow, a bloody scimitar, and a spear. It scared Alfred to see the deity dancing over a dead woman being consumed by flames, knowing it had some type of underlying meaning.
"What the…hell?" Alfred whispered, looking up at the statue curiously. Arthur and Francis walked toward him, taking each of his arms to drag him to where they wanted to go.
"Come on! Let's go find the cells!" the Brit whispered, bringing him along only to let him go just moments later.
As the three men walked, they passed a few priests, ducking their heads to try concealing their faces. One of the temple's priests, suspicious of the light-skinned men, turned around after passing them and began muttering, and then shouting in Hindi.
"Those are not priests! Not one of them is dark like we are!" he exclaimed, pointing at them. Alfred, Arthur, and Francis grew nervous, walking even faster, but the two priests walked even faster behind them, trying to stop them. The priest noticed that they were not barefoot and had clothes on underneath their robes.
"They also have shoes. We do not wear shoes in our sacred establishment!" he pointed out, further apprehending them. "How do you know they aren't stealing the sacred jewel of Delhi?"
"We must get them!" the other priest said, running toward the three men.
In response, Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, aware that their cover was blown quicker than it ever should have been, ran away down the hall. As they ran, they tried to find some indicator of a prison, but none seemed present. They saw the steep staircase, but it didn't occur to them that it led directly to the underground cell where Ivan, Matthew, Mr. Winston, and Mr. Smith were locked up in. Once they reached another Black Tara sanctuary, the sight of Raja Kumar Chatur and two of his men froze them, stopping them in their tracks. Instantly recognizing their faces through their disguises, the raja was relieved to finally have come across Alfred, the man he hated most out of the men.
"These men! We caught them sneaking in wearing our robes!" the priest said.
"Hmm, trying to save the rajkumari, are you?" the raja said, looking down into Alfred's eyes. He then ordered his men to take them out of his sight. "Take them away, but leave Alfred to me." He snickered as Arthur and Francis tried fighting the raja's men, but they pulled out their swords, prompting them to obey in order for their lives to be spared.
Knowing he was in big trouble even though he didn't want to be and never planned on it, Alfred looked at the raja as he withdrew his dagger, pointing the tip at the American's throat. Alfred gulped. Oh shit, he thought, I'm going to my grave now. I swear to God, I'll kill him if he touches my princess.
"If I were you, I would cooperate or your throat will be sliced in two," the raja said, staring him coldly in the face as he led him down the hallway past the bier room where the princess was being held. Alfred began shouting as he was led and intimidated by the raja down the hallway; "Amisha! I will find you! I will save you from this brutal jerk trying to threaten me at knifepoint! Hang in there! I love you!"