Nala surveyed the two small puddles in the ring he had etched on the muddy ground. I can do this. But the first blow from his sword slapped Nala’s right cheek, turning her round with such force that her shield slipped from her right hand. By some stroke of luck, she managed to parry the next blow away from her face with her sword, but it landed on her right shoulder instead, sending her stumbling to the ground. ‘Fuck you!’ She pictured the face of the bastard she had to kill. Bheem. She quickly recovered, took a step back to dodge a lazy swing, and then surprised Parshuram by darting her sword at his face. He sidestepped it easily.

She remembered his third blow only in hindsight. Blinking, she spat out dirt and saw she was lying on the ground. Her body felt numb. She could not rise. Parshuram’s legs came into view, and she looked up.

He held out a hand. ‘Well, you parried one.’

Fight with your mind, not your fists. She grasped a handful of dirt and tossed it upwards at Parshuram’s face.

He did not move. ‘You are full of cheap stunts today, aren’t you? You really thought that would work?’ He rubbed the dirt from his eyes.

‘No, I thought this would.’ Pushing herself up using her arms, Nala jumped into the air, brought her knees to her chest and then kicked at Parshuram’s legs. She landed painfully on her haunches while he took a step back.

‘That was just pathetic, Nala.’

‘Master,’ Nala smiled as she pointed to where Parshuram had stepped, ‘you are wet.’

II

‘The Art of the Sun,’ Parshuram said as they walked back to the hermitage, Nala following behind, struggling to drag the sack of weapons. ‘I have trained many in the Art of the Sun – the mastery of any weapon that shines in the sun – swords, arrows, axes and the like. Master it and you can hold your own in a battle. Rest for a while.’

Nala sank down on the ground, relieved to give her aching muscles a moment of rest.

‘But I have never seen anyone as pathetic at holding a sun weapon as you, girl.’ Parshuram sat down near her. ‘I thought Valkas were warriors. Are they not?’

Nala stared at her feet. ‘I am a Valka who was sent to Meru to study.’

‘Ah...’ he scratched his scraggly beard, ‘fair enough. But it remains that you are not fit for the Art of the Sun.’

‘Master, I beg of you…’ Nala panicked. If Parshuram gave up on her, all would be lost. How would she avenge her family? ‘I will try again. I will be a warrior.’

‘No, Nala, you will not.’

‘But…’

‘But… just maybe…’ Parshuram looked at Nala’s slight frame, assessing her with a healer’s eye before dropping his gaze to his muddy feet, ‘you may have what it takes to be a killer.’

III