Love and War

Men have fallen to ruins.

We are starting to lose.

Blood has replaced the waters of the river. It reeks of death and revenge. I clutch the spear in my grip, ichor trickling down my forehead and dropping on earth, quenching the thirst of the ravenous soil.

The commander-in-chief of my enemy stands on the other shore. They are also returning from the battlefield. Unfortunately or fortunately, we took the same route, albeit from two different sides. Separated by just a stream, we stare daggers at each other.

"Shah," the commander-in-chief, Mahmud, bows. "Glory to your soldiers. May they rest in peace."

His words are carried here by the gelid breeze. I feel my comrades getting enraged by the audacity of that man. He isn't even a prince or a king, just a mere general.

"They have attained liberation in fighting the eternal evil. May the wicked perish and justice prevail," I retort.

The waves crush over rocks, reminiscent of my own bubbling wrath. Above us the sun sets and colours the sky in a blazing red.

Blood. It reminds me of blood.

"No one is evil or good in the battlefield, my Shah." He looks up at the sky and joins his hands. "The Lord is with the victor. Amen."

"My Lord isn't so merciless. He belongs to both the rich and the downtrodden."

"Seems like your god is very unwanted."

Some of my men are on the verge of crossing the violent stream and attacking the general, but my raised hand stops them. I don't need to shout at them or whip them like my rival king. One glance from me is enough.

"Why has the march stopped, Mahmud?"

The voice sends a chill down my spine.

There he comes.

My arch nemesis.

He is dressed lavishly in gold and gossamer silk. Pendants of topaz and emerald hang from his necklaces and his fingers are studded with rubies. He wears a fur coat, skinned from a bear, to protect himself from the cold, while here I stand with my barren chest exposed to the cruelty of nature.

"Oh, it's my lovely friend, Sikander," he says in his dulcet voice.

"Badrou," I hiss. "We are not friends."

He smirks. Despite it being winter, a fire lights up in my core. I clench my jaw and thump my spear. "Men, let us move along the river and not waste our precious time. We have a war tomorrow dawn."

"Won't you spare something for this man who was once your beloved?"

Anger erupts in my veins. How can he so unabashedly declare our tainted past in public? His soldiers laugh at me, mocking whispers floating to my ears.

Shah Sikander used to kiss our king's feet.

Shah Sikander used to cry for him day and night.

Shah Sikander used to beg him for love.

I avert my gaze away from the man. Memories deluge my mind. Of our furiously passionate nights when we didn't care about the clash of our kingdoms, of how our clans were always after each other, of how we were never meant to be.

We were never meant to be.

Tears blind me.

I look at him. He is smiling at me as if nothing happened.

Does he not feel for me anymore?

All of a sudden, I see colours surround me. Bright blue, dazzling red and calming yellow. They come in a bunch and create a crown atop my head. Butterflies, little and pretty, charge at Badrou too, forming a crown on his head. He stands stunned, too shocked to speak.

Butterflies used to visit us while we stole glimpses of each other during our fathers' political meetings. Their discussions used to always end in vain, but ours were adorned with kisses and embraces.

Our feelings still live. At least mine do breathe.

For a moment, I see guilt and love flash in his eyes. A ghost of a smile passes my face.

"Hear, men of Badrou, I still love your king," I trumpet beyond shame and boundaries of war. "But I have learnt to worship the oath of my father and the respect of my kingdom more than personal intimacies."

Badrou looks down, refusing to acknowledge the pride I own for our shared past. He is embarrassed to have loved me, but I am not.

"We will meet again tomorrow, Badrou. Every warrior must die like this," I look at the corpses around, "and end up in dust."

I mount on my horse and wipe the wound on my head, blood drizzling down the palms which were once touched by Badrou's lips.

"If death is my destiny, may I die at your hands. And if death is your destiny too, Badrou, may I grant you the wish."

We part ways to again meet when the sun rises.