When you’re present in the moment, Krish thought, you can experience real joy in the smallest things. Otherwise, you cannot find joy in even the grandest of palaces. Krish visualized that his research was complete and that the truth of life had been revealed. He was internally enjoying the success of his quest.
“Uhhhhhhhh, sons of bitches,” Krish heard a beastly, shrieking voice outside his window. His blissful state was shattered. He ran down to see what was going on. What he saw was absolutely mind boggling… and heartbreaking.
His dreams had collided violently with his reality. In his doorway was Prisha! She wore blue jeans, a black top, and sneakers. She was standing there with her carry-on and check-in bags. Her strong shoulders, long legs, and athletic body maintained in an erect posture. The cab that dropped her off had already left. She looked bewildered, confused, and agitated. Her eyes had the emptiness of a crazy person that had lost a part of their soul.
Her knees were hurt due to a fall. She couldn’t stand properly. Her hair was disheveled, lips dry. Her face looked devoid of vitality. It was clear from her expression that she was thoroughly confused, lost, hurt, and angry.
“Fuck off,” she shouted, looking toward the street as if someone was standing there hurling invisible insults at her. There wasn’t anyone there. Prisha was in the middle of a strong auditory hallucination and a complete nervous breakdown. Her smart, intelligent mind was clouded by out of control emotions and thoughts. Krish felt that she needed a hug to calm her down. As he touched her to initiate the hug, she screamed, “Don’t touch me scumbag, or I’ll call the police.”
Although he was trying to comprehend that this was her disease talking, Krish was hurt and slightly angry to be talked to this way.
She still stood in the doorway, shouting loudly. Somehow, Krish got her inside the house and closed the door. He showed her the bedroom, she was completely consumed by her thoughts. She changed, took a shower, and went straight to sleep.
Krish couldn’t believe that the tall, confident, pretty, successful girl in her stylish pant suit who came to drop him off at the airport just a few days ago seemed like a totally different person from another planet here and now. That girl was full of life and hope. The woman standing in front of him had been destroyed from the inside by her own relatives and colleagues.
Krish thought, the human desire for inflicting violence has changed the means of expression over the years. Humans have replaced spears and swords with toxic words and sharp back-stabbings as instruments of battle in the jungle of life. The former wounded and maimed people’s bodies. The latter strikes their hearts and minds. If humans were aware of their true power, they wouldn’t do such things. And even if they did, the victims, if self-realized, wouldn’t be affected. Oh! My work needs to succeed so that people will know their power and won’t suffer!
With Krish’s support and guidance, Prisha was receiving treatment for her mental illness by a psychiatrist and a therapist.
One evening, Krish and Prisha went out for a walk. The twilight sky seemed like a magnificent backdrop to the human drama unfolding. The dark blue looking mountains were like spectators enjoying the action. Tall trees with their brown branches and green leaves decorated the scene. Kids were playing by a water fountain. The girls gracefully jumped over small stones and landed beautifully on their toes, like butterflies moving from flower to flower. The boys were splashing around, wrestling each other, catching a ball, and frolicking. It was a relaxing scene.
“Let’s go out for dinner tonight. I don’t feel like cooking,” she said.
Krish and Prisha drove to the world-renowned chef Niki Nakayama’s n/naka restaurant in Los Angeles. The simplicity, elegance, and rhythm of the food served, along with the leisurely pace, provided a great experience.
“The owner, Niki, broke into the male-dominated world of Japanese chefs with her new way of thinking and her talent. I need to get back to work to take my mind off this illness,” Prisha said, more to herself than to Krish.
Krish clasped her fingers in his gently, indicating his support.
“I’ll pitch my projects to venture capitalists in Silicon Valley,” she promised. “IOT is an upcoming area in the US too. I’ll start brushing up my business plan first thing in the morning.”
“Sounds like a plan, sweetie,” Krish said. “I’m proud of you, Prisha. Show them how it’s done!”
