Faith.

S

PLAT!

Veritas sloshed into wet mud. The slime beneath his feet had given him away. He was tired. His lungs were failing to provide the enough oxygen needed. He gathered himself. His sandals slipped as he straightened himself; nevertheless he managed to control himself and dashed into a sprint. He heard heavy splashing of feet falling into water, and then, a bigger splash of the whole body sloshing into mud. His stalker had slipped in the same place as he had. Veritas did not remember for how long he had been running? Or where was he running to? All he knew was that he was in danger. He was running for his life. It had been hours that he had been running. He had sensed danger in his palace, and his senses had asked him to flee. Following his intuition, he had run past the safety of his palace gates into the heavy willow that surrounded Rome. And the storm had turned up right then, to make things worse for him. Whereas, in the palace, is stalker had discovered that Veritas was missing from his room, and had followed Veritas into the wood. If he would not finish the job today, he will have to answer to his master. The masters of the masters—the Gods!

In the woods, Veritas was having his set of difficulties. The only relief he had was that of his robes. He had fled in his night robes, and they made space for his legs very well. He could take long strides and out beat the killer. The careless sprint had splattered his silk robes with mud. Though it was pouring all around him, Veritas was thirsty. He had enough of life. The last year had been both a dream as well as a nightmare for him. His life had changed dramatically; like that life of a butterfly, he had undergone the metamorphosis from an ignorant prince to a devout devotee.

He turned to check on the progress of the follower, in doing so; he did not notice a huge branch that had fallen from the tree due to the storm. When he turned, it was too late. In the last minute attempt, he tried to jump over it, but his knees had already crashed into the dead wood. In an attempt of jumping, he injured his leg further. He tripped over the branch, and fell onto his face into the puddle of mud on the other side of the branch. He splashed into murky waters. Dirty water entered his mouth. He tasted the tiny particles that lay suspended in the water. His eyes hurt from the contamination. The footsteps were closer. Sensing the sound, he mustered the energy and tried gaining his pace again, but it was no use. The injury had rendered his feet useless. They hurt badly. After covering some hundred metres or so, his legs collapsed from the pain and fatigue. He had developed a cramp in is calf muscle, and it hurt. The prey had admitted defeat. His killer would soon be there to find the helpless Veritas lying on the ground, and would find delight in Veritas’ condition. He heard them—the footsteps. They were approaching near. Their sound was evident, as every footstep landed on the ground; it would be greeted by ankle deep water, thus creating a splash. With every passing moment, Veritas thought, his end was near. The splashes now were even nearer. There was an abrupt stop in the splashes. Then, there were two soft splashes, and again, the continued pursuit. His stalker had seen the dead branch in time, and had climbed over it, and had jumped on to the other side. Within a minute, he had reached Veritas.

Veritas lay curled on the ground. It’s all coming to an end, he thought. He had heard his preacher—Peter, say that the accounts are cleared here, and there’s only the consequence in the after-life. His every deed replayed in his mind. His moments of deep devotion, and moments when he had ignored the poor people in the streets, etc. all these scenes were being play-backed in his mind, when the feet of the stalker came into his sight.

Slowly, as the stalker neared, Veritas started seeing the silhouette of his pursuer. He was tall and athletic. His silk robe was wet and was clinging to his body. He wore expensive sandals, which was quite unusual for a commercial murderer. The sword in his hands was glinting in the storm light. It had a sharp edge. “It won’t be that painful”, Veritas thought. He could see him until his shoulders. The rest of the above was out of his view. He looked up to have a look at his face. Veritas gasped at what he saw. His strong jaw was covered by light stubble. He had a sharp pointed nose, just like his sword. Veritas saw himself looking upon himself.

***

GASP!

Veritas woke up with a start. His head was spinning wildly from the night-mare he had experienced. His forehead was covered with beads of sweat. He was thirsty. He moved his hand blindly in the darkness trying to reach for the goblet that the maid had filled with water before Veritas went to bed. The goblet was placed on a flamboyant table near the bed. He grabbed hold of the container and swallowed mouthfuls of the clear cool liquid. He sensed his insides churn. His face turned green with sickness as he turned over to the rim of his bed. With one upturn, he emptied his stomach onto the marble floor. Relieving himself, he hoisted himself on the bed once again, and rested his back on the backrest of his four-poster. He helped himself to another few gulps of water. This time it had a soothing effect. He reached for his forehead and ran his fingers across it. His head was still dizzy. It had just been an hour since he had fallen asleep, but it had resulted in a night-mare. He lowered himself onto the cushion mattress, and gradually broke into tears. He wept like a child. He had had enough of his life. He wanted the pain no more.

