“You cannot break us!” the man cried, and then screamed, mustering every ounce of his energy to suppress the pain. He was tied to a pole within the horse stable, naked but covered in dirt, and being whipped by the soldiers of Bhoja.
“Scream all you want,” said a soldier, spitting. “No one is going to hear you die.”
“Shall we cut off his tongue, my Lord?” asked another.
The man they were addressing to, Diwakardas, was a man of royalty. Dressed in a heavy outfit of blue cotton and brown silk, he was seated upon a haystack and cutting open an apple. He appeared to be calm, nonchalantly watching what his men had been inflicting upon the leader of the Union of Kathu.
“Now I understand why the likes of you don’t get married,” Diwakardas said, biting into a slice of apple. “You have nothing to lose…but I’m not complaining. Politics can be such a game.”
“…you cannot break us…” said the man tied to the pole, now losing consciousness.
“Of course, I can.” Diwakardas spoke in a matter-of-fact way. “Anything made can be broken, Erahuz. That would start with my men first breaking your bones, then they will peel the skin off your body….” and Diwakardas became alert.
There were sounds of a crowd gathering outside the horse stable; angry voices rose in protest. Soon enough, they were trying to break down the closed doors .
Diwakardas looked at his men, exchanging petrified glances amongst themselves.