"Nobody saw anything today," he stated, his words leaving no room for argument.
"Those present only witnessed a tiger leaping into the Tehsildar's compound and… consuming him.
As for the miya," he paused, his gaze hardening, "clean up the bloodstains on the ground, and dispose of his body in the fire pit. Do you all understand?"
His cold, unwavering gaze swept over the crowd, silencing any potential dissent.
The villagers, their faces pale and their voices trembling, stammered their assent.
They had seen the impossible, the raw power Varun wielded, and they knew better than to defy him.
Varun's command to dispose of the miya's body was met with a hesitant silence.
Then, a few of the braver men, their bodies shaking with fear, stepped forward.
They lifted the miya's broken form, their movements clumsy and hurried, and carried him towards the designated fire pit.
The air was thick with tension, with the unspoken understanding that a new order had been established.
Varun, the amnesiac stranger, had become the arbiter of justice, the enforcer of silence.
With the miya's body being carried away, Varun scanned the crowd until he found the merchant he had spoken to earlier.
The man was visibly shaken, his face pale and his hands trembling. Varun approached him, his voice calm but firm.
"You were about to tell me about the route to Kolkata," he said, his gaze steady.
The merchant, his voice still trembling with fear, stammered a reply. "Y-yes, sir. This town… it is the closest to Kolkata of any in the surrounding area.
It will take you no more than a day to travel there." He paused, swallowing hard. "As for transportation, my merchant caravan travels to Kolkata every Monday, to trade. If you wish to travel with us, you are welcome.
Varun, his gaze still fixed on the merchant, continued his inquiry. "And what goods do you trade?" he asked, his voice steady.
The merchant, attempting to regain his composure, replied, "We trade in a variety of goods, sir. Spices, primarily. And sweets, such as rosogullas, chena, and ras malai. We also trade in fine silk, which we acquire from the weavers in the nearby villages.
Varun, his mind calculating, shifted his line of questioning. "Do you know anyone who trades in metals and tools?" he asked, his voice casual.
The merchant shook his head. "Not in this town, sir. But you are likely to find such traders in the bazaars of Kolkata. If you wish, I can introduce you to one when we arrive."
"Varun paused, considering the offer. He needed to be cautious, to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.
"No," he said finally, his voice firm. "You continue your trading as usual. If I need to meet this trader, I will find you here, at this very spot." He gestured towards the area near his stall, within the bazaar itself.
He then added, his gaze direct, "And I want you to keep me updated on anything of note that happens in this town. Have one of your men remain here, within the bazaar. If I need to contact you, I will do so through him."
The merchant, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and compliance, nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I understand. I will arrange for one of my men to remain here, within the bazaar."
He knew better than to question Varun's demands. The man's power, his ruthless efficiency, had made a lasting impression. He would obey, without question.
With the arrangements made, Varun rejoined the villagers, who were now gathering their newly acquired goods.
They had purchased a variety of items: spices, textiles, tools, and other necessities that were scarce in their village.
The atmosphere, though still tinged with the lingering tension from the earlier events, was filled with a sense of accomplishment.
Varun, his mind still preoccupied with the information he had gathered, helped them load the goods onto their boats.
He kept a watchful eye on the crowd, ensuring no one attempted to cause trouble. He was their protector, a role he had embraced, though it was a role that came with a heavy burden.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the bazaar, they began their journey back to the village.
The boats, laden with goods, moved slowly through the waterways, the villagers' voices hushed and subdued. Varun, standing at the bow of the lead boat, scanned the surrounding landscape, his senses heightened.
The journey back was uneventful, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the boat hulls and the occasional calls of nocturnal creatures.
The villagers, still reeling from the day's events, kept their distance, their eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear.
As they approached the village, the warm glow of oil lamps flickered through the thatched roofs of the huts, a welcome sight after the long journey.
Varun, his mind filled with thoughts of the damaged devices and the journey to Kolkata, helped unload the goods, his movements efficient and precise.
The villagers, grateful for his protection and wary of his power, thanked him quietly, their voices filled with a mixture of respect and apprehension.
Varun, his expression calm and composed, nodded in acknowledgment.
He had returned them safely, but he knew that the day's events had irrevocably changed their perception of him.
He was no longer just a stranger; he was a force to be reckoned with.
As night settled over the village, the warm glow of oil lamps illuminated the communal meal.
The villagers, despite the lingering unease from the day's events, ate with a quiet contentment, their voices hushed as they discussed the extraordinary events at the bazaar.
Chaukidaar and Kajal, however, remained withdrawn, their expressions still etched with shock and awe.
Meanwhile, Varun sat apart, consuming a portion of the tiger meat he had brought back. He had taken only a fifth of the massive beast for himself, distributing the rest among the villagers.
The meat, though tough, provided a substantial meal, and the villagers ate with a grateful appreciation, their weariness momentarily forgotten.
As they finished their meal, the villagers prepared to retire for the night, their minds filled with the day's extraordinary occurrences.
They were unaware, however, of the subtle, unseen effects of the tiger meat. For some, it would prove a boon, a source of strength and vitality.
But for others, it would be a curse, a catalyst for strange and unsettling changes. The powerful essence of the predator, the raw energy of the wild, would seep into their bodies.