The room was in shambles. Broken pieces of furniture lay everywhere. Cushions and mattresses were slashed to pieces. Curtains were ripped from their frames and torn apart.
Vasusena stared at the room in dismay. True, he did not live here or use these rooms any more, yet such wanton destruction was inconceivable to him. Bheema who was with him, growled in anger.
“Who has done this!”
“I have no idea,” muttered Vasusena. “The house has been uninhabited since, well, you know.”
Bheema knew all too well. This was Atiradha’s house. And since the day Vasusena’s truth came out, no one had been living here. Bheema had been curious to see the place and Vasusena had offered to take him. Which was how they happened to be here.
“All the other rooms are intact,” said Vasusena now.
“Yes, and I’m worried. After that attack on you by masked assailants the other day, now this. Someone seems desperate to get rid of you!”
Vasusena shrugged. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” muttered Bheema. “But we can still worry,”
The two men stepped into the room. Broken pieces of furniture were strewn all over the floor, interspersed with the cotton from the mattresses and cushions. Near to the window, a glint caught their eye.
“It’s…” Bheema paled. “Now I am officially worried.”
Arrowheads were arranged near the window to form words: “The usurper must die!”
“A prank,” said Vasusena, though his teeth were gritted in anger.
Bheema looked at his brother, but with a tact rare to him, he kept silent.
Vasusena swept away the arrowheads with his hand. He was really furious now.