His thirst for vengeance grew even more scathing. Those that condemned him into this hellfire of ceaseless suffering, lived and laughed even now! They had to pay for what they had done.
Harappa had to perish…to the last soul!
The savage depredation continued unabated. The fifth Saptarishi was dragged mercilessly on the rough ground by his hair, before being thrown ruthlessly into the fire. This time it was the demon-king himself who acted as the executioner. Even though deep down the chilling prophesy of the two sages about imminent death had unsettled Sura, he had to display fearless disregard to his men.
The shriek of the burning sage was even more terrifying than the two voices before. To Vivasvan’s disbelief, it was a feminine voice. It was the haunting voice of an inconsolable, angry mother, who mourned the murder of her children. While the other wretches were both frightened and bewildered at this unexpected phenomenon, the Surya of Harappa instantly recognized the celestial voice. He had never heard it before. Yet he was certain who’s voice it was.
Sara Maa…
The blood of the demon-king and his wild slaughterers froze as they heard her speak in a voice as loud as a bolt in the sky. It was the sound of cataclysm. The sound of horror, misfortune and destruction. It was the sound of an eternal curse that was to plague mankind forever!
“The Saptarishi loved you like one of their own. I loved you like a son. The Gods bestowed you with divinity and you bore it with grace and worthiness - until your hate became your undoing, O devta! And with your corruption comes the great culling! The Asuras have sinned beyond measure. The Harappans have sinned as a collective. Kings have sinned and priests have sinned. Demons have sinned and devtas have sinned. Humankind compels the universe to unleash the cosmic cleansing! I shall forever forsake this land of immeasurable immorality and return to the holy womb of Mother Prithvi. The Saraswati, the River of the Wise, will fade into legend. But not before She unleashes her final punishment on those who have wronged her.
Bewaaaaare…PRALAY…ESHHYATI…!
THE GREATDELUGE…IS COMING…!”
Vivasvan Pujari was now on his knees, his eye closed, head bowed and hands folded in devotion. He had studied about Pralay in the ancient scriptures and he knew it was something that occurred at the end of every eon – to restore order and to allow creation to resurrect life from a new beginning. He did not know it would arrive so soon, or that he would be at the epicenter of this gigantic destruction. But again, he did not care. As far as he was concerned, Pralay had already struck his life – incinerating everything he held dear.
The rakt-dhaara or blood river was not done yet. The powerful, echoing voice continued.
‘Humanity holds in the heart of every individual the potential to become a God. Yet, instead of seeking spiritual salvation within and without, human kind uses its gifts to betray, murder, plunder and avenge. This is the fate your species has chosen! So be it! The Gods will never release you from your hateful destiny. The serpents of violence and bloodshed will never loosen their stranglehold on mankind, which shall kill and destroy each other in the name of the very Gods it has betrayed today! Never shall carnage and butchery leave your side. This is my curse, O fallen devta! Humankind shall hear the shrieks of boundless suffering till the end of time!
I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOU ALL!”
Tears were rolling down the eye of Vivasvan Pujari. What had happened suddenly to his world? How could everything that was so right till a few days ago, crumble so devastatingly, so cruelly? The Surya that was to ascend to the seat of the chief priest of Harappa was now a one-eyed monster. His home that rang with the trustful laughter of his beloved wife and son was now burnt to ashes. The Saptarishi, whom he adored as guides and brothers, were being massacred as a result of his own connivance. The golden city of Harappa was going to be drowned in the great flood. And the River of the Wise, which he revered as a mother, was now cursing mankind in her demonic incarnation as the blood river.
His silent tears soon turned into heavy moans, and he began crying uncontrollably, his tears sprinkling the hallowed dust of the murdered sages’ abode.
The devta did not know then that his tears would fall short given the horrifying last chapter of life that awaited him.
And while he was now desperate to die and meet his maker, he did not know that he was destined to come back…centuries later.
This time truly as the last devta to ever visit the planet.
