Legato

The horse on which Jalabadra rode carefully walked along the banks of the Tarum river. The air was humid that day. The Maharishi body swayed slightly in rhythm with the horse's steps, his eyes wet with tears that had welled up. The times when the Apple of His Eye closed her eyes still lingered in his mind. The old man felt very, very tired. A few moments before, he had put all his strength and power into carrying out that elegant woman's last wish.

Their party arrived at a wooden bridge that stretched across the river. One by one walking across. Water was rushing beneath them, as if it was raining downstream.

Jalabadra's horse was walking in the middle of the bridge when a stabbing sensation struck the priest's left chest, then spread to his shoulder blades and left shoulder. His face twisted in pain, his chest tightened, trying to catch his breath. Jalabadra smiles. He let out a deep breath, then all the muscles in his body relaxed. He was no longer trying to endure the whacking pain.

The royal guards behind Jalabadra's horse screamed in surprise when they saw the Royal Official's body slowly tilted until he fell off the horse.

Crunching sounds were heard when the wooden bridge was broken and hit by the limp body. However, Jalabadra did not feel any pain when his ribs hit the log. He also did not feel the cold water of the Tarum River when he fell there. The guards screamed frantically for a call, but the Maharishi only felt peace, even though there was a hint of regret remaining in his heart.

***