‘You still haven’t figured out, Vidyut?’ asked Purohit ji, a bit amused at the last devta’s question.
Vidyut responded with a blank expression and a mild shrug of his shoulders.
‘You silly boy, both Trijat and Brahmanand were disciples of the great Dwarka Shastri. They lived and trained at the matth. How else do you think Trijat could direct his pishachinis to the exact location of the monastery’s prison cell?
No one in this world can reach the taantric prowess those two have, without the mentorship of the only param-taantric left on Earth.’
Harappa, 1700 BCE
THE LAST SAPTARISHI
Vivasvan Pujari slashed the first asura diagonally across his stomach right up to his chest with the Ratna-Maru, ripping him open. At lightning speed he turned around, decapitating the second asura while kicking a third one in his chest, who went flying several feet away into the rocky ground.
These soldiers were no match for the martial prowess of the devta. None of them could take him on.
But there were fifty of them, along with their legendary warrior-king Sura.
In the battle that ensued over the next few minutes, the devta had killed ten more of the savage fighters attacking him from all sides, but not without suffering a few cuts and injuries himself. Given his skinned and mutilated body, the devta could ill-afford any more wounds.
And it was now when Sura called out the names of seven of his best fighters and lifted his own gigantic sword.
Sura was no ordinary trooper. He had been beaten in the past by the devta, but that was when they were in a one to one duel. Nor was the devta in the harrowing physical condition then that he was now. Both these factors were making it hard for Vivasvan Pujari to withstand and repel the barrage of sword and spear attacks that were raining upon him from every direction.
The devta suddenly broke through the ring of adversaries surrounding him and dashed towards a nearby rock. In an elegant and expert move, he pounced on the big stone with one foot, swung around and used the rock to propel him high, giving him the advantage of an aerial attack. The move worked and the Ratna-Maru tore into the head of one of the asuras, who yelped in pain and dropped dead instantly.
But the devta was running out of moves. Sura was now assaulting him with his heavy sword repeatedly, madly, snarling and growling like a wild animal with each powerful stroke.
As the devta repelled the beastly onslaughts from Sura and also deflected hundreds of other blade and pike attacks, he could see a sharp long-sword making its way towards him. He had no choice but to grab it by the blade-end to prevent it from piercing his ribs.
As the devta clutched hold of the sharp sword, it tore his palm and fingers in deep gashes. Vivasvan Pujari screamed in agony. Despite his extraordinary valour and the bodies of fourteen slain asuras scattered around, this was fast becoming a battle the devta was not going to win.
Then suddenly, under the screeching hailstorm, below the crashing in the mountains and amidst the intense battle between the asuras and the devta, the Seventh Saptarishi spoke in a booming, loud voice – one that was not expected from his frail, wrinkled remains of a body.
To everyone’s horror, his eyes had opened again, this time glowing blue – as blue as the giant flames.
“Burnish the Ratna-Maru in the blue fire, O devta – and vanquish these perpetrators of evil.
Forge it in the heat of these flames that have been blessed with the sacred remains of the Saptarishi –
and prepare the mighty primordial sword for its ultimate destiny!”
Vivasvan Pujari was still grappling with the menacingly advancing blade with his bleeding left hand and counterattacking with his sword in the right when he heard the pronouncement of the last Saptarishi. The distraction caused by the loud, roaring voice gave him the sliver of opportunity he needed. He was only twenty feet away from the celestial fire
There was no way the asuras could prevent the devta from covering this short distance.
The sight was something that even Mother Earth would forever remember. How could Prithvi forget the union of the human and the divine? How could the hand of God reaching out to alter the course of destiny not remain etched in her eternal memory?
As the devta thrust his sword into the inferno, the flames first dipped into a hush, as if extinguished. In the very next moment, with a startling whoosh they leapt into the skies like a flaming column of blue fire! Sura and his men could feel mortal fear creeping deep into their cruel hearts. They first exchanged frozen glances with one another and then raised their eyes and heads to fathom the height of this dazzling column - only to see it originating from repeated blue lightning from the heavens.
