I was in sublime touch shooting off arrow after arrow. The targets were drifting across my vision and all it took was one aim and release; the arrows shot off with a swish only to hit the target where I intended it and killed the recipient of the shot. A few lefthanded shots depending on the angle of the shot where I could find the target best positioned for the shot; others right handed. The bow was drifting from one hand to the other flawlessly and the arrows were flowing out like spit from a cobra's mouth, both accurate and deadly. Before we realised there were hardly any leaders standing. By the time Jarasandha recovered, his leaders and his entire army had perished. Jarasandha gave a loud shout and invited us to come out in the open and fight like real warriors. By this time Balarama also came into the battlefield.Jarasandha did not turn back and run; he was livid and angry; he started challenging us to come down and fight like real warriors.Rama and I descended into battleground. Jarasandha was aghast to see Kids trying to defeat him. Jarasandha invited us for a duel. He said two versus one couldn't be fair in a war. Balarama moved ahead and chose mace as his weapon. He was adept at mace and Jarasandha was no less a mace warrior. The fight that took place was of a quality that I wouldn't witness for a long time to come. Jarasandha was more than accomplished. While Jarasandha unleashed himself upon Balarama with full force and vigour, Balarama was deftly defending himself. Mace was flying into Rama from all directions. Balarama was saving his energy for the future; if he could wear Jarasandha down, he could then unleash himself upon him. Balarama was not through and through defensive. There would be moments when he surprised Jarasandha by his speed and power.Rama's mace would start banging into Jarasandha with immense strength and speed. Before Jarasandha would recover from one bout of attack the second one would begin in a different style of attack. The lesson and practice with our Guru was paying results; I could see that in this bout. Jarasandha couldn't fathom the skill level of Rama. He had thought it would be child's play and he would crush Rama in no time and head for me. But this challenge was more than what he had imagined. The fact that his theory proved wrong gave him the mental agony which the real fight had not given. That agony was showing in his inconsistent fighting method. He would burst at Rama; Rama would easily read the move and defend himself; that would frustrate Jarasandha; he would change his move, which Rama easily anticipated and countered, Jarasandha would get more frustrated and soon he lost his mace to a vicious shot by Rama. Now it was Rama with his mace facing an unarmed Jarasandha.Rama shouted at me and said he wanted to finish this fight right away, and lifted his mace to hit Jarasandha. I stopped Rama, it's unfair to kill someone who is unarmed on a battlefield. I said another day would come and he had to let him go with honour.

    A middle-aged man returns to his childhood home to attend a funeral. Although the house he lived in is long gone, he is drawn to the farm at the end of the road, where, when he was seven, he encountered a most remarkable girl, Lettie Hempstock, and her mother and grandmother. He hasn't thought of Lettie in decades, and yet as he sits by the pond (a pond that she'd claimed was an ocean) behind the ramshackle old farmhouse, the unremembered past comes flooding back. And it is a past too strange, too frightening, too dangerous to have happened to anyone, let alone a small boy.Forty years earlier, a man committed suicide in a stolen car at this farm at the end of the road. Like a fuse on a firework, his death lit a touchpaper and resonated in unimaginable ways. The darkness was unleashed, something scary and thoroughly incomprehensible to a little boy. And Lettie—magical, comforting, wise beyond her years—promised to protect him, no matter what.A groundbreaking work from a master, The Ocean at the End of the Lane is told with a rare understanding of all that makes us human, and shows the power of stories to reveal and shelter us from the darkness inside and out. It is a stirring, terrifying, and elegiac fable as delicate as a butterfly's wing and as menacing as a knife in the dark.