He felt feverish. He was devastated. There, curled up in his heavy, and warm silk rug made from Asian silk, he thought of his mates down in the cold cells. It made him hate the rug. He whispered a small prayer, for his friends’ safety. To which god did he direct the prayer, he did not know. Nevertheless he prayed for their life.

A year ago, he had been happier than today. Being an ignorant idol-worshipper had been much easier than being a person who knows the truth. “Everything comes at a price. If you please the Gods, and offer huge sacrifices, they will please you too”, he had heard his roman preacher say so when he was studying the occult and magnificent powers of the roman Gods. But his Christian friends had contradicted his preacher, saying that the true God’s love was free of greed. All he demanded was loyalty. Now, Veritas realized that even this God demanded things; and if not provided, he made life miserable. The “fake Gods” as his Christian friends called them, had (through his father,) at least fulfilled all of his worldly needs. The best of tailors of Rome made the best of robes for him from the best of cloth. He had bread made from the best of wheat, and rode in the finest of chariots. All these things covered up the lack of the inner tranquillity. Then one day, with just a stupid co-incidence, his life had changed forever.

About 7 years ago, a figure by the name—Jesus, had created a huge mayhem in the areas around Jerusalem, thus creating trouble for the smooth run of the Roman administration in the region. And the tension was spreading like plague in the surrounding cities. Local administrators from Galilee with, Bethlehem, and Hypha were complaining about the unrest caused by this person by faking a “single and true” God. He attracted people like a flower attracts bees. The administration was not concerned with this, because, usually Romans rarely paid heed to his hogwash. What they were really concerned about was that this leniency was hampering the relations between the Roman administration, and the Jewish clergy of the region, which though not in power, had more power than the Roman administration in the holy city. Jesus had preached and set grounds for a new religion. He challenged the Jewish clergy’s claim of Moses being the last prophet on the face of earth. He claimed to be the son of God which was blasphemous according to the Jewish ideology.

Jerusalem was one of the transit points through which, wealthy Indian, Chinese, and other Asian traders bought spices, silk, and gems from Asia. Thus, Jerusalem was the life-line of the flourishing Roman trade in the far west. If the Jewish priests were not paid heed to, they had threatened of invoking a religious people’s revolt to take over Jerusalem. Though the Roman army could take control of the situation within a very short period of time, it did not want t deport the huge battalions of men to the far middle-eastern wilderness. For it would mean to make arrangements for the food and water for the huge army. They could not send smaller battalions, because theirs was the Roman Empire. It had to magnificently display its might to the rival empires which, like them, wished control over Jerusalem. So the best policy at that time was to bring control in the region rather than tackling a civil war.

Then, a year later, with the help of careful planning by the Jewish priests, a little bit of “inside” help, and by turning the masses against Jesus by brainwashing them, the Jews managed to get hold of Jesus, and bought him in front of the Roman governor—Pontius Pilate. The governor tried to save the poor chap, but the public present there, as rumoured, was demanding his crucifixion. So the governor had dipped his hands in a bowl of water, displaying gracefully that the public was having their way, and that he had “washed his hands of it.”

The figure was brutally murdered for no particular reason at all, atop a hill along with two other criminals outside Jerusalem. But that was not the end of it. Just three after his death, his followers claimed his resurrection. A feat so impossible, that they were without a second thought, branded as liars and were banned for preaching false faith. Yet, if rumours were to be believed, they were practicing the evil faith in hiding.

When the news reached the Roman shores, it brought with it waves of rumours. The number of ‘Christians’ was increasing with each passing day. A disciple of Jesus was even rumoured to have settled permanently in Rome to preach his faith. As an immediate response, the central administration had banned the ‘new faith’. The central administration did not want Christianity to deteriorate the empire from within, like plague. But as always; banned objects became famous with the masses, thus arousing their curiosity.

Veritas’ father was a high-ranking official in the court of Rome. And like all officials in the court, he despised Jesus like the Jews. He branded his followers as ‘rebels’. He considered Jesus to be practicing evil faith and asked favours to the evil Gods for performing miracles. Veritas was blissfully ignorant about the affairs of the outside world. But he had heard the word ‘Christian’ enough number of times, to start thinking and finding more about it in his own ways. He had been to the market to trace their hideout. But they were too carefully hidden for him. Once in his attempts, he struck gold. He overheard two men speaking about the secret cult. And he pleaded them to lead him to them. Taking him to be a farmer’s lad from his disguise, they counted on him, and asked him to meet them at the same place the next day. After a sleepless night, Veritas rushed to the market as soon as his father left for the senate. He did not want his father to see him in his disguise. He met those men in the market at the same place. They introduced themselves as Claudius and Felicitas. Instead of taking him to the people of the cult, they asked him to perform several tasks, like study the teachings of Jesus, and making him take oaths to prove his honesty. Then, there came the harder ones that were difficult for him, like help the old and aged poor woodcutter women by doing their job for a day, and many others like these. Finally after a month or so of endurance, he had begun to take interest in his tasks. Though he would return all tired and smelly, he would return contented and happy. Though it had all begun out of sheer curiosity, it had become an integral part of his life. Upon returning home, he would quickly change into another set of robes before his father returned. Many of his palace staff thought he was roaming about in the woods near the city with his mates. He was careful enough to check that he was not being followed when he left for the market the next day.

