Clack!
Click!
Clank!
"I have warned you, Mr. Jones!" the raja shouted, his men fastening iron cuffs around Alfred's neck, wrists and ankles. Though the young man tried fighting his way out of their strong grasps, he knew that he would have his throat slit if he showed any kind of resistance. After all, Raja Kumar Chatur was one of the most intimidating people he had ever laid eyes upon—what was he to do?
"You won't get away with—"
"And what are you going to do about it?!" the raja roared, turning to face him as soon as he was all locked up. "You are chained to the wall, you moronic fiend! Your neck is fastened, too! Surely, your neck will snap if you try getting out of it without a key!" He snickered evilly, looking at him as his men left. Alfred just looked at him, and watched him pull his dagger back into view again, his lower lip trembling slightly as his apprehension grew.
"My instincts were right—you do love my bride. I knew it ever since you first laid eyes on her," he said, his rage firing up again. "But you can't have her! You are not Indian, nor are you a raja or a sultan! You are just another arrogant, foul-mouthed, milk-white American!"
"Why is race such a big problem?! Dude, calm yourself!" Alfred said haughtily. "You don't know who you're talking to!"
"Yes, I do. It is someone whose throat I am going to slit in a few seconds if he doesn't shut his mouth," Raja Kumar Chatur said, looking at him with his bushy black eyebrows brought together by a look of hatred. "I could have killed you just now, but I suppose torturing you will be much more delightful."
"Torture?" Alfred asked.
"Yes. Either it will be a bunch of burgers staring you in the face, or the images of the rajkumari's smooth white skin being stained by her own blood," the raja said. Alfred's blue eyes widened, his heart racing faster out of fear for his love's life—was he going to tell him why he has taken the princess?
"What are you going to do to her?" Alfred asked with anger growing in his voice, moving around in his noisy, iron confines. "You took her, didn't you?!"
"Hmm, I have found your weakness, Mr. Jones. Allow me to first explain why the Rajkumari Amisha Mani is so special to my temple," Raja Kumar Chatur said, stroking the beard on his chin conspiratorially. "I did have a few of my priests lure her away from the city during our engagement celebration in Delhi, and I also organized the riot in Delhi with soldiers from Calcutta just so I could capture you all and put you away until the sacrifice is over."
"Why would you?" Alfred asked with disbelief. "Sacrifice? What are you doing with the princess?!"
"I sense your anger is heating up, so I guess I should explain what will happen, and what already has," the raja said. "Picture it—you have seen the physical grandeur of the rajkumari in person. Her beauty is known throughout the East, and some in India consider her to be a goddess. Do you agree with me?" Alfred's face was blank, but he nodded slowly, staring at him with angry blue eyes.
"To my temple and followers, the rajkumari is the incarnation of Black Tara," the raja began. Recalling what Mr. Winston and Mr. Smith were talking about during their first meeting at breakfast during their time at the palace, his eyes widened and he gasped.
"Black Tara? You guys were looking for a jewel, weren't you?" Alfred assumed. "You guys needed help, didn't you? Mr. Winston and—"
"They were mislead by their research, Mr. Jones. We already acquired our jewel, and it holds the essence of youth and immortality. That, my friend, is her heart," the raja cackled evilly, putting on an evil, bearded grin as Alfred's face turns to a combination of fury and fear.
"You can't! I won't let you!" Alfred shouted, pulling his wrists away from the walls to make the clattering noise from the chains.
"Save your breath, villain!" Raja Kumar Chatur said, cutting him off right after. "In order to release Black Tara from her mortal form, we must sacrifice the rajkumari, her incarnation, and fulfill the prophesy my grandfather predicted many years ago. He predicted that a beautiful woman of her appearance and devotion to faith would perish just to release the divine spirit and gives to us her blood, which alone nourishes the youth of he who drinks it."
"You're going to…what?! Alfred wondered in shock, his jaw dropping as he immediately began to feel sick to his stomach.
"Yes, Mr. Jones. Her wrists will be slit first. Ah, those sweet, slender wrists will be the first of her sacred bloodshed," the raja said, going off into a daze of sadistic pleasure. "Then will come her throat, and I will be the first to drink directly from the source. Of course, a bowl is needed to catch any extra blood that comes out so I can give some to my followers. After all, her blood makes a man immortal, especially me. I will not look a day over thirty-nine once I drink from it. That isn't all, though—after bleeding her dry, her heart will be carved from her corpse, and from it, the remainder of her blood will be placed in my keeping for use in our temple." He became more engrossed in the ceremoniously vicious fantasy. "The flames will consume her remains on a bier, and the spirit of Black Tara will finally emerge in the form of raging flames from our central fire."
As he heard the process of killing Princess Amisha, Alfred's teeth gritted so hard he felt pain in his gums. His cheeks turned redder than a tomato with extreme anger toward the raja. How dare he torture him with the image of the princess' throat and wrists being slit with heart being cut out afterwards for a barbaric reason? In a fit of rage, Alfred let out his anger despite the risk of him being killed by the raja's dagger.
"YOU WILL NOT HURT HER! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! YOU SERIOUSLY THINK DRINKING THE BLOOD OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN LIKE PRINCESS AMISHA WILL MAKE YOU LIVE FOREVER!? I'M TELLING YOU, MAN, EVERYBODY DIES AT SOME POINT! SOME SACRED ESSENSE ISN'T GOING TO HELP YOU REIGN OVER YOUR FOLLOWERS AND TREAT THEM LIKE CATTLE, YOU SICK FUCK!"
At an instant, Raja Kumar Chatur, still holding his dagger, swiftly slashed Alfred's clothed chest, causing him to scream in agony. Luckily, his clothing saved him from being cut so deep he'd bleed to death, and but he kept gasping, gulping as the raja held the bloodied dagger to his throat like he had earlier.
"Say another word, and you will die in chains!" the raja shrieked, poking his throat with the point of the blade shortly before walking away, laughing loudly as he cackled his way out of the cell.
"I am no henna artist, but this mendhi looks good on you," Ravi said, painting Princess Amisha's fingertips with the reddish-brown plant material.
Many hours later, the raja announced that the princess be woken up by 3:00 AM to prepare her for the ritual in which she was fated to die. Upon receiving the news from the raja himself, the princess, though she was panicking inside, knew that there was no way out and knew she wasn't going to be saved. The young woman was prepared by taking a bath, straightening her hair, and giving her new clothes to wear.
Her new ensemble was much simpler than anything she wore in her daily life as a princess; it was all black, consisting of a short, midriff-bearing top and a full ebony skirt, but it did not have a sari with it. The idea that her last outfit had no sari made her feel naked—she always wore one, be it over her head or diagonally over her torso, and the fact that her cleavage showed prominently didn't help matters. The fabric making up her outfit was as black as her hair, making her skin look so white it resembled her goddess-like, post-mortem image as seen in the raja's magic mirror.
"You look absolutely beautiful," Ravi said, finishing up the henna. "I can sense Black Tara's graceful presence within you." Their eyes met, but she held back tears that were ready to come down at any given moment. After all, this was to be her death, and she knew it was not going to be easy.