The screen in front of Rudra flickered again.
The next memory rolled in like thunderclouds—
Mango Orchard...
A few miles from Jackson Mansion.
The air was thick with sweat and silence.
Birds no longer chirped.
Even the wind held its breath.
Five Indian men—rebels—
They were forced to kneel in the orchard's dirt.
Their hands were bound.
Their eyes filled with defiance… and fear.
Jackson, still bleeding from his left brow from an earlier whip-snap by a mosquito, walked with a rifle slung over his shoulder, his boots crunching the dry leaves.
He let out a mocking laugh.
Hahaha~
"No jury. No mercy. Rebels deserve no dignity—only demonstration."
He aimed the rifle—
CRACK!
The first man dropped.
Blood sprayed the bark of a nearby mango tree.
CRACK!
Another fell—
His lifeless body twitched slightly before going still.
CRACK! CRACK!
Jackson hummed a jolly British tune as if playing a sport.
Then he raised the rifle toward the last rebel—
A young man, trembling, but still staring into Jackson's eye with pure hate.
"Let this one be a message,"
Jackson smirked.
Smirk~
"Eyes full of fire… Let's snuff that out."
He pulled the trigger—
WHAM!
A stone—no,
A missile of fury—
Sliced through the air and slammed into the side of Jackson's head, smashing directly into his right eye.
"Aaargh!!"
He screamed in pain—
Staggering backwards as blood gushed from his socket.
The rifle clattered to the ground.
"____"
"____"
"____"
His soldiers, stunned, spun around and pointed their guns in the direction from which the stone had come.
Leaves rustled.
A flash of red cloth darted between the trees.
There—
Through the branches—
They caught a glimpse.
A 13-year-old girl.
Wild hair. Fists clenched, chest heaving with rage.
She didn't run like a child—
She ran like someone who had nothing to lose.
"AFTER HER!!"
Jackson bellowed, clutching his eye as blood soaked his uniform shirt.
"I WANT THAT GIRL'S HEAD ON A STAKE!!"
Dozens of boots thundered after her into the jungle.
But she was already gone.
Back in the void, Rudra was shaking, his breathing shallow and rapid.
"____"
His knuckles were white from clenching his fists.
The forest echoed with shouts.
Boots slammed into wet earth.
Leaves swayed violently as the young girl sprinted through the undergrowth, her breathing ragged.
Behind her—
Five Indian-born officers, sworn to the British crown, were gaining on her.
One of them—
A tall, muscular man with a burning eyes—
Grinned cruelly as he pulled out his spear.
"End of the line, you little rat."
He lunged forward, thrusting the spear with full force.
CLANG!
A sharp metallic ring shattered the tension.
The spear… didn't land.
A hand—rough, veined, steady as a mountain—
Had caught it mid-thrust.
Gasps.
All the officers froze.
The forest… fell silent.
"____"
"____"
"____"
Their eyes went wide.
"D–Durai…"
One of them muttered in disbelief, nearly dropping his blade.
Before them stood a man—
Unarmed, wearing a faded cotton shirt, ash smeared on his forehead,
A cigarette was tucked between his lips, its smoke curling lazily in the air like a warning.
Durai.
The most wanted rebel leader in the district.
Feared like a ghost.
Hunted like a beast.
Known for slipping through every trap the British ever laid.
He calmly removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled.
"Five men. One spear. Four swords. And all of you still needed to gang up on a child?"
The words weren't loud.
But they cut.
The men growled and lunged forward with their swords, trying to surround him.
Too slow.
Durai moved like a whip—
He ducked under one blade, twisted the arm of another, and cracked his elbow into a third's jaw.
One man screamed as Durai snapped his wrist, making the sword clatter to the ground.
Another tried to stab him from behind—
Durai caught the blade with his palm, turned, and headbutted him square in the face.
Within seconds…
Four men were on the ground, groaning in pain.
Only the spear-wielding officer—
The one who had tried to kill the girl remained.
Durai stepped toward him.
"____"
The man trembled.
Durai didn't speak.
He just grabbed the man's arm—
The one that had held the spear—
And with a jerk that sounded like breaking bamboo, he snapped it.
CRUNCH!
The officer screamed in agony and collapsed.
Durai dropped the shattered spear.
Then… he turned to all of them—
His shadow stretched long and ominous in the dappled sunlight.
"Go back to Jackson."