One day, when he came to the market, he was as excited as a kid. When he met the men who tested him daily, before they could speak, he blurted out, “so what have I to do today mates?” Two warm smiles greeted his question. The men were pleasingly smiling at him.

“Nothing for today, I guess you are ready”, said one of them.

The happiness Veritas was feeling asked him to scream. But he controlled himself, by just letting out a wide eye-to-eye toothy smile. And they led him out from the market to another one, then, followed another one. Slowly, the settlements started looking more miserable. They were leading him to the dangerous Roman underground. Then, Felicitas said, “I will leave now, Claudius will be hosting you today afternoon, and we will meet at the temple for prayers at evening. There we will introduce you to the other members of the community.

When the other guy left, Veritas followed Claudius even further into the deep maze of alleys. He led him to a small house which was made very simply. It was built from clay bricks, and had a thatched roof. The door was skilfully made from the woods fetched from the hills. Veritas followed Claudius into the shack. As he entered the house, the cooler air inside him greeted him, the house smelt sweet. It smelled of moist mud. The drawing room was simple. With a thick mattress to recline in one corner, and over it, were three thick pillows—the perfect home for a farmer, or a mason. Claudius called upon her wife who rushed to her husband’s voice from some room inside the house. There, Claudius introduced Veritas to his wife, and informed her that he will be joining them for lunch. The word ‘lunch’ had sent ripples across her brow; nevertheless, she smiled, and welcomed the guest. She gestured Veritas to sit on the mattress until the lunch was ready. After a while, that Veritas was seated, a heavy and spiced up scent of broth wafted through the air and reached Veritas’ nostrils. It made his stomach rumble.

After having a simple but nevertheless, a very delicious lunch he had ever had, Claudius asked him to cleanse himself, so they could leave for prayers. Veritas’ heart skipped a beat. Veritas, Claudius and his family were soon on their way to the secret temple of the banned tribe. After a short walk they reached an inn where travellers from far afar took relief during their long visits. The inn was a huge complex. It had 120 or so rooms. It was built to provide simple shelter to simple people. The richer travellers took refuge elsewhere. The building had two main parts, each part perpendicular to the other; like an angle. The angle was more like that of an arrow head, and pointed north-west. The building rose three stories above them, and one story below them. Veritas followed them downstairs to the basement. The basement was cold, and made of stone. Candles were lit on candelabras that could hold five of them at a time. Fifteen such candelabras lay scattered throughout the huge hall. In the extreme end of the hall, was a long table covered with silk, and had a huge silver cup, and an ancient looking book. He was marvelled at the simple extravagance of the place. There, were people assembling there. After a while, when everyone was seated on the floor, Claudius had introduced Veritas to Paul—the disciple of Jesus, the other members of the cult. Upon introduction, Veritas had truthfully disclosed his identity. The fact that he was the son of an official in the court of Rome had drawn huge surprises from the mass. The environment was tensed. Then Paul had come to his rescue and had asked him to promise in the name of God, that he was not involved in some kind of coup. Veritas had truthfully sworn that he was not involved in any. Paul then hugged him, signalling to the crowd that Veritas could be trusted. The crowds joined him to congratulate his transition.

That was how Veritas started with a fresh chapter of his life.

Months passed. Veritas studied the teachings of Jesus once again; this time, in the guidance of Paul. He found peace in the rituals of the tribe. Now, even they were convinced they had no harm from Veritas. His knowledge about the truth was increasing day by day. He often asked Paul to baptize him, and wash his sins off him, but Paul always found a good excuse to divert him away from the topic. The truth being, he was nervous about what the empire would feel when they discovered that the cult had the son of an official amongst them cult? Probably, they’d descend their wrath on the poor families Paul led.

