Scores of generations of the priests of Banaras had been preparing for this dark night. They knew they could be sacrificed in this merciless mayhem. And yet they were there, fighting fearlessly. Over hundreds of years they had lost their social sheen. Revered once as the sentinels of the moral code of living, sacred teachers for whom even kings left their thrones in welcome, these sadhus and rishis were now no more than emaciated, third-grade citizens living in penury. Segments of materialistic, westernized and irreverent society had abandoned these vital guardians to the dustbins of grih-pravesh, birth and death ceremonies. Unwanted essentials that had to be invited to perform the formalities many metropolitan Hindu families found to be nothing more than a tick-box. Little did they know, that even till this day these sidelined God-men were their most potent line of defense against the dark powers. They were going to lay their lives that portentous night.
What were they trying to protect?
‘By the time gurudev emerged from his cottage, he appeared like a monster himself. He looked much bigger than his own size and walked like a zombie. Locks of his hair flew in the wind like white serpents. But most of all...most of all what struck terror into our hearts was the venomous blue blaze streaking out from his eyes. We knew we were not looking at our grandmaster. It was someone else in him.’
‘Who was it, Purohit ji?’ asked Vidyut plainly. His mouth was dry.
‘It was the Brahma Raakshasa in our grandmaster, Vidyut. And he could not have penetrated gurudev’s being of his own volition. Dwarka Shastri ji had summoned him into his body, as his final move to counter the attack of the two exceptionally powerful black, vindictive spirits.’
There were a few long moments of silence in the room. Eventually, Purohit ji spoke.
‘Before the skies cleared suddenly and Dwarka Shastri ji crumbled to the ground lifeless, we heard him raise his trishul, turn his glowing blue eyes to the blood-moon and scream these last two lines...’
Purohit ji was now animated, attempting to recreate those last moments of havoc. With fear clearly visible in his eyes, he raised both his arms upwards, threw his head back and screamed out words that were in a language Vidyut had never heard him speak before.
Eu o bani da cidade sagrada, Agostinho!’
Eu o bano dessa terra sagrada, Cristovao!’
Vidyut did not understand the meaning of these lines, but he knew it was something sinister. And he could gather that this was Portuguese.
‘What do these lines mean, Purohit ji?’ asked Vidyut, now nearly giddy with anxiety.
Purohit ji replied simply. ‘It means the following, Vidyut –
I banish you from this holy city, Agostinho!
I banish you from this sacred land, Cristovao!’
The Portuguese marauders from the 16th century Goa Inquisition had come back. The two cruel executioners, who had been killed by Vidyut and Dwarka Shastri’s ancestor, the great Markandeya Shastri, had been summoned back.
In fact, they had never fully left.
Bithynian City (Modern-day Turkey), 325 AD
THE COUNCIL OF NICAEA
‘Non lasciare che questo accada, Imperatore! whispered the hooded monk.
‘Do not let this happen, Emperor!’
Walking beside the bejewelled horse of none other than the most powerful king on Earth, Advait Shastri implored with the monarch. He knew that the all-powerful king had not fully grasped the long-term implications of what had just been decided in the secret meeting held after the main Council of the three hundred Christian bishops was over.
‘Leave before I get you arrested,’ mocked the sovereign, as he waved to the cheering masses of the very kingdom he had conquered not too long ago. He could not help but smile at the vacillating and herd mentality of human beings.
They are predisposed to being governed by a single ruler. Under one law. By one Order.
Advait was a friend, and someone the emperor admired immensely. ‘Meet me at my camp, you petulant boy,’ he said with a wry smile to his young friend from the plains beyond the Hindu Kush mountains. The monarch looked formidable.
Constantine the Great was a man ahead of his times.
He looked undoubtedly like he was sent to rule the planet. Constantine sat crossed legged on his ornate chair, still decked in his golden armour. His powerful jawline, his sharp nose and his curly hair made him look like he was Alexander of Macedon born all over again.
He probably was.
Advait entered the royal pergola. The opulence of Constantine’s regal lodging was unimaginable. Studded with rubies, diamonds and emeralds, the emperor’s tent was nothing less than a symbolic umbrella of wealth and power. Constantine sat there with a golden cup of wine in his powerful hands. He was a force of nature.
The monarch got up to welcome Advait, and with him stood up the entire imperial council. The emperor permitted them to sit with a little flick from his two fingers, without turning to look at any of them. His councilmen were aware that Constantine kept regular contact with mystics, priests, warlords, pirates and wise men from all corners of his vast kingdom. And far beyond. But they were all stunned when they saw the great conqueror embrace this mysterious young man with the warmth of an old friend.
Sensing the affection between the king and the hooded visitor, the royal cupbearer proceeded to offer the guest a golden goblet of the fine wine Constantine and his councilmen were consuming.
‘My powerful but pessimistic friend does not partake of wine,’ announced the monarch with a teasing smile and a raised eyebrow, as he gestured for the cupbearer to stand back. He oozed unquestioned authority in every move he made.
‘And he does not eat meat either!’ continued the emperor, turning to his councilmen. ‘Yet I assure you, he can push back a raging bull by its horns and shoot an arrow to find its mark two miles away.’
