It was the guide of his guide. The shock struck deep into the core of Jon’s being — he was standing before the Wanderer, the self-professed guardian of the curse for the last millennium. How was he here in a physical form? Was he? The moment was surreal. Jon joined his hands above his head and, following the priest’s example, bowed to the yogi.
‘Bhaskara,’ the Sadhu acknowledged Jon’s presence.
‘Wanderer,’ Jon responded with the name his guide had always used for him.
‘I am home.’ The yogi smiled. ‘It is you who has travelled far to be here this day.’
‘Very far.’ Jon considered the last one thousand years. ‘I was going to make an appointment with the general manager or the Trust, but I hear that might be difficult.’
‘Nothing is difficult for the gods,’ he replied. ‘Return this time tomorrow with your offering and your burden shall be absolved.’
Obviously the Sadhu already knew Jon did not have the stones on him and had foreseen his coming, which led him to wonder if the yogi had also foreseen Sara making this pilgrimage.
‘There is a young woman embroiled in all this,’ Jon raised an issue close to his heart, ‘who is being hunted by a demon attached to this curse.’
‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘This demon was of her own making.’
‘Can such a demon be put to rest?’ Jon probed.
‘Not by you.’
‘By who, you?’
‘Not I.’
‘She must battle her own demon, is that what you are implying?’
‘No one wins in battle,’ he said. ‘Only love and compassion can bring peace.’
Jon didn’t want to seem disrespectful, but that seemed such a guru thing to say and it was frustrating. ‘You know what that demon is capable of; do you really think it is going to respond to love and kindness?’
‘You cannot force another to your will, the only thing we can change is ourselves.’
‘But she has changed, and yet the demon persists,’ he appealed.
‘There must be some way—’
‘He who digs a pit for his brother shall himself fall therein.’ The Sadhu closed his eyes and returned to his meditation. ‘Namaskar, pilgrim, until tomorrow.’
As frustrating as it was, Jon did know better than to pursue the topic when he’d been dismissed. ‘Tomorrow then. Namaskar.’ Jon bowed and took his leave.
* * *
With a day and most of a night to kill, Jon would have loved to explore the city more, but he felt bound to stay put in his hotel, where he could guard the stones and keep a low profile. The internet service here was intermittent at best, but Jon had managed to retrieve his messages, most of which were from Simon. His manager had been keeping abreast of the situation unfolding in Australia while Jon was off the grid. Even though Jon had forgiven Simon for destroying the chair, he suspected that his friend was still trying to make recompense.
It had been determined by the press that Sara Dash had fled her apartment and gone into hiding — no one had seen her for several days, but the police were not treating her disappearance as suspicious as they had been advised that the designer had to travel due to business commitments. There was no mention of where she was headed.
‘Goddammit!’ It was frustrating to have lost her again. But on the bright side, if Jon had raced off to Australia when he’d first learned about Sara, she would have been gone before he’d arrived. Thus he’d made the right choice by following Rosalind’s advice and staying his course.
Robert Baxter was still at large and was now suspected of being involved in the death of the woman who had brought charges against him. She had mysteriously hanged herself overnight after receiving an anonymous phone call. The deceased woman’s husband had suggested that the hypnotherapist may have implanted some sort of trigger word in his wife’s mind when he was treating her. Although the allegation was unsubstantiated, it had sent all Baxter’s former clients into a frenzied panic, and many were now seeking other therapists in the hope of ridding themselves of any subconscious damage Baxter had done them.
Jon felt the panic rising within him. Had Baxter done the same to Sara?
* * *
‘What if he’s programmed me to kill myself, or someone else?’ Sara was freaking out after reading the article. ‘Even you may not be safe with me! I’ve seen Robert do this before, four hundred years ago in France, he got to the man I loved and persuaded him to kill me. We were going to die anyway, and it was probably a better way to go, but—’
‘But what?’ Willie demanded to know the ending.
