A Lion's Head | 1st Chapter

A Lion's Head By D.M. De Alwis

1

High Above the River Ganga in the Immortal Realm

A strange duo clung to a cliff face high above the canyon, painted slate and grey by the setting sun. The first wore the head of a lion. His supernatural claws allowed him to scale the wall as though it were a tree. He looked more beast than man, his tail acting as a counterbalance as he reached for a ledge. From this distance, he stood two heads taller than the human climbing beside him—a length of rope connected them at their waists.

How Isha wished he could hear what they said.

The man-lion secured himself on the ledge and pulled the second man to relative safety. The human was ordinary. His grey leathers spoke of a military background. He carried no weapons. When his face turned sideways, Isha recognized his herdspeople's pronounced forehead and angled nose. Recognition reverberated a string of his blackened heart: Channa the younger, his once youthful deputy. He wore his hair braided in a protective topknot and still had his absurd thick mutton-chop sideburns, the relic of a childhood dare.

Channa slapped the man-lion's shoulder, reminiscent of old friends.

Envious, Isha imagined they enjoyed the exhilaration of hanging from the cliff. While he could see them in monochrome, he could not hear them. Here was the last warrior of his herd. Channa's ancient ancestor had once upon a time called the Water Buffalo Gods, Isha and his wife, Chala, into existence. Channa had once stood faithful by Isha's side.

Isha's herdspeople had vanished with his wife around the time the man-lion had appeared.

Had this lion-headed construct of the gods supplanted him? As anger flared, Isha's energy ignited. The ground trembled. Channa was his. Channa was of the herd. He was the last.

Channa must be sent to the herd. 

If only he knew where Chala had taken the herd.

Isha's vision broke. He covered his ears as if it could suppress the memory of her laughter.

Wherever she was, she was happy—without him. 

He had been happy once, but now he was alone.

I've lost you forever. Deep in his heart, too faint to hear, came the words, It's all my fault.

He stroked the soft, soothing braided necklace of human hair coiled around his neck with an idle finger. His attention returned to his lion-headed foe.

It's all his fault. 

The man-lion's claws had pierced Isha's master's heart. That day, Isha had lost everything. 

His wife and his herd... were gone.

The far-away, rational voice said. It is my fault, my fault alone.

The necklace coiled and constricted tighter. Isha deserved the pain. Fighting the yoke was futile. When Isha closed his eyes, he searched the blackness, trying to remember colour. He was sure it was still there. After a long pause, he gave in to the madness.

It's all the man-lion's fault.

Isha's vision formed again—reflected on the surface of the polished black stone. In it, the two climbers rested on a ledge overlooking a great chasm. Beneath them hurtled the white rapids of a tributary of the Ganga's waters. As if knowing he was being watched, the man-lion's face turned towards Isha. His gaze searched. 

Isha froze. Could the man-lion reverse the spell and scry him? 

This time, he released the vision on purpose. As the black and white scene faded, it revealed the polished stone mirror, and Isha's image reflected back at him. His black nose leather was wet. The sun danced shadows across his face, painting his snout and head in shades of black and grey. His once great horns were now twisted, yet they shone brilliantly white as they reflected the light. He looked into his fierce, commanding eyes. 

I am Maha Isha Sura (the great water buffalo asura). I was created by the will of the people of my herd. I am Lord of the Animals and the First Minister to the God King. 

His humanoid body had once been more muscled and stocky than the man-lion's. His tail whipped in the wind. He snorted and glared. 

What am I now that my master, the King, is dead. My wife and my herd are gone. 

The braided coil around his throat squeezed, burning into Isha's hide, but not enough to choke him. The pain told him he was alive. 

I will be vengeance. 

The man-lion would pay for destroying his world.

——— 

"He could have killed you." Sinha's deep baritone carried through to Channa's ears despite the bitter wind sweeping across the canyon. "I can't forgive him." The wind blew his heavy red mane into his eyes, obscuring his vision from time to time. 