A few months later, Veritas was smart enough to remember all the feasts, and ceremonies. He understood all the ceremonial rituals, and had firmly rejected paganism. He would look forward to the meet with his friends all week long. And when he’d meet them, he would be at peace with the world. The lord’s glory enthralled him. He loved singing His praise. It was during this period that St. Peter visited Rome. He spoke in a firm but kind way. Peter’s eyes could pierce into the soul of most hard men. They were as sharp as a new pin. Yet they had an incomparable amount mercy flowing out of them. Veritas loved Peter. He loved the way he spoke of Jesus on top of the hill. He and his friends would sit all evenings listening to Peter. Peter always spoke to them about Jesus, and Peter’s personal encounters with him. Though Paul knew most of them, sometimes, Peter surprised him too.

On knowing about Veritas’ background, Peter was apprehensive. Nevertheless, he accepted Veritas just as Paul had done months ago. Then, after a few days, Peter had shown interest in baptizing Veritas. As the decision just came out of blue, it came as a surprise to Veritas. Even Paul was not aware of the decision. It was the same afternoon; Paul had led Veritas to a small spring near the woods, and had asked Veritas to enter the kingdom of God by entering the cool clear waters. A new Veritas was born!

From that day, Veritas’ spirituality and devotion kept increasing by the second. Soon, Peter left again for Jerusalem. Nevertheless, Veritas frequently visited his friends for the masses, and special ceremonies at the underground temple beneath the inn complex. Back at the palace, Veritas’ father was getting curious of Veritas’ absence in the evenings, and his recent inclination towards spirituality. If Veritas’ father would be dealing with some criminal, Veritas would start speaking stuff about forgiveness. The care he took earlier had faded into the monotonous routine, where anybody hardly took notice of the lad’s whereabouts.

The new sense of belongingness with the cult members had given a fresh lease to his life. Though the temple of the Christians could never match the ornate Roman ones that the emperor had built for the Roman gods, the Christian temple seemed to radiate the energy required for the functioning of the whole cosmos from the drapes used at the altar, the smoke of the incense that flowed gracefully in the air, and disappeared into the space by just leaving its presence lingering in the room. The power of the temple made him strong. It had a soothing effect his soul. It made his soul calm like the surface of a lake on a summer day. The energy, Veritas felt, was the energy of a soul in the room. A soul so powerful, that it bathed the visitors of the temple in reverence and automatically earned the respect. People who often shouted on the streets, said in voices no louder than whispers in the temple. The members had tried their best to beat the decorations of the magnificent temples for the Roman Gods. They had created beautiful arches with nothing more than clay. And as clay was wet for a while, so they stuck wet pieces of clay to create beautiful patterns. The walls were adorned with the paintings of various kinds. One depicted the manger, a baby Jesus, and his parents. The other was a life size painting of a grownup Jesus. All these were painted in paints that were handmade; whose sources were mostly local flowers, spices and other herbs. Veritas spent hours in the house of the lord. He was being extremely reckless about his secret. He would reach late, and make some false excuse to his father. He was losing his alertness, and caution to the daily routine. This had let the cat out of the bag.

***

The sound of his sobs brought him back. Tonight Veritas felt weak. The power that provided immense power to him had vanished. The power had just drained out of him. He felt different tonight as he was bursting with envy. He had long forgotten how it felt to be jealous. The scriptures he had read had sucked the envy out of him. He felt envious of the peace that covered his pals faces like a sheet when he had gone to the dungeons to check on them when his father had broken the news of the coup to him.

The news had come to him by one of the soldiers that the troops had succeeded in uncovering the secret hide-out of a huge criminal gang. Veritas was not aware of who they were. That evening his father had called on upon him. It was in that room that he had broken the news of the coup d'état.

“So are your friends enjoying our hospitality?” Veritas’ father asked.

The word ‘friend’ had smacked Veritas in his stomach. Eventually, his father had spoken to him about how he managed to find the hide-out of the cult. The truth being, Veritas’ father had discovered the secret copy of the book containing teachings of Jesus in his room. Instead of cursing his luck for his son’s decision to move out of paganism, he took the opportunity to uncover the hidden tribe from under the sheets. This way, he would make a nice place for himself in the eye of the emperor. Then, he had kept an eye on Veritas to check when he leaved to meet his mates. Hardly within a week, he had complete knowledge of Veritas’ timings. In the next step, he sent his faithful commander to follow Veritas in disguise. The commander had come home panting. He had said out of surprise of how, instead of operating in some distant out-of-the-town place, the Christians were operating in one of the busiest places in Rome. They had been there all the while, operating under the empire’s nose! Veritas’ father immediately inked down a plan to unearth the well concealed clan. The plan was finalized to be executed sometime in the coming three weeks. The exact date was not concealed as someone could inform the Christians of the coup. And on that day, the troops had stormed the concealed temple, and got everyone present arrested. His father had managed of making Veritas stay at home that day. Though he was angry at his son, he still was the protective father. He did not want Veritas to be discovered in the temple with the rest of the group. He had not told this to Veritas though. He did not want the shark to smell blood. If Veritas would’ve known that his father is scared for him, he’d coax him to let go the detainees using emotional blackmail. Thus it was best for Veritas to believe that his father was a soul-less person rather than a caring father.