‘He choked me to death,’ she concluded, and Willie appeared mortified. ‘Still, better than being drowned, or eaten by sharks, I guess.’
‘Look, you don’t even have a phone, Baxter can’t possibly reach you,’ Willie pointed out, coolly, in a bid to calm her down, although clearly her story had disturbed him.
‘This sitting around waiting is driving me insane!’ She stood to pace out her frustration.
Willie grabbed Sara’s sketch book to view the designs she’d been working on to keep herself amused. ‘But not an entire waste of time . . . these are amazing!’
‘Thank you.’ Sara was grateful for the encouragement. Her insights into history had given her the impetus to give her next collection a more historic world view of steampunk — her Indian-inspired designs were particularly innovative and exciting. But fashion, as passionate as she was about it, seemed like such a passé endeavour considering all that was going down in her world right now. ‘With every day that passes he could be gaining ground on us.’ She stepped out onto the back deck to appeal to the wide blue sky. ‘Please, God, universe, spirit guides, whoever! For mercy’s sake, get me on a bloody flight to India!’
‘Girl, it could be days yet . . . you need to chill the fuck out.’ Willie’s phone beeped to advise him of an incoming email — Sara could tell by the tone of the alert. ‘Oh thank fuck for that!’
‘What? They caught Robert?’
‘Better.’ Willie grinned. ‘Our visas are approved!’
Sara screamed and jumped around like a fangirl. ‘But it’s only been a day?’
‘I guess cussing at the universe works.’ He shrugged off the lucky break. ‘There is no way Baxter can catch us once we get that flight, even if he finds out where we’re going, he won’t be able—’
‘—To get a visa!’ Sara chimed in to agree with him. ‘Yay!’ They jumped up and down hugging each other.
‘Time to book our flight.’ Willie hopped straight to it.
The relief was enormous, Sara felt as if she could breathe again, and was utterly thankful not to have to keep biding her time. The situation was now more precarious than ever as it wasn’t just herself Robert and his demon were hurting; she needed to find a way to put this vendetta to rest before the body count increased.
* * *
It had been a struggle to stay awake until dinner. Afterwards Jon went straight to bed, only to again find himself wide awake at three o’clock in the morning, with plenty of time to make his appointment.
As the hour for the hand-off drew near, Jon felt more and more uneasy about walking around alone with the treasures at this wee hour of the morning — mulling over the risk was making his palms sweat. He didn’t have any sort of a weapon to fend off would-be attackers, and was considerably more worried about losing track of the stones again than any injury to himself.
With the box containing the stones hidden in the small of his back inside his trousers and his shirt out over the top so the bulge could not be detected, Jon took a moment to steel his nerves before heading out to make his auspicious engagement.
As he approached the temple entrance there seemed to be more people hanging around the plaza at this ungodly hour then there had been yesterday. What made the situation so unnerving was that those gathered were all facing the temple entrance gates like they were waiting for something.
The gates to the temple were opened and armed guards lined
the pathway beyond.
Holy shit! Jon’s heart leapt into his throat and all his instincts abandoned him. He was unable to assess if this was all part of the Sadhu’s plan or if the authorities had stepped in. How was he going to explain how the stones had come into his possession?
They want the stones back. Obviously it wasn’t you who stole them, so have no fear, an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Rosalind advised, and Jon smiled, grateful to know she was still lending her guidance to his path.
With a determined intake of breath, Jon strode towards the gate.
‘Don’t stop to explain yourself, you are meant to be here and they are expecting you.’
Jon could sense unrest among the locals who witnessed him proceeding straight past the guards, and when some of the local men tried to follow, the guards crossed their rifles all the way down the pathway in Jon’s wake, to prevent their entry. At the end of the path, at the entrance to the temple, was the Pandit who had guided him here yesterday. ‘Namaskar pilgrim.’ He bowed and Jon returned his greeting.
