Three days after the false demon ritual that shook Dharigaon, Arjun stood before the village council—barefoot, but not powerless.
His presence stirred whispers.
"He's too young."
"Who made him a voice?"
"Priest was scared half to death. That boy plays with spirits."
But no one dared say it to his face.
The council sat in a half-circle beneath the scorched temple walls. Old men in saffron robes. The village priest, still trembling at shadows. The grain chief, Pasha. And a few landlords who wore silks while others wore rags.
Arjun bowed. Then he stood tall.
"Elders," he began, "I bring a grievance. The western fields—assigned to widow Lakshmi and her sons—were stolen."
Pasha, a fat man with gold rings and a voice like molasses, laughed.
"Stolen? She offered to give them up."
"She didn't," Arjun said firmly.
Pasha leaned forward. "You accuse me of theft, boy?"
"I accuse you of lying."
Gasps.
Even Vishrath, lurking in the shadows near the banyan tree, tensed.
The priest coughed nervously. "This is… serious."
Arjun nodded. "Serious enough for truth."
He pulled out a scrap of parchment—Lakshmi's thumb-marked claim of land rights.
"Signed before her husband died. Filed by the temple. Unchanged by her grief."
The priest took it. Read it. Then nodded slowly.
"She speaks truth."
Silence fell. Then—murmurs.
Pasha's nostrils flared.
"You're just a child. You don't know how things work. Do you know how much grain she owes me? Do you know how many mouths I feed?"
Arjun didn't blink.
"I know theft when I see it. I know silence is worse."
Another silence.
Then the elder in gray—Goram—spoke. "Let the fields return to Lakshmi."
Pasha stood, furious. "You're all fools. You let a boy shame me? For what? Honor?"
He turned to Arjun. "You'll regret this."
He stormed off. The council adjourned.
---
Later, under the banyan tree, Vishrath clapped once.
"Bold. Stupid. Honest. That was a knife to the heart, and you twisted it."
"He deserved it," Arjun muttered.
"Deserved?" Vishrath laughed. "Let me teach you today's truth."
He opened the scroll and pointed.
> "He who is overly honest, lives a short life."
Arjun frowned. "But I was right."
"Right is weak if it has no teeth. You embarrassed a powerful man. He will not forget."
Arjun stared at the setting sun.
"What should I have done?"
"Given him a golden way out. A chance to save face. Win quietly. Praise publicly. Punish privately. You don't crush a man unless you're ready to bury him."
Arjun looked down. The fire within him smoldered.
"Then teach me how to win without being killed."
Vishrath smiled. "Now you're thinking like a strategist."
---
That Night
Arjun found his hut smeared with pig's blood. His mother's mat was overturned. No firewood left. Only footprints leading toward Pasha's storehouse.
Arjun walked into the night with nothing but a stick and a lesson burning in his bones.
He didn't confront Pasha.
He crept behind the storehouse, stole a bag of rice, and left a goat skull painted red where the bag once was.
The next morning, Pasha screamed of black magic.
No one questioned it.
Two days later, Pasha offered widow Lakshmi double grain "as a show of goodwill."
And Arjun? He said nothing. He just nodded and swept the temple floor.
But in his ledger, he wrote:
> "The truth must wear a mask."
---
End of Chapter 3