The people of the tribe were detained in the dungeons nearby the estate where Veritas stayed. There, they assumed that Veritas was the one who betrayed them. The day and time of Veritas’ absence and the coup were perfectly same. Every piece was falling into place. Veritas had won their trust over the year. It was a plan- to win the trust of the tribe, and then bring them out to the world. How could’ve they believed the son of the official to be speaking the truth? After all, he was the son of a Roman official! After listening to his father, Veritas had tried running out of the estate to save his friends in the gallows. However, his father had retained him and heavily pressurized Veritas, not to interfere in the matters of the state, or he would face the same fate as the criminals who were arrested. Veritas was not a hard nut to crack. Just a little mental pressure, a little fear, and Veritas had given collapsed under the pressure. The next day, after his father left, Veritas mustered courage to pay a visit to the prison. He had never seen a prison before; and after what he saw, he never wanted to see it again. As it was not the main detaining centre, it was quite small. Inside upon entrance, there was a desk which was seated by a soldier. Veritas approached the soldier nervously. The soldier got on his feet to respect the son the official. Veritas flinched at the sudden movement. After knowing the reason for which the soldier had stood up, he spoke to him on a loud note. The soldier thought that Veritas had come to check on the detainees for his father, so he let him in. upon entering the place where the prisoners were kept, Veritas saw two long rows of cells separated by an aisle. As he walked down the aisle, heads turned towards him. His Christian friends were staring at him from behind the bars. Their faces showed no contempt, no anger, and no pain! They would just look up, stare at him, and hang their heads once again. All men, women and children were put in the same section as theirs was an emergency entry. There was Claudius, his wife, his child, and the rest of the community. There were around one hundred and fifty families there. Old grand-parents with their young men, little children and their mothers; they were there, all of them. All looked calm. Not even the children look restless. They sat there, curled by their mother’s side. Veritas tried searching for Paul, but could not find him. The people, he guessed, had helped him escape. He tried speaking to Claudius, but he did not reply back.

After a while, he was overcome by emotion, and tears flowed incessantly from his eyes. He had in fact betrayed his pals. The pals who had fed him on his first visit to the temple; Pals whom he had hearty laughs with and pals who were kind enough to accept him for whatever he was. He rushed out of the cells. The guy at the desk was nowhere to be seen. He had gone out to lunch leaving the desk unattended. Unaware, Veritas scrammed out of the prison. When Veritas returned home, he ran upstairs and locked himself in his room. He fell to his knees, huge tears swelled out from his eyes. He lay there next t the door, curled on the floor, weeping his heart out. It was the beginning of the emotional typhoon that was going to storm up his life. He wept for what seemed hours. He skipped his lunch. The estate staff thought Veritas was asleep so they did not bother. He came out of the room in the evening to have his jar filled with water. He was responsible for their fate. He comforted himself by saying that they won’t be punished gravely. He strolled in the hallway for a while until a servant refilled his jar, and after she had left, locked himself in the room. He did nothing in particular this time. Just lay on his bed feeling bad. The consolation he had gifted himself was working like medicine on him. At dinner, he met his father, but didn’t have the guts day to meet his eye as he had disobeyed his orders.

“I’ve got a news for you” Veritas’ father blurted out with his mouth full.

Veritas did not reply. So his father began without a reply.

“Your friends have been awarded a death sentence”

The words struck Veritas in his stomach. His stomach lurched under the effect of adrenalin. His appetite was dead. He did not hear the rest of the sentence that his father said.

“They will be executed publicly in the arena during the matches tomorrow.”

Veritas was experiencing extreme turnovers in his belly.

He left the dining table, and hurried for the restroom. There, over the basin, he let out his dinner. Then ran back upstairs to his bedroom, and latched it from inside. He wanted to escape from the clutches of the world, but did not have the courage to swipe the dagger across his wrist. He had to live his life the way it came. Tears felt like acid on his cheeks. His body was feverish. He was tired of life. He felt empty. How he wished it all to end!

*****

A sound brought him back from his semi-sleepiness. The sound was genuinely happy. It brought back the memories of the day when he was baptized. He had heard the sound on that day. Was he dreaming? No he was not. The sound seemed nearer.