He had to get the words off his chest. They had spent hours talking about the seasons and the ways of the herd as if they were not on the trail of Maha Isha Sura, an errant God. Sinha could not understand Channa's fanatic devotion. Maybe understanding would alleviate his apprehension.

"My experience is not yours to forgive. I survived." Channa’s voice held steady despite having clung to the cliff face for hours. "Life will kill you if you wait long enough."

"Maha Isha Sura left you for dead." Sinha's claws held them both secure. 

The cliff was compacted soil, a deep brick colour punctuated by layers of clay, rock, and ash. So far, his claws had found purchase, though with every claw-hold he created debris. 

Sinha hoped to reach the plateau before dusk. He looked up, relief sweeping over him. They were just below a short granite ledge. While he did not tire, his companion was mortal. 

"I am of the herdspeople. Everything we do is for the herd." Channa shifted his weight between the rope at his waist and his grip. He blew on raw fingers before trying to get a handhold. Despite the loss in property, kicking off his boots had made Channa's ascent easier. He swung a leg, letting his toes find the ledge. His laughter betrayed both relief and desperation. The ledge would support their combined weight and provide him a respite. "I owe you a debt. The day you saved my life, Sinha, is the day you became part of my herd," he said. 

Sinha chose not to retort with "A herd of one" as he pulled Channa’s quivering, sweat and dust-laden body up the rest of the way. 

Channa clapped Sinha's shoulder with one hand. "I know I am the last. I will restore Lord Isha to his senses." With his other hand, he fingered the greenish-black marble he wore hanging from the leather thong around his neck.

"This is why you are here," Sinha said despite his regret for bringing Channa on this mission. He would not tell Channa how the Water Buffalo God irked him. 

Sinha laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. Maha Isha Sura's track had led them well into the canyon before collapsing beneath their feet. Had Sinha been alone, he would have jumped from the cliff. With Channa along, Sinha had been forced to find a humane way out of their predicament. 

Sinha regretted choosing to go up. In hindsight, Channa could have survived a short fall into the rapids. A few broken bones and half-drowning would be a small price to pay for staying alive. He would have carried Channa to safety or lost him to the rapids. 

He avoided looking down from the dizzying height, grateful for the solid ledge.

Would Channa's Lord Isha take pity on them? Sinha doubted he was the benevolent and protective god Channa described, but he had no proof. The few herdspeople he had met had not spoken about their god. 

Not Channa. His faith bordered on fanatical. He believed himself responsible for his god.

An eerie sensation of being watched made the back of Sinha's neck itch. He looked out into the expanse—how could anyone see them? The shadows on the canyon walls were growing longer. The sun was descending. Ignoring the wind, he could hear the torrent of water raging below. The cloudless azure sky deepened in colour. How long did they have before the sun hit the horizon?

"Do you think he will listen?" Sinha asked, unaccustomed to Channa's long silence.

"I can make him listen. I will take him to our herd. None should be left behind."

"You know where Goddess Chala took the herd?" Sinha asked. He had thought he knew everything there was to know about Channa. He knew all there was to know about his family: the herdspeople's customs, festivals, and everything a warrior needed to know about his gear. At no time had Channa hinted at returning to his herd, even when his mother, fellow warriors, and their beasts had been sent to the mortal realm for their safety.

"I do," Channa said. "The secret is in a riddle. Unsolved, the truth remains hidden. I both know and don’t know where the herd is."

"A riddle. No hint?" he asked. Perhaps now was not the right time to joke. Channa's mother and his warriors would never reunite with Channa or the herd. They would die in the mortal realm and be reborn. Come to think of it, if the goddess Chala had taken the herd to the mortal realm, they would have died and been reborn many times over by now. That meant Channa's goal was to reunite Isha with his wife, Chala. He looked to his friend with renewed respect.

Sinha's next handhold failed. Sandy clay disintegrated, leaving him with a handful of dust. He scanned the rock from his left, up, and to the right, before making the mistake of looking down. The drop below was deep and dizzying. His claws might slow the fall, but their survival was not guaranteed. Fear stole the moisture from his throat. Channa would not know his fear. 