‘Namaskar.’
Beside the priest stood the head of the guard, who presented Jon with a blindfold. ‘Please.’ He insisted he put it on — no smile from this man, he appeared deathly serious.
Jon looked to the Sadhu, who was seated at the top of the stairs where he’d been yesterday. Today, however, his eyes were open and upon Jon, to whom he nodded in encouragement to do as he was asked.
‘You are a vassal to the Lord Shiva, you will not be harmed,’ his inner voice insisted as he tied the blindfold over his eyes.
Once the blindfold had been checked, the guard took hold of Jon. ‘Apologies.’ He spun Jon about several times, this way and that, which completely disorientated him. ‘Come.’
Jon heard the guard walk off ahead and hoped he was not expected to blindly follow. To his solace, he was taken by the arm and gently led along his path. Jon knew he was in the hands of a holy man — he could feel the uplifting energy flowing from the touch of his guide, whom Jon suspected was the Pandit rather than the Sadhu.
‘Stairs, three, ascending,’ advised his guide.
Three represented the Holy Trinity of Hinduism, the Tridev — Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar. This fact just emerged from Jon’s deep subconscious — Bhaskara had been a warrior, but he had also been a Brahman. That he was recollecting some of the principles of the ideology he’d been taught here was exhilarating — what other life skills and knowledge might he be able to access due to this strange and awe-inspiring adventure? Still, he feared Sara was not finding her involvement in this escapade quite as beneficial. While he was here in this sacred space, he took a moment to implore the powers that be to protect her and guide them along the right path to find one another, so that he might aid her to find a solution to her demon.
‘Stairs, seven, ascending.’
Even from his purely Western understanding, Jon knew the number seven was sacred to the Hindus, for according to their belief there were seven sacred chakras in the human body and seven planes of existence.
At the top his guide paused to advise, ‘One hundred and eight stairs, descending.’
The task was not as off-putting as the doctrine that continued presenting itself in his mind at the mention of the sacred number.
This was the basis of all creation, denoting the great sages, yogis and gurus, the number of beads in the Hindu rosary, life, death and rebirth. One represented the creator, nought, the bridge between the metaphysical and the physical world, and eight, infinity — hence one hundred and eight encapsulated mankind’s eternal connection to the creator.
Jon considered the premise strangely appropriate for the moment. Needless to say, with his mind all over the place, he’d completely lost count of the steps and was at the mercy of his handler.
Despite how risky his situation might have appeared, Jon was far more excited than fearful about where he was being led. This place radiated with such calming energy as to render a visitor euphoric, and blindfolded that was even more obvious. The architecture may have channelled or enhanced the energies here, but the sacredness came from the place itself. The opposite to a black hole, Somnath felt like a cosmic gusher, discharging waves of pure serenity into the surrounds. It was exhilarating to be in the presence of such an integral life force once again.
‘Last step,’ the Pandit advised, as Jon finally stood on a flat expanse of ground, and his blindfold was removed.
Not surprisingly, Jon found himself in a huge underground bunker, carved right out of the rock. Around him was the treasured antiquity of Somnath, hundreds of pillars, paintings and carvings, preserved and collected over a millennia. The artist in him was humbled by the craftsmanship and the meticulous attention to detail. This was not the result of random inspiration — each depiction held a deep and sacred meaning. In his mind he saw glimpses of how it felt to craft such art. Perhaps Bhaskara had been a sculptor, or it may just have been a flight of fancy, but regardless Jon was inspired to try sculpture as a medium of expression at some point in the future.
‘Please.’ The guard implored Jon to follow, while the Pandit remained by the stairs.
At the end of the long central aisle in the under-lit room was a huge golden statue of the Lord Shiva that was completely encased in its own room of glass. It appeared to be the same statue that the stones had been originally taken from. There were five prestigious-looking gentlemen that appeared to be more of the noble caste than of the Brahman, awaiting him. But Jon’s eyes were transfixed on the third eye of the golden Lord Shiva, from where a diamond appeared to exude light.