"Tell him…"
He paused, crushing the cigarette underfoot.
"…his death will come from these very hands."
"Durai… won't die before him."
The girl, still panting, looked up at him—
Eyes wide.
Durai gently rested a hand on her shoulder.
"You're safe now."
After 30 minutes...
Durai's Hidden Rebel Camp – Deep Within the Forest...
The glow of oil lamps flickered across mud-brick walls, casting long shadows.
Crickets chirped outside.
Somewhere in the distance, a jackal howled.
Inside,
Durai knelt before his daughter, gently wiping the wounds on her legs with a soaked cloth.
The tiny barbs from the thorny vines had scratched her skin raw during the chase.
She hissed.
"____"
"Tch! Appa(Father), be gentle!"
Durai clicked his tongue.
Tch!
"Then don't go throwing stones at armed officers, Kanna."(Daughter.)
The girl looked up—eyes fierce, jaw set.
"____"
"So what if they had weapons? I'd rather die fighting than stay silent, Appa! Before they kill me, I'll take at least ten of those red-jacket dogs with me!"
Her voice echoed across the small room.
For a second… silence.
Then—
"____"
Laughter broke out from the rebels standing nearby.
HAHAHAHA~
HAHAHA~
"Damn, look at her!"
"Mini Durai, I swear on my life!"
"Already talking like a freedom fighter, no? Tomorrow she'll ask for her own battalion!"
The girl puffed her cheeks in a dramatic pout.
Durai let out a deep chuckle, tapping her forehead gently.
"You talk big. But one more stunt like that, and I'll tie you to the pillar myself."
She huffed.
"You can't! I'm a freedom fighter now!"
The entire room chuckled again.
To them, this bold, spirited girl wasn't just Durai's daughter.
She was their daughter, too.
They had all seen her grow up in the struggle—
Taught her to read, to fight, to hide when danger came near.
She was part of their family… their hope.
Suddenly, the girl turned serious.
Her eyes locked on Durai.
"Appa… when will we get freedom?"
The laughter died.
"____"
Durai's fingers paused, still resting on her ankle.
He leaned back, his gaze wandering toward the dark window.
The moonlight framed his sharp features.
"When the Indian flag flies… on top of Jackson's mansion."
Her eyes widened.
"The white one?"
He smiled, still sharpening his spear with rhythmic strokes.
"No… the saffron, white, and green. It won't fly on its own. We'll raise it. With our hands. With our blood, if we must."
The men around the room nodded, faces solemn.
A heavy silence followed—
Until one of the rebels piped up, holding up a tattered bounty poster.
"Oi, Durai… look! Your price went up!"
The men gathered around, whistling.
"1,000 rupees?!"
"We could start a school with that!"
"No wonder you get prettier every day, Durai. Even the British are obsessed."
Durai rolled his eyes, taking the poster and folding it with a smirk.
"That means they're scared."
But none of them noticed…
…that his daughter had gone quiet again.
"____"
Her eyes lingered on the spear in her father's hand…
Then, slowly drifted to the roof of the house, as if imagining the flag flying there.
A flicker of something intense lit in her gaze.
Determination.
She was planning something.
Something that would change her life.
And Jackson's fate.
Night...
Deep in the Rebel Camp...
The moon had risen, casting silver beams through rustling treetops.
The forest whispered.
Shadows danced under the flickering lanterns.
A soft creak.
Durai's wooden chest slowly opened—
Its hinges groan faintly.
Inside, folded with care, lay a piece of fabric wrapped in oil cloth.
A corner peeked out—saffron… white… green.
The very flag her father had told her about.
The flag of a free India.
The girl stared at it.
"____"
Her tiny fingers trembled—
But not with fear.
With resolve.
She picked it up gently, as if it were something sacred.
Her voice whispered in the dark.
"I'll fly it, Appa(Father). For you. For all of us."
Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the night—
The tricolour was clutched tight to her chest.
Jackson Mansion...
Perimeter Fence...
The British mansion loomed under the cloudy sky, cold, regal, unwelcoming.
Torchlights flickered lazily around the compound.
Guards stood here and there… but most leaned against walls, chatting, smoking, or dozing in their chairs.
Laughter echoed faintly from one of the barracks.
"No one's mad enough to enter this place."
One of the guards joked in English.
But someone was already inside.
Crouched behind a rusted barrel, Durai's daughter scanned her surroundings.