Banaras, 2017
REVENGE
‘I am going to find him and kill him.’
Vidyut was clear what needed to be done with Trijat Kapaalik. It did not matter who was behind the Masaan-raja. The turn of the veiled puppet masters would come later. For now the devta was unrelenting. He had never imagined killing a fellow human being. Even during the most challenging fight at the Dashashwamedh ghaat a few days ago, he had not taken a life.
But that was then. The inhuman murdering of Bala, that too in the sacred precincts of the matth, had convinced Vidyut that they were fighting an indefatigable and ruthless enemy. An enemy that was going to stop at nothing. The failure of Romi Pereira and the mercenaries had not discouraged this foe. Therefore one thing was clear. No half measures were going to vanquish this adversary.
This was a fight to the end. A fight to the death of Trijat Kapaalik and those who were playing this morbid game from the shadows.
‘The strange thing is that Trijat has not gone into hiding. Our guptachar sena has reported that he has merely retreated into his taantric yajnashaala at the outskirts of the city. That premises is a place of rituals only for namesake. It is virtually a fortress. It is Masaan-raja’s spiritual and militant stronghold. He knows you will come after him. He wants you to come after him,’ cautioned Balvanta, the battle-chief of the matth.
‘We have to get him, Balvanta dada, even if it means we have to pull him out from the depths of hell!’
‘Yes Vidyut. We will get him. But we have to plan this well. We are dealing with the most dangerous man in all of Kashi. We cannot take him lightly. This counterattack will need both courage and valour. But above all, it will require meticulous preparation.’
Vidyut nodded in agreement. Balvanta had more experience in warfare than all of the others combined.
‘Why can’t we just take all our men and storm their fake yajnashaala, Balvanta dada?’ questioned an impatient Sonu. ‘A hundred of us will be enough to take on his 666 intoxicated henchmen.’
‘No, Sonu. An open siege and frontal assault will lead to excessive bloodshed and will draw too much attention. Also, while it is certain that this battle will lead to some loss even at our end, we need to minimize it as far as possible. Lastly, keep in mind that when we confront the maha-taantric himself, it will not be just humans that will fight from his side,’ said Balvanta.
There was silence for half a minute before Vidyut spoke.
‘So what do we do, dada? If we cannot attack them openly, what other alternative do we have?’
Balvanta was thinking hard.
‘There is only one man in all of Banaras who can help us,’ he said.
They were walking through the sprawling campus of the reputed Banaras Hindu University (B.H.U.). Established in 1916 by Pandit Madan Mohan Malaviya, B.H.U. is believed to be Asia’s largest residential university with over 12,000 students living in its 75+ hostels. Spread over an expansive 1,300 acres, this center of academic excellence teaches over 35,000 students from more than 40 countries.
Balvanta had insisted that Vidyut accompanies him to meet someone he was sure could help them breach the seemingly impregnable bastion of Trijat Kapaalik.
‘Professor Prabhat Tripathi is a scholar of Sanskrit and has been with the university for over a decade. He is one of the most accomplished experts on the Vedas, Upanishads and other ancient Indian scriptures. Over a dozen Ph.D students intern under him at any given time. A thorough gentleman, he holds Dwarka Shastri ji in very high regard. He is unfortunately blind in one eye, whi
ch is why you will always see him wearing dark sunglasses,’ described Balvanta.
‘Thank you for sharing this, dada. But how is he useful to us in our present quest?’
Balvanta replied plainly.
‘Because before choosing this quiet life of academics, Prof Tripathi was Trijat Kapaalik’s brother-in-arms.’
They sat over small, canteen cups of tea in the lawns of the University main campus. The simpleton that he was, Prof Tripathi sat crossed legged on the grass. He was not embarrassed to ask his visitors to also make themselves comfortable on the ground next to him. After exchanging a few pleasantries Balvanta broached the topic cautiously.