Veritas opened his eyes in surprise and blinked.

Crimson-orange light was flowing into the room from his window that overlooked his bed. Dawn was setting in. The window was planned in a way that provided the best views of Rome as soon as Veritas woke up. It was a small arch in the stone wall. And on the window sill, Veritas saw the silhouette of a bird that was making all the noise. The bird was chirping to welcome the new day that was stepping in. The bird sat on the window sill. Veritas moved out of his sheets to reach for the bird. The moment the bird sensed movement, he flew away. Veritas reached for the window to have a look at the flying creature. When he saw what was outside his window, his eyed widened in surprise. The garden in the front of his huge estate, and the whole of the Rome was suffused in golden sunlight. It seemed like an artist’s masterpiece. And there in the masterpiece, was the silhouette of a bird disappearing into the golden rays.

Watching the bird’s flight from fear, a solution hit Veritas like a hammer on his head. It was simple as that. Just free them all! After all he was the son of an official! How difficult was it going to be?

Veritas opened his doors, and rushed outside. He tip-toed across the veranda; where his ancestors watched him rush past from their portraits. He crossed his father’s bed-room with utmost care and did not want not wake him He reached the stairs and climbed down two stairs at a time. On reaching the foot of the stairs, he thought for a second, and instead of turning left to the stables through the back door to get his chariot; he marched to the front door, and came out into the fresh morning chill. When Veritas reached the main gates, he sprinted out, and then turned right onto the pavement. He was heading for the prison. He had decided to leave his chariot in the stables so as not to create noise. The streets were deserted as the dawn was just coming in, and people were still in their beds.

When he reached the gates of the prison, the sun had risen completely. It shone brilliantly like a behemoth golden disk. The gates were deserted, and so was the desk of the soldier.

“God’s on my side” Veritas thought.

As he sprinted past the desk, he got a feeling he was the only one in the whole complex. The prison built on a small scale. Just to detain the criminals until they are deported to the bigger one outside Rome; hence it had lesser amount of security personnel. He reached the door that separated him from the cells. Veritas’ heart was thumping in his chest. He checked the latch for some sort of lockage. There wasn’t any. He unlatched the door. His hand trembled as he reached for the handle. His hands clenched around the handle, and pulled the door towards him. He expected a hundred stares to welcome him inside. The door opened completely to reveal gaping emptiness.

Veritas’ first response was utter shock. Then an overwhelming feeling of joy overcame him.

“They’ve escaped!”

The cells were empty. He thought the whole gang had escaped in the dead of the night. That explained the unlocked door to the cells. His brain analysed the situation. Now that they were out, he did not want to be seen in the complex. He ran out of the prison towards his estate. The people were out in the streets by now. But not all of them, the majority of the population were still dozing in their bedrooms. Veritas came across a few people who were headed for the temples to offer their prayers in the morning. But most of them preferred not to notice a man who was running on the streets of Rome early in the morning wearing his night-robes. Veritas did not take notice of these people. His mind was too busy with his emotions to take any notice.

Within no time, he had reached the main gates of his estate. He ran past the roses in his garden. It was the first time he felt that he had a beautiful garden in his yard. As he entered the door, he again passed hands from the chilly air outside to the warm and comfortable air inside the huge building. He kicked off his sandals, took them in his hands and ran upstairs onto the veranda. As he ran past the bedroom, he slowed down a bit. His father’s room was approaching. When he crossed it, he regained his speed. After a few moments, he heard a click, and the next moment, the voice of his father bellowed across the veranda.

“Returning from somewhere?”

The voice made Veritas freeze in his tracks.

“Maybe, returning from a morning walk?”

Veritas’ father answered himself.

Veritas turned around to face his father.

“Or maybe paying your friends an early morning visit?”

Veritas stared and blinked.

“So did you find them?”

Veritas did not reply.

“Did you find them?!”

Veritas’ father snapped.

“.. N... No” Veritas spluttered.

Veritas wondered how his father knew of this. Had the news of the mass break-out at the prison reached his ears already?

“Damn! It seems that the prisoners have escaped already!”

Veritas blinked. So the news HAD reached the estate. Veritas hung his head in shame. Veritas thought this was the worst position to get one into. Being caught returning home early morning when a mass break-out has just occurred last night. Worse, getting caught when the prisoners on loose are pals of yours! A lump was rising in Veritas’ throat. He was scared. He was damn scared! And the worse part of this was that he knew he was scared. He had acted like a coward when his friends had needed him the most. He had given in to the pressure from his father. He was not being mean, but he wanted the comfort of the estate walls. Spending nights in prison did not thrill him. He was a Christian deep into his heart, but did not have the will to come out to everyone.