The soft jingle of anklets could have betrayed her—
But she had removed them.
She was barefoot, silent.
"____"
She darted forward, using the shadows like armour, slipping between columns, ducking behind carts.
A drunken soldier stumbled out of the servant quarters.
She froze.
He staggered, grunted something in broken Tamil… then turned and threw up in a bush.
She didn't wait.
Slide. Duck.
Run.
She pressed herself against the mansion wall, heart hammering.
Then—
She looked up.
The flagpole.
At the very top of the old stone mansion, stretching toward the clouds, was barely visible in the moonlight.
That was her destination.
A long breath escaped her lips.
"I can do this…"
Inside the Mansion...
Grand Hallway...
She snuck through the corridor—
Every creak of the old floor made her flinch.
Portraits of old British officers stared down at her, lifeless and judgmental.
She didn't look away.
Through a narrow servant stairwell, she climbed—
Each step, dust swirling.
The faint clang of her bare feet against the old floor echoed softly.
Just a few more steps… just a few more…
Suddenly—
A hand shot out from the side and yanked her into a dimly lit room.
The girl gasped but didn't scream.
The room was warm, quiet… and hauntingly elegant.
Lace curtains fluttering.
A candle burned faintly near the mirror.
Amy Jackson stood there.
Her long, fair face was pale—
Not with fear, but worry.
Beside her stood a small boy, no older than six—
Clutching a worn-out toy horse.
His eyes were wide and innocent.
He looked at the girl curiously.
"Please," Amy whispered in fluent Tamil, her voice pleading.
"You'll be killed if you go any further. That man… he's not human. He's a beast."
The girl looked at Amy, surprised.
Amy knelt beside her, trembling.
"You don't understand… I've seen what my husband has done. I never agreed to it. I never supported him. But if he finds you—"
Her voice broke.
"He won't,"
The girl said defiantly.
"Because I'm going to fly that flag tonight."
Amy's eyes welled up.
"That flag won't save you from him…"
"No. But it will live longer than him."
With that, Durai's daughter bolted toward the hallway.
Amy took a step forward to stop her—
But the girl had already slipped out the door.
The moonlight slanted through the tall windows, casting eerie shadows on the stairs.
The flag clutched tightly in her hand, she ascended—
Her breath shallow, her resolve firm.
Halfway up—
Thud.
A sound.
Another thud.
And then—
He appeared.
The bald man, 6.5 feet tall, muscles like boulders under his tight uniform.
His eyes burned with a terrifying loyalty to Jackson.
In his hand—
A giant hammer.
The same one that crushed a man's head into the mud yesterday.
He stood at the top of the stairs, blocking her path—
His shadow fell long and menacing down the steps.
"No further,"
He growled in broken Tamil.
"Orders from the master."
The girl didn't stop.
"Move."
But the servant didn't allow him to arrest her and pulled her by her hair and locked her up in the underground prison.
Underground Prison...
The air was damp.
A single lantern flickered above the rusted cell door.
The stone walls wept moisture, and the cold floor bit into her skin.
Durai's daughter sat there, her face bloodied and bruised, her hair matted from being dragged.
But her eyes—
Still sharp. Still burning.
Footsteps echoed.
Marching.
The clinking of polished boots.
Then came Jackson.
Tall. Regal.
Ruthless.
His one eye gleamed under the lamplight—
The other, forever lost.
He stopped in front of the bars.
His gaze scanned her, curious.
Confused.
Something about her…
Then she smiled.
From the small pouch on her hip, she pulled out a slingshot—
The very same one.
She twirled it casually in front of him like it was a toy.
And then—
She pointed at his missing eye.
"Father... One-eyed Father,"
She said with a sly grin.
Jackson's expression darkened.
"____"
Realisation struck him like a bullet.
This was the girl—
The little devil who'd taken his eye.
He let out a roaring laugh.
"You… are bold. And foolish."
He turned to the soldier beside him.
"Open the gate."
The guards hesitated.
"I said… open it."
The door creaked.
She didn't flinch.
Jackson stepped aside and gestured outside.
"Go."
She frowned.
"What?"
"Run. I'm giving you a head start."
She stepped forward, wary.
Jackson turned his back and began walking up the stairs.
"Let the dogs chase her. Let's see if her courage still stands... when death follows."
Outside the Mansion...
Main Gate...