Prisha travelled several times to the San Francisco Bay area, San Diego, and Boston, meeting several venture capitalists. She presented her business plan, leveraging her experience in the IOT business space.
Krish accompanied her on one such trip. He could see that the venture capitalists sensed something was off. One investor was very candid with her.
“Miss, you have impressive qualifications and experience, but you’re a newcomer with no product. You don’t have a team here in the US—the market here is totally different. I suggest you take a step back, work at a company, get familiar with the conditions here in the US, build your team, and then start your own business,” the investor advised. Sensing that Prisha was heartbroken, the investor decided to demoralize her further. “We need some whack jobs in the arena to take risks, but not on my money, sorry! We have too many chiefs already. We need some Indians too!”
People, being people, won’t miss an opportunity to attack someone who is down on luck.
On the drive home, Prisha raged, “Did you hear that? I’m a whack job!”
“These kinds of things happen, Prisha,” Krish said, “Some investors think they’re angels who descended from the heavens and that everyone else is beneath them. You’ve got to be able to handle such things and move on.”
Ordinarily, Prisha would brush off blunt and offensive comments, but with her psychosis and paranoia, she was vulnerable to verbal volleys.
“Oh my God, these people in my head. They’re everywhere now! They don’t want me to work. They want me to be a failure and a loser. I can’t take these insults,” Prisha said pressing her palms tightly over her ears and screaming loudly.
Krish tried to calm her. He could hardly focus on driving. Somehow, he managed to make it back home safely.
Prisha continued seeing her psychiatrist regularly. Her symptoms would blow up from time to time, interspersed with periods of relative calm.
Krish was performing a balancing act between his research and the ups and downs of his wife’s mental health.
One such evening, he came back home from work. What’s it going to be today? Calm or agitated? Krish wondered, trying to guess Prisha’s mood as he drove home. He opened the door. It was dark inside; none of the lights were turned on.
“Prisha,” he called, “are you home?” There was no reply. He turned on the lights downstairs and poured a glass of water for himself. Maybe she went out to get groceries, he thought. He turned on the TV and watched a new documentary he had recorded. He opened the fridge and had a slice of leftover pizza, then went upstairs to change. He opened the bedroom door and turned on the light. What he saw left him dumbfounded. His lips went dry, he took a step back, and reached out to the wall for support. He felt light headed and dizzy. The rise of bile in the back of his throat threatened to breakthrough.
“Oh my God…” he said under his breath. Prisha lay on their Victorian bed dressed in her red nightgown. She had a gun lying near her right hand, and the beige colored bed sheet was soaked in blood. Krish stood there, staring, unable to move, unable to breathe. He was numb. The sight brought back harrowing memories of the shootings he had witnessed. But it was even more horrifying to see his own wife—the woman he loved—lying there, bloodied, wounded, and possibly dead.
A few moments had passed, and his mind began to understand what he was seeing. He mentally passed the point where he could either panic or think rationally. His mind chose clarity. The enormity of the problem in front of him brought sharp focus, and his priorities became clear. He tried to put some mental distance between himself and the situation at hand, so as to
not to be overpowered by it.
He adjusted his glasses, stood erect, and took a sharp breath. Number one: see if she’s alive. Number two: don’t get in trouble with the law. Number three: call for help. Number four: you are alone in a foreign land—take care of yourself so that you can take care of her.
He observed her. Krish could feel warm, shallow breath on the finger he held near her nose. Prisha’s eyes were closed. She actually looked peaceful. Her mind was finally silent. She felt alive. The blood came from near her shoulder. There was a good chance that the bullet had missed her heart. He called 911.
Krish sat in the emergency room waiting area. The ambulance had taken Prisha directly inside. He was soon called in and after the nurse ascertained that he was okay, he was allowed inside Prisha’s room through a sliding door.
Prisha was intubated; her wounds dressed. The attending physician informed Krish that all of her vital signs were stable, and that she was out of danger, but heavily medicated. The doctor finished talking to Krish and turned to consult with her nurse. She was interrupted by an announcement over the PA system.