Veritas looked up. His father was saying something.

“Nay can’t be! Because we knew something like this could try and happen. So we deported them to the cells of the arena last night.”

The words reverberated through his soul transforming the smooth surface of the lake into a tide. High tides rose and travelled towards the shores to traumatise them. The feeling of emptiness returned to him.

And attacking his son with the final blow, Veritas’ father said, “And make sure you are ready by lunch, we have to be at the arena by mid-afternoon to see the ‘filth-cleansing’ and celebrate it.”

He was slowly walking past the portraits of his ancestors. They were looking upon their wrecked up grandson. A constant stream of tears flowed down Veritas’ cheeks. He walked past the tapestry of his family tree. He glanced at the tree out of the corner of his eye. A sudden feeling of guilt overtook his sorrow. He, the son of Claudius Belluchi, the youngest of all the family had let down the whole bloodline. He had an intuition that his grandchildren would burn off Veritas’ face from the tapestry after his death. But then, his heart reached out for his mates who had just got them a brutal public execution. He reached the door of his room. He banged it behind him. He was not a lad who had the emotional range the size of a cork; he felt sympathy for his mates, a deep feeling of shame for himself, and the guilt of having let his family blood-line down. He had heard his mates say, when in a tough situation, repose by thinking of the good old memories. He tried doing so, but the emotional storm swept away with it every thought, moral, and memory. The room suddenly felt stifled and pathetically short of air. He breathed heavily in the constantly shrinking room. His lungs were heavy and exhausted.

On the other side of the estate, tears flowed down from Veritas’ father’s eyes. The Gods will never forgive him for tormenting his own son to the extent of insanity. But he had to complete the task. In its completion lied his and his son’s safety. If the Christians were executed in the arena, the emperor will have eyes only for him. This way he will be able to rake in more wealth for his child and his future generations. Also, it was important for Veritas to know who he was, and which people were right and which ones were wrong. And he had to learn the rule of the world- the powerful always crumbled down on the weak. And there was nothing wrong in it. It was the rule of the nature—the bigger animals always gobbled up the smaller ones. He wanted his son to take over his place at the court, instead of those power hungry mongrels of Rome. And for this, he must have a heart only for people who had thick wallets. Veritas could no longer afford to be the carefree lad that he was.

Little did he realise that his relationship with Veritas would never remain the same.

***

Veritas felt sick. Veritas felt weak. He had lost count of how many times he had thrown up sickness since morning. But his father had forced him into coming to the arena that afternoon. A maid was also brought along to tend to a sick Veritas. Veritas’ father had tried his best to show the emperor the commitment of Veritas towards the empire. And the emperor had fallen for it too! He had praised the spirit of Veritas for having attended the event respite his critical health. Obviously, Veritas was not aware of what was going on, so he had kept mum. Veritas was delirious. He was moving in and out of a stable mental state. He was not aware of what was happening. When he regained conscious after some time, he saw two men fighting in the rink of the arena. They were masked and wore thick metal armours. Gladiators. They were trying to outwit each other at hands. They were putting in every drop of blood, flexing every muscle in their body to win against life. The people around Veritas were cheering and clapping their hands in happiness. Their happiness seemed absurd to Veritas. Suddenly, he felt that he had a very precious thing, which was scared, and was beating heavily inside his ribs, which the other people in the arena, including his father, and the emperor, had misplaced somewhere. Watching gladiators fight, public executions of criminals were quite apart of Veritas’ life. But today with every passing second, he regretted his existence.

Eventually, one of the men succumbed to the exhaustion, and the injuries, and collapsed into dust. Dust formed a sheath on his body, sticking to his sweat. The other gladiator looked up to the emperor to permit him to the next job. Abiding by the emperor’s permission, the neck of the loser was severed with one fatal blow. The audience roared and screamed with glee. The winning gladiator had proved his blood. He had successfully killed a man who was probably his own mate in the cells.

The emperor rose from his seat, and his voice rang through the arena.

“Bring in the rebels; let’s see how their God saves them now.”