He now turned back to Advait. With both his hands on the shoulders of his friend, Constantine added, ‘One more thing. He is closer to the Lord than any of us here.’ The king’s voice was soft with admiration and fondness.
‘You are kind and generous, O mighty Constantine,’ replied the visitor as he pulled back his hood in a sign of respect for the great ruler. Two things took everyone in that tent by surprise - the uncommonly handsome face of the young visitor, and that he dared to address the great Constantine by his name!
They were now in the private pavilion of the king. What they spoke about was going to change the fate of the world forever.
The Council of Nicaea was summoned by Constantine as a gathering of Christian bishops from all over his enormous dominions. Religious strife and violence had marred the Roman Empire for the last three hundred years. Ruthless persecution of sects and apostles at the hands of the rulers had only made Christianity stronger. The monarch had waged continuous wars to consolidate his colonies, and was now determined to put an end to all religious discord – starting with opposing groups within Christianity itself. He was going to bring everyone on the same page when it came to beliefs and philosophies.
But Constantine had a deeper plan. The main Council was followed by a smaller assembly, behind tightly closed doors. It is here that Constantine shared his vision with the highest priests, generals, treasurers and advisors. A world vision for when he was gone.
He aspired to leave the planet secure in what he believed was a governance and social order for eternity. He believed that differences in faiths and dogmas were the greatest threat to mankind. After decades of wars, bloodshed and conquests, after ruling over people of diverse cultures and civilizations, after observing the violent streak inherent in humans at very close quarters, Constantine had formed a firm opinion. The world needed to be controlled by one force, one supreme power – that transcended the borders and Gods created by quarrelsome societies and lustful individuals. It needed to be governed by a novel and perpetual order.
A new world order.
‘But this was not the purpose of this congress, O king!’ insisted Advait. ‘You sent for me
saying you needed me to counsel you on matters related to bringing factions of priests together.’
‘So you think I could have explained this ambitious design to you via an emissary, Advait?’ responded Constantine. He stood resting against a counter made of ivory and gold, twirling an empty, diamond-studded cup in his fingers.
Advait sighed. ‘Tell me again Emperor, what will your grand plan achieve?’
Constantine was quiet for a moment or two, but his face twitched with passionate hope. He kept the glass aside and pulled a luxuriant stool to sit face to face with Advait.
‘Don’t you see, my friend...mankind is killing each other more savagely than ever before. The cruelty of humans finds new reasons to hate and murder one another every day. They kill in the name of God, in the name of faith, in the name of patriotism, in the name of creed, for land, for gold...whatever quenches the blood-thirst of insatiably ambitious scoundrels. The blood of millions of innocents is spilled just to fuel one man’s ascension to a golden throne.’
‘Haven’t you fought wars for years, defeated and killed thousands to become who you are today, Emperor?’ asked Advait plainly. He respected Constantine. But he was not willing to let a king, who ruled by the force of the sword, offer profound sermons on the viciousness of human beings.
‘I knew you were going to point that out,’ replied Constantine without even a hint of irritation. ‘Yes, I have fought and vanquished enemies for years. Which is why the futility of violence and conquest is clearer to me than to anyone else. And I have to make arrangements to leave this world as a better place than what it was when I was born. If we let everything go on the way it is, the day is not far when we will face extinction at our own hands. And I, Constantine the First, will not let that happen.’
‘Your purpose is noble, Emperor. But the edicts you have passed are not the way to achieve that goal. Human beings are not sheep. It will never be possible to take away their liberty. You cannot control their free will. You cannot suppress their instincts.’
‘Of course I can!’ retorted Constantine, displaying a glimpse of his unreal self-belief. ‘Didn’t you see those thousands of people showering me with flowers? These are the people whose homes and cities I torched not so long back. And today, they bow to me. They celebrate me. Don’t you see Advait, that human beings can be moulded, that they can be governed?’
The king got up, paced up and down his tent in deep and excited thought. Advait noticed Constantine’s powerful fist clenched the handle of his sword. The conqueror’s mind was on fire. After a few brief moments, the king sat down to face the young warrior-priest from Aryavarta again.
‘Imagine Advait...a world without war. A world without violence. A global, unified creed, free from the bondage of religions, liberated from the division of nations...’
The monarch’s eyes were now looking far beyond Advait. They were the eyes of a visionary who believed he could change the world.
Only this time, the king was making a mistake. A very big mistake.
It was the first light of dawn streaking into the royal tent that reminded Advait of his long journey back home.
After a whole night of debate, Advait was certain that nothing could stop Constantine from executing his master plan for the human race. It is impossible to stop a man who thinks he has become as omnipotent as God.
‘Your plan is very dangerous, Emperor. It will concentrate extraordinary power in the hands of a few, who if corrupted, will emerge as the most vicious evil on Earth.’
Constantine nodded in agreement. He walked up to his friend and put his hand on Advait’s shoulder.
‘Which is why I have called you here, my noble friend. If the New World Order deviates from its noble purpose, your clan is the only one that will be able to stop it. You have been guardians of the world’s most precious secret for centuries. I know you will be able to restore order.’