The iron gates loomed high, half-covered in creeping vines.
She stood before them, freedom inches away.
But something in her gut twisted.
This was no mercy.
This was a game.
Slowly, she turned.
From the balcony above—
Jackson stood with a hunting rifle in his hands.
Behind him, rows of soldiers.
Some British. Some Indian.
All watching.
But only she stood unarmed.
She raised her arms, spread wide.
And with a smirk—
She pointed at herself.
"Come on, one-eye. Let's see if you still have aim."
The soldiers froze.
Even the Indian-origin guards stared in disbelief.
A few looked away.
A few… clenched their fists.
"You'll die for nothing!"
Someone shouted.
But she didn't move.
"Then let me die standing, not begging."
Jackson sneered.
He hated that kind of bravery.
He took aim.
BOOM.
The first shot hit her shoulder.
She staggered—
But didn't fall.
BOOM.
A bullet tore into her stomach.
Still, she remained upright.
Blood pooled.
Her legs shook.
She looked up… smiled.
"You'll never… bury us all…"
BOOM.
The third bullet pierced her chest.
She fell.
And the world… went silent.
Jackson's Office...
Candlelight flickered inside the grand office.
The walls were lined with old maps and guns, and a roaring fireplace cast long shadows across the room.
Jackson sat behind a heavy wooden desk, polishing his hunting rifle with a sinister calm.
The door creaked open.
"____"
Brit Lee entered.
A tall Indian man in crisp colonial uniform, his boots clicking sharply.
His expression was unreadable—
Trained, disciplined.
Jackson didn't look up.
He spoke coldly.
"By dawn… I want Durai. Dead or alive."
He finally glanced at Brit Lee.
"Use whatever means necessary. Soldiers, mercenaries… burn the forest if you must."
He slid a sealed letter across the table—
Authorisation for absolute command.
Brit Lee took it and saluted.
"As you command, Sir."
Jackson leaned back and added with a sneer.
Sneer~
"Oh, and one more thing… Take the girl's body. Drive a pole through her heart… and hang the Union Jack on it. Let the jungle know who rules it."
Hours Later...
The Forest Clearing...
The early rays of dawn struggled to pierce the thick canopy.
A light mist rolled across the forest floor.
And there—
In the middle of the clearing—
Stood a grotesque sight.
A makeshift pole.
Atop it…
Durai's daughter.
Her lifeless body, pierced through and upright like a banner of shame.
Her blood is still fresh.
Above her—
Flapping in the wind—
It was the British flag.
Rebel's Hideout...
A man burst through the entrance, breathless.
Tears were streaming down his cheeks.
"Durai… your daughter… she's…!"
He couldn't finish.
But Durai understood, looking at the teary eyes of the man before him.
Time froze.
Without a word, Durai stood.
Praying it was not true.
His comrades followed—
Some stumbling, some crying.
They rushed into the woods.
Moments Later...
The rebels stopped.
No one could speak.
Durai fell to his knees.
His body trembled.
He looked up at the girl who once ran barefoot through their camp.
The one who brought laughter in the darkest times.
Now a symbol of cruelty.
He reached up… and gently touched her feet.
"You were just a child…"
Tears streamed silently down his face.
The others wept freely, clutching the soil, cursing the sky.
He cradled her body as they lowered her from the pole.
They dug with their bare hands.
No rituals. Just grief.
As they covered her with earth, Durai stood slowly.
His eyes were no longer red from crying.
They were burning.
"Jackson will die… today. And on his mansion… the Indian flag will fly."
The rebels raised their heads.
A vow unspoken—
But etched into every heart.
But then—
Clapping.
Mocking… slow… cruel.
Brit Lee emerged from the trees.
Dozens of soldiers stepped out behind him, rifles raised.
They weren't alone.
Dozens of rebels had already been caught—
Ropes around their wrists, lined up like cattle.
"Beautiful speech,"
Brit Lee sneered.
"Shame it ends here."
Durai turned to face him.
Calm. Unblinking.
"You killed a child."
Brit Lee just laughed.
"I am just a messenger."
He signalled his men.
The sound of chains clinking followed as Durai and his comrades were surrounded.
Betrayed. Trapped.
But Durai didn't lower his head.
"You'll regret this."
He said.
Brit Lee smirked.
Smirk~
"Will I? Or will I get promoted?"
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review!!! And power stone!!!
Which will motivate me more?