Fresh tears flowed down from Veritas’ cheeks. But he could not protest. His father had strictly asked him not to. With no-one to spill his heart to, Veritas endured it all without a word. The execution began. The soldiers brought in a family in the arena. They all narrowed their eyes as they stepped into the sunlight. The crowed broke into applause. The family comprised an old man, a young couple, and their two kids. The two kids waved to the crowds enjoying all the attention. The whole family was bare-feet. Then, soldiers grabbed them all, and five wooden crucifixes were laid down in the arena. Each member of the family was nailed to one of the crucifix. Then, with the families face into the dust, the soldiers dragged the crucifix to one corner of the arena. There, crucifixes were put up. The family members groaned on the cross. The children had fainted under the pain. The soldiers then bought up a barrel containing some sort of liquid, and then with a mug, drenched the members on the cross. Oil. The kids woke up when they were splashed with oil. The blinked, and then looked around to see their parents nailed to the cross. Looking at them, they started crying. They called on their mother. Their mother replied to them in tears. She pacified them and asked them to bear it for another moment, and then they will be re-united. A blazing torch was lit, and the torch was touched to the hem of the kids’ robes. They screamed their mother’s name as the fire licked their tender flesh. Their mother screamed too. Their father wept, and their grandfather moaned. Soon two charred bodies hung on the cross. The same fate awaited the rest of them. First the mother was lit, then the father, and then finally the old man. Four silent and carbon black covered bodies hung over the cross. Then a wave of claps and screams tore through the crowd. They were enjoying the show.

One by one, Christians were brought out into the arena to meet a gory end. Some of them were beheaded. Some were fed to the lions. Some were left into the arena with a mad elephant, which crumbled their heads under his huge feet. A loud crack echoed throughout the arena as their skulls were cracked open by the towering creature. After every execution, the soldiers would drag the remains to one corner where they were heaped—one body on top of another. It was a bloody, gooey mess that rose in the corner. The soil in the arena had turned to a tinge of crimson from the execution of one-fifty or so families.

With every corpse that fell into dust, the crowds bellowed and cheered. They were enjoying the variety. And with every drop of blood seeping into soil, Veritas lost some of his sane. He had lost his speech. His eyes no longer shed tears, but had become dry and hollow. The sockets were dark. He sensed nothing. His brain was protecting itself by shielding itself against emotion. But his mind was till pacing. With every bit of faith he had, he prayed. He prayed to the God of Abraham. He asked Him bitterly, to descend fire on the arena and finish everyone including he and his father for the sins they had committed, and save the lives of the innocent Christians. But nothing happened. No fire was seen in the sky. No sins were punished. The sun though was near the horizon and was speeding up to end his day’s long journey. The only things that were constantly increasing were the shadows, and the pile of cadaver in the corner of the arena.

Another family was charred. Then a young lad the age of Veritas was whipped to death. His body wore long red streaks of swollen flesh when he finally succumbed to the injuries. The murders continued until late afternoon. The sky was hues of crimson, so was the soil in the arena. Veritas had completely lost his sense. He would stare blankly at the helpless Christians as they were stabbed, burnt, and whipped. Seldom Veritas would flinch at the violence.

There were no people left to kill. The whole tribe had been dealt with. The only person remaining as per the soldiers was a little boy. Soon, the boy was brought into the arena. The crowd booed, and hooted at him. They were all being very nasty. The boy stared at the crowd blankly. Veritas threw the boy a glimpse, and sat straight. He knew the boy. He was the son of Claudius. Veritas was too busy with his agony, and did not remember when his father and mother were killed. But the sight of the boy bought memories of Claudius to Veritas’ mind. His brain started working to recollect the memories. The memories untied the knot which was quivering in Veritas mind. Hot tears flowed again from his cheeks. But he was still silent. A silence loomed over the arena as the audience looked upon with awe.

A huge flare was lit up in the middle of the arena. Amidst the flares, an iron throne was placed. The boy sensed danger, and tried to run. The soldiers caught him, and tore off his tiny robe. Then they tied his hands with long chains. The soldiers slowly stepped back. When they were at a distance, they pulled the chain. The boy’s hands rose in the air. Then, they started pulling him backwards. The boy protested, but his strength was nothing as compared to the soldiers who were pulling him. When he was near the flare, he felt the heat the burning metal radiated. Sensing so, he started howling. With him, Veritas too started crying bitterly.

By the inch, they neared the metallic beast waiting to devour the tenderness of the boy’s flesh. The child, innocent as a lamb was crying his guts out. But the crowd only cheered, and booed at him. Veritas’ father felt Veritas’ body shiver besides him.

The soldiers had a sweaty brow. Perhaps, the howls of the boy had touched their heart, or maybe it was the flaring fire that did so. The fire had started licking the boy’s feet when the soldiers, with one push, pushed him onto the chair.

SHRIEK!!

His throat ripping scream bellowed through-out the arena, but was drowned in the din created by the cheering of the crowd. His sound was heard only by Veritas. Veritas shut his eyes tight, covered his ears to obstruct the sound of the world and whispered to himself,

“Give me strength God, for this scream is going to haunt my nights for the rest of my life!”

******