“Code yellow, CBRN, chief to triage,” reported a calm voice. Krish didn’t know what to make of it, but the attending physician and nurse knew exactly what the code meant. They looked at each other to confirm they had heard correctly. Shades of fear and worry appeared in the eyes of the young nurse. Her shoulders dropped a bit, as if due to something heavy in the pit of her stomach. Her body tensed, her fight or flight response ready, as she felt a surge of adrenaline.
The doctor’s eyes reflected authority and determination. Years of training and practice were kicking in. “Let’s go save lives,” she said to the nurse in a calm, but stern, voice. They dropped everything and ran toward the entrance of the ER, hurriedly shoving their stethoscopes in their pockets.
Krish checked his cell phone for breaking news. CNN reported developing stories about a bomb explosion in New York, a pair of traumatized brothers in Syria and the Olympics.
“I wish it was just the Olympics in the news today,” Krish sighed and clicked on the news coverage about explosions in NYC. Reports showed victims with intense flash burns, possibly due to radiation. He didn’t see any news about Los Angeles, however.
The ER chief, Dr. Guss, briefed all the doctors, surgeons, nurses, and visitors. He was an African American man in his late fifties—bald, clean-shaven, and tall, with a fatherly, compassionate appearance. He seemed like the type of person whom people would naturally rally around, particularly in a crisis. The chief took off his glasses and spoke in a clear tone with a sense of urgency, but not panic.
“I am chief of the emergency department. We’re getting reports of a chemical, biological, radiological, nuclear, or CBRN scenario. Tens to hundreds of patients are coming in. In addition to the regular SOP with mass casualty situations—such as cancelling non-urgent surgeries and emptying rooms—special precautions are needed for radiation situations.”
He paused to see the reaction of those assembled. “It’s not clear yet, but paramedics are reporting elevated readings on Geiger counters. Dr. Wilson will manage triage and label patients for treatment as green, yellow, or red. He will maintain a safe zone where patient’s external clothing will be removed to reduce additional radiation exposure, and they will be decontaminated. This is a mass casualty situation, so no need to contain the run off. Put on your personnel protective equipment, or PPE. Don’t take the risk of not wearing it. It’s the last line of defense. I’ll get information on radiation levels—alpha, beta, gamma, neutrons—and identify radio isotopes-plutonium, U-235 or U-238, cesium-137, cobalt-60 or other, so that appropriate treatments can be deployed. We need to know what we are dealing with. Most victims are burn victims,” Dr. Guss concluded.
As the patients started rolling in, it was difficult to look at them. Faces, backs, chests, hands, and legs were burned—flesh left hanging at some places. People were screaming in pain. Some were searching for their loved ones. Dr. Guss was trying to maintain a steady pace as he made his way around the ER. Soon, the hospital was at capacity and couldn’t take any more incoming patients.
“The radiation levels are very low,” Dr. Wilson said. Dr. Guss didn’t know why the radiation readings were so low when the burns were so intense. They were not as prominent as a nuclear explosion would suggest.
Dr. Wilson said, “I have an update from my source in the federal government. It’s much worse in New York. They had an actual nuclear explosion there. Here, it seems that we have just encountered a dirty bomb—no uncontrolled fission reaction that would cause a nuclear explosion. Another difference between the situations, is that New York is tightly packed. The terrorists exploded the nuclear bomb at ground level. But here, they used a drone and exploded it above ground to spread the shrapnel and radioactive material over a large area. There is no nuclear reaction to our explosion here, and the radioactive material was not purified before use. Hence, the low radiation measurements in patients.”
“You’re right. So basically, we’re dealing with burn victims,” Dr. Guss summarized.
“Correct,” said Dr. Wilson.
In a few hours, more details started emerging. Thousands of people had perished in New York, and fifty-five had lost their lives in LA. It was a terrible day. Everybody was stunned by the naked display of violence unleashed on the nation’s two largest cities. News anchors could barely contain their sorrow as they broke more ghastly details about the terrible incidents. The television images of vaporized bodies, charred remains, death, and destruction made the whole environment gloomy, angry, and depressing.