‘Tripathi ji, we have come here to seek your help and blessings. Only you can guide us towards success in our perilous pursuit.’
The professor smiled generously and said, ‘What can be perilous for a warrior like you, Balvanta? And how can a man of books and classrooms offer any assistance?’
Vidyut could tell that Prof Tripathi was a genuine, grounded and kind man. It was hard to even imagine him by the side of the cruel maha-taantric!
Balvanta paused for a few moments before hesitantly uttering his next words.
‘We need a way to infiltrate the yajnashaala of Trijat Kapaalik…’
The professor’s face turned to stone. In a matter of seconds Vidyut could see him trembling with rage. Too civil to express his anger melodramatically, the gentle professor folded his hands in a Namaste and got up to leave.
‘Tripathi ji…I beg you…please stay…’ pleaded Balvanta.
He held the professor’s sleeve and implored him to sit down. He was relieved when Tripathi ji yielded.
‘You insult me by even mentioning the name of that fiend in my presence. That was a life I left behind a long time ago. It took away everything from me. Everything…
And don’t think he does not know you are here. He watches everything. He knows everything!’ said the professor with an eerie fear in his voice.
‘I spent nine years as an aghori taantric. Trijat was like a brother to me. Or so I thought then. This was much before he became the Masaan-raja and maha-taantric that he is today. We were young. Our penance was bearing fruit and the siddhis made us drunk with power. We could caste devastating ancient spells like the Baglamukhi on anyone who crossed our paths. But as the months and years passed, something began to change in Trijat.’
The professor was now recounting his days with the evil skull-bearer.
‘He was turning more and more cruel with every passing day. His saadhana was now less about the worship of Rudra and more about controlling daakinis, pishachas and chudails. He undertook lone, intense penances at public graveyards, and began committing the horrible sin of exhuming the dead for his dark rites. No one knew what he was trying to achieve. But we could tell it was something that should never be done.’
The professor was now visibly disturbed. These recollections were making him sweat. Vidyut offered him a bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted.
‘But despite all his efforts, he could never invoke Smashaan Tara, the Goddess of the graveyards. Maa was not granting him her darshana. This baffled me. Taantrics much less accomplished than Trijat claimed to have found Smashaan Tara. This made me suspicious. And for the first time, I prepared Trijat’s kundali.’
Prabhat Tripathi was now pale as a ghost. He was clearly transported back into time.
‘What did you read in his kundali, Tripathi ji?’ asked Vidyut. ‘I am sure it told you what an evil man he was going to turn out to be…’
The professor shook his head.
‘His kundali did not say whether he was going to be a good man or bad man. It was the kind of horoscope that no astrologer has seen in hundreds of years. I read and re-read it over and over again as I could not believe what I was seeing. Let alone good or evil, it was not the kundali of a man at all!’
Balvanta and Vidyut were bewildered. They did not fully understand what the professor had just said.
‘Sorry Tripathi ji…I did not follow you,’ said Vidyut politely.
The professor was now perspiring with anxiety. He spoke in a frightened whisper.
‘Probably Maa Tara was not granting him Her darshana…because…
Trijat was born in raakshasa yoni (demonic birth).
He is a raakshasa who has descended on Earth after centuries.’
East of Harappa, 1700 BCE
‘ITS LEGEND WILL REMAIN IMMORTAL’
‘You will build a giant boat, Manu. A vessel so enormous, that its dimensions will be beyond the boundaries of human comprehension. A ship so gigantic that its hull will rise above the clouds. No one, till the end of time, will be able to visualize this boat in even his wildest imagination. This ark will serve its destined purpose and degenerate naturally with the passage of time. But its legend will remain immortal.
And so will your name, Satyavrata Manu.’
Manu was dumbfounded at everything that Matsya had just said.
If the magnitude of the boat was such that it was beyond human imagination, how am I supposed to build it? How can one create what one cannot even conceive? And why am I the one who has to build it? What purpose was destined for this vessel? And why did Matsya call me Satyavrata Manu?