Someone beyond the realm of Earth was intervening.
The One in the skies was fuelling this supernatural phenomenon.
Vivasvan Pujari stood next to the blazing column like a primeval warrior, his head thrown back, his legs apart and his muscular arm outstretched deep into the pillar of fire. His eye was shut and his lips moved in prayer, invoking Shakti, the Goddess of all creation. In the darkness of the stormy night, he looked as blue as the fire itself.
Slowly the column began to subside. It first reduced back to the giant blue fire, before sagging further into a regular flame, glowing yellow. The rain and hail were going to soon extinguish this ordinary, Earthly fire.
But something still glowed a glittering blue.
It was the devta’s sword.
Outskirts of Banaras, 2017
KAALCHAKRA
Brahmanand was terrified.
It was after much persuading by Vidyut and Balvanta, and the firm instructions of the matthadheesh that coerced Prof Tripathi to agree to join them in their raid on Trijat’s den. Vidyut sensed that for all his protests, somewhere it was the latent yearning to avenge the blinding of his eye that made the professor agree. He could not have hoped to draw his revenge from the Mritak-naath on his own. But with help from the great Dwarka Shastri, Vidyut and Balvanta, he could smell a real payback chance.
The squad was ready. It was to be led by the grandmaster himself. There was Balvanta, Sonu, Brahmanand, a hundred or so of the matth’s choicest fighters…
and Vidyut.
They looked heavily intoxicated. The aghori taantric guards on duty outside the yajnashaala were gently swaying as they stood in the pitch-dark, moonless night of amaavasya. Prof Tripathi was right. They appeared to be under heavy influence of a very strong narcotic.
Trijat Kapaalik’s yajnashaala was about forty kilometers out of the main city of Banaras. It was situated at an unusually remote area that was normally ignored by the local police, given both their fear of, and their incomes from, the sinister Masaan-raja. Local villagers avoided passing by that area completely, as they knew about the medieval burial grounds. They believed that entire tract with the mysterious citadel in its midst was haunted.
They were not wrong.
A thicket of trees surrounded the yajnashaala of Trijat Kapaalik from all sides for several hundred metres. In the darkness of the night, as Dwarka Shastri sprinkled sanctified water from his kamandal on the ground around the wicked yajnashaala, Vidyut and the others were stunned to hear angry shrieks of some strange beings. The shrieks were human all right. But they sounded like they came from deep inside the womb of the Earth.
The feudal graveyards were coming to life.
As they made their way stealthily on foot, progressing closer to the high walls around the perimeter of the dark priory, something inexplicable stopped them. They heard the eerie wailing of what sounded like scores of women, weeping in pain and eternal longing. No one could be seen around.
Sonu turned to Vidyut, his eyes wide with horror.
‘Daakinis,’ said Vidyut calmly.
Just as he said those words, Dwarka Shastri lit a massive multi-tiered ceremonial lamp – similar to the ones used by the priests during the Ganga aarti. Its camphor flames erupted high into the darkness. As soon as this sacred torch was lit,
the wailing turned into a cacophony of hisses, gnarls and shrieks. As the matthadheesh began chanting mantras, wind swept the dry leaves off the ground and trees began to sway - as if caused by the chaos among the otherworldly beings that resided in that ancient burial ground and served the Masaan-raja.
Vidyut was right. Even in his tired and faded self, the grandmaster of the Dev-Raakshasa matth was formidable. Only this param-taantric could repel a whole army of pret-aatmas in their own stronghold.
They were now very close to the giant black gate that guarded the entrance to Trijat Kapaalik’s yajnashaala. Vidyut could see his Baba was under tremendous strain. Every step closer to the ghastly citadel was making the angry spirits stronger and Dwarka Shastri weaker. Invisible shadows seemed to lurk in the trees, as if waiting to unleash their true horror as soon as the aura of the mantras subsided.
