Karikalan: Saviour of the Cholas

Chapter 39: Promises and Challenges

Two weeks passed.

Everyone was to arrive that day. Valavan was beyond thrilled.

Well, not everyone. Vikraman and Parthiban weren't arriving as per Chezhiyan's letter. Valavan supposed he couldn't complain much about it.

To say these two weeks were uneventful for Valavan would be a lie. He was indeed alone with only his Mama, the guards and maids of the Palace to converse with. But that didn't make him sit idly around to just chat away and rest.

He practiced harder than he ever had.

The balm the Vaidhyar had given for him was over, almost like the pain in his legs. They had become better than ever, allowing him to move more freely with each passing day. He felt only a slight discomfort nowadays. His minor burns had completely healed. The major ones would require some more time but they were nowhere as gory as they had been.

His legs had completely blackened though.

Valavan despaired over it as the truth sunk in on him day by day, pushing away his denial firmly. He had tried to convince himself that against his dusky complexion, it probably wouldn't show much.

He was wrong.

Eventually, despite Alli having told him to own his scars proudly, he couldn't do so and had to merely be thankful for his dhoti as it completely covered his legs. To the outside world, his almost inconspicuous limp would be all that indicated that there might have been some injury caused in his legs.

Having done his routine for that morning, Valavan went to what has become his favourite wall in his chamber to grab his sword. He took a look at it and smiled fondly.

The day after everyone left two weeks back, the Azhundurvel had discovered Valavan's little secret. He had caught him red-handed practicing with the sword. He, however, had not reprimanded him. Instead, he had merely urged him to do so outside the confines of his chamber. Valavan had grinned and accepted and had not stopped practicing ever since.

The sword in his hand wasn't the one he had originally begun practicing with though.

It was his father's.

The first day Valavan had stepped out of the Palace to practice, his Mama had accompanied him, insisting that he wanted to watch. Shrugging, Valavan had agreed, being no stranger to having an audience while training. Noticing how Valavan's grip on the sword slipped every now and then, the Azhundurvel had gone to his chamber silently, stating that he'll return in a moment.

As Valavan waited impatiently, his Mama had arrived with a sword in hand. When his eyes took in the sword's appearance, they had widened.

The Azhundurvel had nodded with a sad smile. "It was your father's. It had somehow survived the fire. I had it polished for safe-keeping." He had handed it to Valavan, who received it with a dazed look on his face. "I think it is time you wield it. Something tells me that this sword will fit."

It had.

Valavan looked at the sword with open admiration and stroked it. He loved the way the cold metal felt against his fingers, the way the gem on the leather grip gleamed in the sun, and how it fitted perfectly in his hand.

It was as though the sword had been made for him.

Every day after that, he fell into the routine he had followed before everything had gone wrong, as much as he could that is. He awoke once again at the crack of dawn, this time willingly, and skipped only the fifty runs that he used to do every day. He even did his push-ups, although they were limited to only ten per day.