Krish saw the burned and charred bodies, severed body parts, disfigured corpses with parts cut off brought in the hospital; the ugliness of it all was a slap in the face. Man is such an ugly son-of-a-bitch. Man—the so-called pinnacle of evolution—is also a pinnacle of sordidness. Nature kills with finesse—even when it destroys with overwhelming power.
Krish remembered the rumblings in Pasadena as he experienced an earthquake. The awesome power of the earthquake hitting, shaking everything, and passing through him. The whole house shook like a toy.
When nature kills—be it with floods, earthquakes, or wild fires—there is power, awe, and destruction, but not ugliness. When man destroys, it’s ugly, macabre. It’s driven by hatred and animosity—be it destruction in the form of murders, wars, riots, or terrorism. Man is so messed up and violent. In his mind, and physically, he does not deserve to be saved. Man deserves to be damned, Krish thought with disgust. He needed a break from what was happening around him. He went to the cafeteria and got some coffee. He held the hot paper cup in both hands to absorb the warmth as he sat there, staring blankly.
The smell of death, fear, and destruction was all pervading. It turned out to be a long and sad day—for him personally and for the country as a whole. The terror attacks exacerbated his own feelings of loss and loneliness. Krish’s breathing was shallow. His eyes reddened due to stress. He had a tingling feeling in his lower jaw, and his heart rate was faster than usual. He took a deep, conscious breath, as if the few extra seconds to fill his lungs would give his body a break from the stress and strain of the situation. He felt a strange sensation on his tongue that eliminated any desire for food or drink. He dumped his coffee down the drain, thinking, I don’t taste it anyway. He felt his stomach churning as acid was rising up in his esophagus.
At that moment of vulnerability, he thought about drowning his nightmarish life in alcohol—anything to take the edge off. He pondered it for a moment, then decided not to act. He let the thought pass. Krish thought about the possibility of Prisha’s death. It felt like death was all around him that day—untimely death imposed by man upon another man. The physicality and reality of death hit him hard. Death was not some abstract idea. It was real, and it was right in front of him and all around him. Everywhere.
Is there anything more to life or is this it? He wondered. When it comes to death, nothing matters but the truth�
��if there is any—of who or what you really are beyond the physical body and the associated mind. The futility of it all—the money, fame, power, mind games, physical beauty, fashion, cars, jewelry-in pursuit of which, man spends entire lifetimes; it’s all so completely meaningless and hollow. Even relationships don’t help.
After this realization, he felt as if the weight of the nonsensical had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt a strange sense of relief, power, and focus. Only the truth remains. All other acquired layers of mind, body, relationships, and society don’t matter at all. I finally feel like I’m cutting to the chase and coming to the point of it all. Witnessing death can be the best teacher. A brush with death is the force that acts as the parasite that enters an oyster and stimulates a secretion of material that eventually forms a priceless pearl! My research is not just some bull crap mental gymnastics about life and death. It’s getting to the truth of it all. Mathematically. Unequivocally!
“And I will get to it,” Krish said aloud with renewed determination.
Chapter 13
The War
~~~~~~~
Ancient India
~~~~~~~
A way of life is destroyed.
Brother Ram,” Lakshman said, “please put on this woolen shawl. It is biting cold.”
Ram was sitting on a massive rock within his cave. He opened his eyes from the meditative state he was enjoying. “Lakshman, I don’t care about the cold. What must my Sita be doing? I am worried sick for her. It has been several months since she was abducted.”
Lakshman looked down, running his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Two months have passed since Hanuman left to verify her location. No updates yet.” He had barely finished his sentence when loud cheers and shouts were heard from outside. “What is all the noise?” he wondered. He instinctively took out his double-edged, straight-blade sword from its sheath, placing his left hand on the Asi tucked near his waist. He would be ready to pull it out in a flash if necessary.
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