Advait bid farewell to the great king. As he was about to step out of the Emperor’s tent, he turned around.
‘You are among the handful of people who know the secret of the Black Temple, Emperor. You know what it guards. Then why...?’
‘Yes, I know,’ replied Constantine. ‘Which is why I am doing what any devoted servant must do.’
East of Harappa, 1700 BCE
MAA...
As guided by the fish-man who called himself Matsya, Manu had ridden eastwards, carrying his mother’s body with unabated love and care. Refreshed as much by being in the vicinity of this strange, divine man, as he was by the cool showers, Manu had a creeping realization.
He was not going to die today.
And that meant he would get a chance at revenge. Without letting the thought overpower his present duty, Manu let his desire for vengeance simmer under the surface.
I will annihilate Pundit Chandradhar and Priyamvada just the way I killed that rogue Ranga.
He had been riding for hours again, without having found anything in the dusty plains that surrounded him. Only now he was nowhere near despair of any kind. Something told him that if Matsya had given him directions, they had to be right.
Another hour passed and Manu noticed the blurred outlines of grey hills in the horizon. They could not be more than a few miles away. Hills could mean food, water and most of all...temples.
As he rode closer and closer to the rising hills, Manu realized that the mounds were taller than he would have expected to find in these lands. The height of these mountains should have made the ranges visible from much farther than where Manu spotted them. He recognized that it was only the fresh, unseasonal showers that had made them noticeable. On a regular day, in these semi-barren lands where rain was a rarity, these hills would be nearly invisible. The haze of dust and rising heat from the burning earth hid these mountains behind a natural curtain.
They were running in his direction. From a distance Manu could see scores of men and women coming towards him. As they drew closer, Manu could see four of them carrying a cot meant for the demised.
All of them were carrying weapons. Both women and men appeared to be fit and trained in the art of war. Manu could see that in their strides and in their muscular built. Yet all of them had simplicity and love written over their tanned, glowing faces.
Who are these people?
Manu’s gallop had now slowed down to a trot, as he saw these people dressed in black robes slowly surround him. He felt no fear of them. An accomplished warrior himself, Manu had the sharp instinct of a soldier. He could sense hostility from a distance. Here, he found none.
An old woman, with a face as beautiful as his own mother’s, walked up to him. She had snow-white hair, blue eyes, a sharp nose and unusual poise. Clothed in flowing black robes that fluttered in the moist breeze, she was probably eighty years of age, or more. But she walked and spoke like someone half that age.
‘Welcome, Manu,’ she said in a soothing voice. ‘Let us take care of Sanjna now.’
Manu was overwhelmed at meeting someone he intuitively felt he could trust. He was tired, wounded, emotionally shattered and burning with hatred. He simply nodded in gratitude, burst into tears and kept crying as they took his mother and placed her on the cot.
He dismounted, bent down and kissed Sanjna’s face again and again. ‘Ma.my Ma.my beloved, Ma.I will see you soon, Ma...don’t be afraid, Ma...I will join you soon, Ma...Ma...My Ma...’ was all he kept saying.
As they lifted her, he realized this was the last time he was going to see his mother’s face. ‘Maaaaaa...!’ screamed Manu, as he crashed down on his knees, fell facedown till his forehead brushed roughly against the ground. The mourning son repeatedly slapped the earth with both his hands in extreme anguish. They were taking her away for her last rites.
Even in death Sanjna had not left her son’s side.
But now she was finally going to go.
It was his first meal since he last ate a morsel of rice back at Somdutt’s camp over two days ago, moments before he had witnessed an arrow pierce through h
is soldier’s head. Manu was slowly raising his fingers full of rice and vegetables to his mouth. He was eating just enough to survive.
The kind, white-haired woman entered the dimly lit cave of grey stone that Manu was lodged in. The nights in this dry, hilly terrain were as cold as the days were hot. Manu was recouping by a small fire. The physicians of this mysterious settlement had tended to him all through the day.
It was a miracle that Manu was alive. No one in that battlefield that he rode out from could have ever imagined that someone with three deeply pierced arrows and a lethal sword-wound could live to see another day. It seemed like some unknown force was keeping the son of Vivasvan and Sanjna alive.
She fed him with her own hands, just like his mother used to even till he was eighteen. She stroked his head, which now had a bit of hair growing. Her eyes looked at him with the gentleness of a mother. When Manu indicated gratefully that he had had enough nourishment for now, she kept the rice bowl away.
‘You must rest now, my son,’ she said lovingly, as the graceful old lady got up to leave. ‘Tomorrow I will take you to the Black Temple.’
‘Thank you, my dear lady...for everything...’ said Manu. He had never felt more grateful to anyone in his life. His mother’s cremation had been consummated strictly as per the Sanatana (Eternal) rites prescribed in the scriptures. This meant the world to him.
The lady smiled. ‘Rest now, Manu,’ she said, as she turned towards the exit of the cave.
‘My lady...’ called out Manu.
She turned. ‘Yes, my son...?’
‘How did you know my name? And how did you know that my mother’s name was Sanjna? I never told you...’ enquired Manu.
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 5
