Duty Over Self

Nevanka was bleeding.

It was apparent in the way red dripped through his fingers, all the way to his elbows and the way his fingertips were stained pink. But what he found much more nerve-racking was that he didn’t

feel the blood. As he curiously watched the red trickle through his bare arm he wondered

what had caused him to bleed in this way. Surely, he should’ve felt a wound that resulted in this

much bleeding. Surely, there should’ve been some flinching, stabbing pain or nerve rattling pain that explained this bleeding, but there was none.

So Nevanka did what any other wise man would do.

He went to the local apothecary.

The place was run by a judicious old woman who rarely came to check the small number of patients that she received. Nevanka had heard the lady was pretty sweet.

A bell chimed as he pushed open the door and went inside.

‘Good evening,’ the young man behind the desk smiled at him. Nevanka nodded, watching the man warily.

He must’ve noticed that too.

‘Something wrong, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Nevanka said, stepping forward. His suit of armour clanged as he pressed himself against the desk. ‘You see, I’m bleeding.’

The man stared and fear flitted in and out of his eyes. ‘Bleeding? From where sir?’

Nevanka pressed at his chest. ‘In my chest,’ he said, lightly touching the front of his armour. ‘It bleeds profusely.’

The nurse jumped to his feet and began to clamour. He began to call the staff and the healers. And amidst the whole chaos, he would look at Nevanka as if he was

expecting him to vanish.

The healers made him lie down on a stretcher and much to Nevanka’s embarrassment, wheeled

him towards a room. There was too much noise and every time Nevanka closed his eyes to rest, the clamor would increase and he would have to open his eyes again.

They shifted him on a bed and then took the armor off of him. Nevanka didn’t object and did as he was told, watching them take away the pieces of the metal, one by one. He glimpsed the interior of the armor which was stained red.

Nevanka waited with bated breath as the healers surrounded him. Surely one of them would gasp in shock. Anytime now they’ll realize how very injured he was yet there came no sound.

They cut through his undershirt, and then another. But no one made a sound.

Nevanka began to panic. Had he imagined his armour plate stained red from the inside? Had he only imagined the red staining his fingers and his forearms.

Was he insane? Was he going to be?

The healers looked down upon him from every side and Nevanka flushed under their scrutiny.

‘There is blood on my chest,’ he said with conviction in his voice. But two of the doctors glanced at each other and he knew what that look meant. That was the same look they had given him when he was sent back home from the front lines.

“Nevanka had gone insane,” the seniors jeered when he told them about the blood. “Being in the company of death at all times can do that to a man.” And so they had sent him home, unfit to fight in the army.

“You shouldn’t have told them,” his batchmate had said to him as he watched Nevanka pack away his things with sadness.

Nevanka now sat up.

‘Don’t you all see it too?’ he asked the gathered healers, looking at them one after the other. They glanced at each other until one of them looked back at him and simply shook his head.

Nevanka’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see their pitiful expressions directed towards him.

There was a knock on the door and a stout woman came inside.

‘What’s all the clamour about?’ she asked in her leathery voice. All the fingers pointed towards Nevanka whose face turned hot from embarrassment.

The elderly woman was the owner of the apothecary and the first thing she did was order everyone out of the room.

‘Leave my patient to me,’ she said and the healers shuffled outside, not bothering to hide their relief.

Nevanka turned his head away, not wanting to look at the woman as she came nearer.

‘Where does it bleed?’ she asked and Nevanka whirled his head around, looking at her with wide eyes.

‘You can see it?’

She smiled, her wrinkles spreading and shook her head. ‘No, but I know you are not lying.’

Nevanka watched in amazement as the woman listened to his troubles and

simply nodded.

‘This bleeding is not from your body,’ she informed him, her hands folded behind her arched back ‘It’s from your soul. What are you doing that you shouldn’t do?’ She gave him a searching look till her

eyes found the heavy boots laying by the bed. She sighed almost as if she had gotten her answer.

‘Of course,’ she muttered, her eyes rising to meet his again. ‘You are a knight.’

Nevanka somehow knew exactly what she was talking about.

‘What do I do?’

‘There is no cure,’ she said, turning his back to him. ‘To heal the soul you must change your actions and for that, you must disobey the king.’

‘And leave my whole life behind?’ he added, his voice incredulous and the woman nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘To heal, you have to change your ways. Knighthood is not for you, young man.’

Nevanka shook his head, looking down.

The woman continued. ‘Make a choice: protect your soul or your kingdom.’

Nevanka closed his fingers into fists. ‘And if I’m unable to protect my soul?’

‘Then you will continue to bleed.’

It was a huge shock for his seniors when he came back. He showed them the papers that proved he was well, of body and mind.

‘Signed by an apothecary herself,’ the senior said with approval. ‘I’m impressed, Nevanka.’

Nevanka gave a tight lipped smile and nodded.

‘We’ll send you off to the front lines first thing tomorrow.’

Nevanka nodded again but the men were already busy among themselves. He then realized why they had been so repulsed by him seeing red on his hands. Their hands must be cleaned because they made Nevanka and other knights do the dirty work. They made them stain their hands while theirs

remained as clean and pristine as marble.

He was on horseback by dawn and by evening, he was back where he had started. Nevanka cast a glance towards the men around him and knew they all understood what he saw. Though they never spoke about it.

He fought side-by-side with his friend and none of them brought up the subject. And every night, when Nevanka would see him rubbing his hands insistently in the sink, he would know.

Every time Nevanka would be caught rubbing his chest in the mirror, his friend would know too.

Despite everything, they continued with their bleeding souls, protecting their kingdom in exchange for their own humanness. 

He would occasionally wonder if this was what empathy was called. Illustration by Bitter