Matsya could see the bewilderment on Manu’s face. He smiled and gestured at Manu to walk with him. As they stepped out of their high cave in the black mountains, they were once again whiplashed by tearing wind and sharp raindrops. The sky looked as unforgiving as it had over the last few days. It was perpetually dark.
Before Manu could ask Matsya why they had stepped out in the storm, he saw a few tired horses trudging up the winding tracks that led up to their cave dwelling. It did not take the son of Surya much time to recognize one of the riders as he passed by a torch protected against the terrifying wind by a translucent lampshade made of cotton yarn.
It was Pundit Somdutt, the chief architect of Harappa and his great father’s last friend.
Pundit Somdutt was still wiping his tears. He was overwhelmed with delight seeing the son of Vivasvan Pujari alive, hale and hearty. He was convinced of the truth that he now so clearly saw.
Just like his father, Manu is not an ordinary mortal. Only a devta can survive the kind of wounds he was inflicted with.
Manu had run to Somdutt and nearly pulled him down from the saddle in an ecstatic hug. He touched the feet of the wise builder of Harappa and held him tightly again, his eyes moist with the memories of his parents. Somdutt blessed Manu repeatedly and could only picture Sanjna smiling from wherever she was, proud to see her son become the man he was today.
He was, however, not so sure about what she would say for her husband.
But that was not for Somdutt to worry about. The souls of Vivasvan and Sanjna were intertwined since time began and would remain so for eternity, until the very end of Creation itself. She was watching her devta. And she knew he was still the man she loved, the greatest man of his time. She knew destiny had put Vivasvan Pujari to a test no man should ever have to go through. She also knew he was now going to suffer several lives till his soul finds its nirvana and merges with the One.
She was going to suffer with him. She was going to be by his side in every life.
They would crossover to the other side…together.
‘I can never repay your debt, Somdutt ji,’ said Manu with folded hands. ‘You were the only one with my father in his last moments.’
Somdutt did not understand what Manu had just said.
Why is Manu talking about the last moments of his father, when Vivasvan Pujari is alive?
As he was about to say something, Matsya intervened. His eyes told Somdutt to remain silent for the moment.
‘Please join us in our humble shelter, Somdutt,’ he said. ‘You and your men need a hot meal and some much deserved rest.’
Somdutt nodded, smiled at Manu and proceeded towards the entrance of the high cave.
Manu was watching Somdutt leave when M
atsya tapped him on the shoulder. Manu turned to look at Matsya, who barely moved his eyebrows to point at something behind Manu.
Not something.
Someone.
Tara.
Banaras, 2017
THE LOST CIVILIZATION
Vidyut was in deep thought for some time, before he asked the questions that were perturbing him all this while.
‘Baba, why are they so afraid of us? What makes them believe that we actually have the ability to beat their colossal and organized international network? More importantly, why were they afraid of us right from the beginning? Why did Constantine trust the great Advait Shastri so much?’
Dwarka Shastri smiled.
‘They are not afraid of us, Vidyut. They are afraid of what lies hidden in the Black Temple.’
Vidyut sighed, shook his head and then laughed.
‘I know you will tell me about the secret of the Black Temple only when you feel the time is right, Baba. So I will save some breath and not ask you what it is!’
Dwarka Shastri responded with a loud, merry laugh. Vidyut was delighted to see his great grandfather laughing so heartily.
‘Good to see that you now understand me well, Vidyut,’ he said.
‘But still Baba, why us? Why a monastery of Indian yogis tucked away in Banaras? How can a monster of a clandestine organization, run by some of the world’s most powerful people, find us to be of any threat or significance?’
‘Only because we were the receivers and guardians of the greatest treasures of ancient wisdom, Vidyut,’ the grandmaster responded simply.
Vidyut grinned and gave a look of skepticism to his great grandfather. He did not fully buy what the matthadheesh had just said.
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 14
