Shon Mehta

  War is a smell – a smell of filth, a smell of sweat, a smell of flesh, a smell of blood, a smell of death; war is a stench that never goes away. Prince Abhik stepped out of the water after a brief swim, and sat on one of the stones surrounding the lake. He could still smell the sweat and the blood and now that he was clean, he craved for more. He dived back into the dark green water. Deep under, he closed his eyes and held his breath, savouring the stark silence and trying to remember the rush he felt in the battlefield. When he resurfaced and opened his eyes, his bodyguard was waiting for him. Abhik tried to recall the bodyguard’s name. “Always remember the names of your bodyguards,”  his father used to chastise him, “they may be willing to save your life, but make sure that they are also willing to give theirs while doing so.” But no matter how hard he tried, Prince Abhik could never remember their names – with their feral attire and face tattoos, they all looked the same ...