The sun was close to the horizon. Could they wait there until dusk passed?

"Life is harsh, Sinha. Accept it. Predators, weather, and bad luck are constant. Lord Isha faced down the Asura King and was cursed. He made his choices to protect the herd. My father charged me to protect him, and I failed."

"How could you protect Lord Isha? You are just a human, and the Asura King was no friend to humans," Sinha growled. "Your Lord Isha had a choice." 

Could Sinha dig a shallow tunnel in which to shelter? Or, better yet, dig upward a route to the surface. Channa would be protected from the wind and the terrifying elements of the immortal night.

"I admit. In the palace, I—we—were . . . ill-informed. I was blind to the truth until the King died." Channa's words slowed. "I was under a spell."

"You were under a coercive spell, yes. I remember," Sinha said. His efforts in digging had started to bear fruit. The upward burrow he dug appeared solid. The cliff showed no signs of deterioration. 

"I will always support Lord Isha—" A loud rumbling from above interrupted Channa’s words.

They both heard the bellow of a bull. The sound rang through the canyon. As it passed, the cliff became unstable. Sinha's sensitive footpads felt the shale tremble a warning.  Solid ground began to turn to liquid under his feet. Instincts screaming, Sinha's toe claws locked down as the ground beneath them started to fall away. 

"Landslide!" Sinha's roar was silenced by deafening thunder. 

Channa slipped from the ledge; his outstretched hands grasped for Sinha's mane. He had nothing else to hold except the thick rope tied to their waists. The wall collapsed outwards in an explosion of rock and debris.

"Sinha," Channa whispered. 

They both fell.

Sinha scrabbled to grab what remained of the cliff, relying on Channa's weakening grip to hold them together. Though Channa's weight jerked his head back, Sinha's strong muscles held them both secure. His fur provided little protection from the rain of sharp rocks. Bruised and seeing stars, he pushed through the concussive darkness. 

Sinha leapt with inhuman strength from wherever he could get a foothold while striking his claws toward where the cliff had been. 

Channa's grip failed, and Sinha felt the pull of the rope counter his leap, causing him to flip in mid-air. Nevertheless, four sets of claws found solid ground. He hung upside down, blood rushing to his head. 

The ground shook. He bit his lip; the blood fuelled his determination. Rocks continued to rain, pelting his exposed arms and legs. Sinha's heart raced with fear. He bore the discomfort of knowing he would survive. Channa was the one exposed. 

Life was unfair. Who was he to be the one to live when he had nothing and no one? Channa had a reason to live. Sinha should not have brought him along. 

A deluge of water replaced the falling rocks. Sinha held both of them aloft as a century of stagnant rainwater flowed past, catching the last air from his lungs. Sinha gasped. He could not breathe. Invincibility did not give one a free pass from torture.

The waters joined the rapids and flooded the canyon far below. He could not look down to see how Channa had fared. Instead, he focused all his attention on holding on. The rope between them was taut until it wasn’t.

"Channa!" he roared, catching a mouthful of water and gagging. He scrambled to cling to the crumbling cliff wall, soaked to the skin. Logic dictated his friend had fallen to his death. Channa's body would be carried away by the flood.

Sinha fought to stay lucid as the world around him came to a standstill. He waited until the gathering immortal night was punctuated by the fierce winds and howling unseen spirits.

"Channa!" His hoarse bark echoed in the darkness. The violent dark wind stole his words and whipped tears from his eyes. He didn't know what he hoped for. How could a mortal human survive the drop? 

"Channa, are you there?" he whispered. The wind wailed a lament.

Sinha fell. Before solid impact and ensuing darkness, he was comforted by a single thought: I will live to see another day. 

As the blackness descended, he wondered why his instinct was to live.

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Copyright ©️2025 D.M. De Alwis

Last updated 1 August 2025.