‘They found the Eye of Wisdom,’ he uttered.
‘Eight days ago,’ advised one of the gentlemen, who introduced himself as the secretary of the Somnath Trust. He then introduced his esteemed colleagues, professors, ministers and the Prime Minister of Gujarat!
Most of their names Jon didn’t trust himself to repeat, but he took note of their titles, as that’s how he would have to address them to be sure not to cause offence. It was a little overwhelming, and he nearly forgot to introduce himself.
‘Jon Trustler.’ He was eager to dispense with the formalities and perhaps have some questions answered. ‘The Sadhu predicted where the stone might be found?’ He referred to the Eye of Wisdom.
‘He has foreseen three great events that will restore Somnath to its former glory before the next full moon. The first event saw us unearthing the Eye of Wisdom from a long-buried tunnel, along with these skeletons.’ One of the professors showed Jon to the glass-top cases in which the skeletal remains were enclosed. ‘We assume they were either priests protecting the treasure, or thieves attempting to steal it.’
Jon gazed upon the remains of the two characters who had caused him no end of grief. ‘They were thieves.’ Whether they believed him or not, he felt compelled to tell what he knew. ‘The shorter of the two was Vasudahara, the Vishayapathi of Somnath Patan, and the tall guy was Damodara, his Nadu.’
‘How can you be certain?’ the professor of Vedic studies wanted to know.
‘Is that why you are here? To tell us more about this find?’ The prime minister clearly did not have time for a tutorial.
‘The Sadhu has not told you why I am here?’ Jon wondered why they were humouring him with details about their latest priceless find.
‘No.’ The prime minister threw his hands up. ‘Please tell me you know.’
‘I do,’ Jon was happy to inform him, and he reached around under his shirt to retrieve the container concealed there — to find the barrel of a gun pointed at his head, at very close proximity.
‘Easy,’ warned the guard.
‘I am unarmed.’ Jon pulled out the ancient wooden box and opened it to disclose the contents to the Trust.
The sight of the stones brought tears to the eyes of the stoic men.
‘I believe these belong to you.’
* * *
Once Sara and Willie caught their flight from Brisbane airport, the
y felt they could finally let down their guard, as they’d been on high alert ever since they’d docked several hours earlier. Whether Robert found out where they were headed or not, they had bought themselves at least a week to seek advice on how to deal with him and his unearthly attachment.
They had a stopover in Mumbai for a night, and the next day flew into Diu airport. Sara had hidden the diamond in among a bunch of other sewing trims, embellishments and samples in her luggage, but she need not have worried as their bags had not been searched at customs at either location — obviously Australians were not considered a high risk.
As a blonde Western woman, Sara donned one of Willie’s pure bamboo, long-sleeved, black and white blocked, oversized, hooded Ts, which hid her long braid and her tiny form very well. The matching baggy trousers made for a very comfortable, cool outfit that was perfect for travelling — her designs would have been far too outrageous and attention-grabbing for India. With large sunglasses on her makeup-free face, her dress was modest enough that she didn’t attract as much attention as the less culturally sensitive Western women did. She’d barely received a second glance from the local men, but perhaps that had something to do with her male travelling companion. Even in dressed-down mode, Willie looked too cool for school and rather unapproachable — so Sara just followed his lead.
It was on the coach ride from Diu to Somnath that they learned all about the Sadhu whose presence had closed the sacred site at Somnath temporarily.
‘But it is very important that we visit the temple.’ Sara was panicked by the news. ‘How long will it be closed?’
‘No one has given a definite date, but they expect it will reopen by the next full moon.’
‘But that is weeks away!’
‘Is it still possible to get an appointment to speak with the Pujari there?’ Willie cut in, knowing more about the local language and customs as he’d visited India before.
The Immortal Bind Page 28