‘Baba, should Prof Tripathi and I join in the chanting? The three of us will be stronger than you taking them on alone!’ asked Vidyut, worried for his great grandfather.
Dwarka Shastri refused and gestured to Vidyut to attack the black gate.
Vidyut turned to Balvanta, who drew out both his short swords. It was going to be a combat with blades, spears and fists. Both sides knew better than to draw the attention of the police with gunfire, when they knew this was going to be a bloodbath. The fighters of the matth were now ready to storm the fortress of the dark forces.
Just as Vidyut was about to dash towards the yajnashaala, Dwarka Shastri turned to him, looking extremely anxious.
‘Something is not right, Vidyut. The pishachas and daayans appear to be as daunting as I had expected them to be on amaavasya. But there is something more I sense…something far more terrible than we can imagine. This night is not going to turn out the way we have been hoping.’
Vidyut did not know how to react. This hour had been recommended strongly by Prof Tripathi and retreating now would mean waiting till the next moonless night.
Dwarka Shastri understood Vidyut’s dilemma.
‘Go on, Vidyut. The dead are awakened already and it is too late to retreat. Just look after yourself, my son…’
The devta saw pain in the grandmaster’s eyes. The way he said the last sentence sounded like a farewell.
By now the guards of Trijat had spotted the matth’s militia and had raised an alarm.
‘We must leave…now!’ Balvanta yelled out to Vidyut.
Vidyut did not want to leave his great grandfather. There was so much unsaid, so much love and reverence still not shared.
‘I will come back for you, Baba…I promise! I will come back for you!’
Dwarka Shastri smiled and nodded, as tears welled up in his holy eyes. He remembered another time, another battlefield, where a loving son had promised the same to his mother. The continuum of karma was in no one’s control. The wheel of time was always turning, presenting human souls with the same trials.
Kaalchakra was ceaseless.
East of Harappa, 1700 BCE
SATYAVRATA MANU
‘Harappa will be the first to get swept away by the great deluge,’ said Matsya.
They were now back in the cave where Matsya was addressing the large group. Everyone appeared flustered at the grim prospect the leader of the fish-tribe had spoken about.
In the group meeting before this one Tara had decided to question Matsya as to whom he was, and how he was in a position to make such a bizarre, cataclysmic prediction. But that was then. Tara had never seen a man like Matsya. One close glimpse of him and she was convinced that he was no ordinary man. He was someone else.
Just like the leader of the mountain-guardians had said, it was Matsya who chose how and when you embrace him as your own, admire him like a God and love him like you were his own child.
She was not going to question him. Every speck of her body, her mind and her soul was eager to submit to this bluish phenomenon of a person. Her Manu and she were going to follow him.
Blindly.
‘Harappa will not last beyond a few hours. Tomorrow, in the darkness of the night, the rakt-dhaara will consume the entire metropolis.’
There was stunned silence in the cave, glowing dimly under torchlights. Despite the cold and wet evening, each one from the gathering broke into a sweat.
The flooding of Harappa meant certain death for hundreds of thousands of innocent people.
‘There has to be something we can do, Matsya,’ exclaimed Somdutt, with a deep sense of urgency in his tone. ‘We have a few hours. We can ride into Harappa and warn the citizens. They can save their children, Matsya! They can save themselves…’
Matsya did not respond. He kept looking at Somdutt, as if picturing the futility of the effort in his mind.
‘Say something, O great Matsya,’ pleaded Somdutt. He too was mesmerized by the divine fish-man. He somehow, deep down, believed it was all in the hands of Matsya. That Matsya could singlehandedly salvage the world from the impending death and destruction.
It was now the turn of Manu to rise and speak.
‘With your permission, we ride to Harappa in the next hour. It was indeed that city and its people that took away everything from my family and me. It was the soldiers of Harappa whose arrows pierced the heart of my mother. It was the citizens of that city who pelted my father with stones, laughed at his torture and spat on him when he bled. And yet, I say we ride. We ride because if we fail to protect the people now, we are no different from the black-hearted scoundrels who perpetrated all that hate. We ride because every human life is just as precious as that of my beloved mother and my great father.’
Matsya’s eyes could not help but admire the character and moral fabric of this young man, with great satisfaction at the choice he had made.
Only Vivasvan and Sanjna could have raised such a fine human being, a gem among men.
‘Have you both not been listening to me carefully, Satyavrata, Somdutt…?’ asked Matsya, looking at the two men who had just offered to risk their own lives to save the others. Riding into Harappa would mean instant arrest and execution for both, and yet they were willing to bet their lives for the sake of fellow human beings.
‘What is the point in trying to save those who are destined to perish in the great cleansing that comes? The deluge will devour everything, everyone!’ he continued.
‘Be that as it may, O mighty Matsya, we cannot just give up,’ said Manu respectfully. ‘If Pralay has to engulf everything, there is nothing we can do against the will of nature. But till there is even one breath left in me, I cannot sit back and see people drowning in their own homes.’
Matsya shook his head, helpless in the face of such a determined stand taken by Manu.
‘So you think it makes sense to risk your life to save those who are going to perish no more than a few months later?’ he asked.
‘Yes it does, Matsya.’ This time it was Tara.
‘If it means even a day more of life for so many people, it is worth the risk,’ she spoke firmly, righteously.
Matsya now grinned, and everyone in the room felt a breeze of bliss waft across the cave. He gave in.
Free human will.
It was decided that Manu, Somdutt, Tara and a handful of mountain-guardians would leave for Harappa immediately. If they galloped non-stop, they could reach the gates of the cursed metropolis a few hours ahead of the predicted disaster. If they succeeded in evacuating the city hastily, innumerable lives could be saved.
At least for now.
But even before they could begin their fateful journey, Matsya sought to convene a meeting of a smaller group. He invited the graceful leader of the mountain-guardians, Somdutt, Tara, Manu and a few of his own tribesmen into a smaller cave-room.
‘You are very stubborn, Satyavrata,’ said Matsya, as they walked towards their meeting destination.
Manu stopped and held Matsya by the arm, forcing the fishman to halt too. Matsya turned to look at Manu, amused at being held back in this manner.
‘Why do you ad
dress me as Satyavrata, O Matsya? My name is Manu.’
Matsya laughed and started to move, but Manu tightened his grip and pulled him back.
‘You are not going anywhere till you answer my question!’ Manu said in jest, but not letting go of his friend and guardian anyway. By now they shared a bond strong enough to permit Manu to take a few liberties.
‘See, I told you that you were stubborn!’ replied Matsya, now turning to Manu.
He stretched out his arms and held Manu by his shoulders.
‘Tell me, Manu…what does Satyavrata mean?’
Manu did not have to think.
‘It means someone who has taken the pledge to speak the truth, Matsya. Someone who is the guardian of the truth.’
Matsya smiled and his eyes surveyed Manu’s face with great affection.
‘Precisely. You will be the only one to take the truth with you to the other side of the deluge, Manu.
You will be the only Satyavrata.’
Outskirts of Banaras, 2017
A HUNDRED RITUAL PITS
Vidyut shot a kick that landed like a cannonball into the ribs of the aghori who had charged at him with a trident. The man squealed in intense pain. His ribcage was shattered.
The devta was in an unforgiving frame of mind, something very rare for a man with a heart as golden as Vidyut’s.
The next two men were equally unfortunate. Vidyut’s fist smashed the face of one of them into a pulp. The other lunged at him with a butcher’s knife. The devta dodged the assault, grabbed the attacking wrist of the aghori with one hand and his other hand strangled the throat of the attacker. Vidyut then smashed his forehead on the aghori’s cranium, who crumbled under this merciless punishment.
Several other men from Trijat’s cult faced a similar fate as Vidyut made his way towards the black gate of the fortress. However, one thing was bothering the devta as he fought through the aghoris.
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 19
