Dawn

by Rakesh K Kaul

  ‘Well, yes, when you say it like that. You see, a Niti story is like a lighter—a device that can ignite truth. And the fire powder is within you. Without a lighter, one is mere dead, driftwood tossing aimlessly in the ocean of life,’ mused Yuva in what I now knew was his characteristic manner of speaking. ‘Conversely, the highest truth of your life story, the one that will last the longest, is your greatest strength in any battle. Know it, protect it and be true to it. When this experiential truth resonates among others, it becomes a universal truth and that is a beautiful sight to behold indeed.’

  ‘But . . . but . . . how do I fight Dushita? I am just a girl. I do not know anything about the world. I have never even stepped outside. I have no idea of what my life story is except that my mother is all I have and that I love her.’

  Yuva sensed my panic as I struggled to understand his instructions. ‘Dawn,’ he spoke softly. ‘Believe in me and believe in yourself. Your powers are supreme; you just do not recognize them yet.’

  Displaying the utmost frustration, I pleaded, ‘Yuva, I am ignorant! Help me find the way.’

  ‘My dear,’ he spoke with sudden enthusiasm. ‘Kira and I will take you to Kashmir where you will be part of the greatest stories ever! It is the land of supreme women who ruled the greatest civilization till the time Dushita set foot. Brave Dawn, it is these stories that will give you the strength to face the ultimate enemy. As you experience each Niti story, it will unlock a great power within you. When you shall be ready, you will meet Dushita in the ultimate showdown. But for all this to occur, you really have to want to do it.’

  As Yuva’s words sank in, my thoughts trailed off. All this did seem very odd, but at the same time, his words seemed to propel me to overcome my mental obstacles. Yuva had ‘kick-started’ me. It was an extraordinary feeling to think of myself as the Chosen One. It was the thing of tales—the ones my mother would tell me—of brave adventurers and crusaders of justice, and today this weird-looking person sitting in my bedroom was telling me that I was one such person. This was the first time that I was being asked to do something without having my mother to advise me.

  My mother had warned me since as far as I could remember to never leave the pod. She would say, just wait, don’t cross the line, the time wasn’t right yet. The pod was our self-contained world. It had everything. It was completely hidden and safe. But maybe it was the confidence that Yuva exuded, the gentle smile on Kira’s face or the dead-end future that awaited me that lit the fire inside me. Suddenly somehow I believed that I could wait for an encounter with this deathly creature in the pod, or even go out, take control and learn how to face it. ‘This does seem all very incredible and absurd. To tell you the truth, I am not completely convinced,’ I confessed, ‘but for some inexplicable reason, I am willing to take the first step.’

  Yuva smiled and Kira looked at me with pride and respect, which warmed my heart. ‘Then your first lesson starts today, Dawn. Close your eyes, slowly breathe in and out and focus on the pause between the two. Once you do that, Kira will whisper some magical words in your right ear. Repeat after her and I’ll do the rest. I’ll be with you all the time and take complete care of you,’ he explained, and with a gentle tap on my head with his trunk, said, ‘You can trust us.’

  I smiled. It was easy to like the two of them, no matter how they looked. But who was I to judge; I myself may have seemed strange to them.

  I did as I was told in a rather easy and relaxed manner, as my mother taught me yoga every morning and evening. I breathed in and out, in and out, gradually stretching out to breathe a bit longer. I could feel Kira faintly hop on to my shoulder. She made several sharp, short whistles.

  Then Yuva whispered in my ear, ‘I am That.’ These words seemed too simple, not magical at all. But still, I whispered back, ‘I am That.’ We chanted again in a sing-song voice. Then, at the precise moment, when I was almost asleep again, I felt a gentle touch on my forehead as if Yuva had tapped the tip of his trunk on it. There was a silver flash, and the next moment, I was whirling through a portal to a different time and a different world.

  Sarga 2

  The Outlaws

  AD 500

  Nilakunda, Verinag, Kashmir Valley

  I rolled several times before I fell on soft ground. Just a minute ago, I had heard myself screaming while going in spirals and tumbling through what looked like a dark tunnel. There were silver streaks streaming past me in the portal. It seemed as if I could see stars. I had heard a deep, vibrating sound emanating from what felt like the very insides of the Universe. The temperature felt very cold even as my suit generated heat. I saw rips and tides and, in some places, dangerous vortices where the silver light was being swallowed. But something or somebody was guiding me. Was it Yuva who had served as my navigator? When I gathered myself, I was stunned to find that I was in a green, lush valley. Yuva was standing in front of me with Kira still perched on his shoulder. He asked, ‘Is your stomach churning?’ I shook my head in the negative. What had I gotten myself into? I was totally clueless. I looked around frantically only to be further surprised at the sight of five boys, all around my age, standing on the side. They gave a faintly bewildered look, implying that this was new to them too. I looked questioningly at Yuva who just smiled. It seemed to me that he had transported the boys as well.

  ‘You are now in Kashmir in the fifth century,’ he began in a calm voice. ‘This is the spot where the River Vitasta first appeared within the Valley. Maha struck this spot with his trident and there she gushed out,’ he said, gesturing to the large octagonal-shaped bubbling spring, which flowed downhill, making a gurgling sound over the pebbles. ‘Vitasta is extremely important. Its name means the span of Maha’s trident. It is also a notable spot as it is where King Nila, the local ruler, granted permission to the migrants from the Saraswat River to settle in Kashmir. The condition was that they would always honour the customs and beliefs of the natives, making it the first immigration contract in the history of humanity. Look, a water tank there is named in his honour. I thought that it would be a good place for all of you to meet.’

  ‘Who is Maha?’ I blurted out, a million questions bursting through my mind.

  Yuva smiled, ‘For now, you can think that he is my father.’

  I nearly burst out laughing! To think that there was a senior version of Yuva somewhere out there was utterly confounding. Yuva was so odd and archaic in whatever he said, but he carried it off with total aplomb.

  ‘And the boys here?’ The boys had now gathered around us and were listening in.

  ‘Outlaws like you, but I’ll tell you more about them when I introduce you all properly.’

  I was okay with that. I had waited sixteen years to meet other people; they could wait a little to meet me. But I did need some answers. ‘Why is Vitasta important for us?’

  ‘Because whatever exists in the world, my dear girl, its essence exists in Kashmir and whatever is the essence of Kashmir exists within the waters of the Vitasta,’ expounded Yuva. ‘All the stories from Kashmir thus start and end with water. She, the River Vitasta, is the source. She is where the stories originate.’

  What really stood out to me was that water, the giver of life, was deemed feminine, and that it all started with her. I looked up at Yuva in awe. He perceived the world so differently. I was speechless for a minute. ‘Oh!’ I managed to say. ‘And . . . and what was this immigration contract? Wasn’t everyone an obedient follower of Dushita?’

  ‘Dushita hadn’t surfaced yet. Ancient Kashmir had two native battling tribes, the Nagas and the Pishachas. This was when a migratory tribe, the Saraswats who valued learning, entered Kashmir to seek refuge. They were opposed by the Pishachas, who lived in the Valley and were believers in tribal supremacy so much so that they would kill others and practise cannibalism on them.’

  I heard a collective gasp from the boys, but Yuva didn’t seem to notice. He went on, ‘The Nagas lived on the mountaintops and believed in nature’s lesson of respecting
diversity. The Nagas, who welcomed everyone with open arms, taught the Saraswat tribe to show this respect to the tribal cannibals by organizing thanksgiving festivals for them in January and February,’ he then turned to us. ‘You see, my ganas, my wide-eyed followers, tolerance won the day and the migrants lived in Kashmir year-round in harmony with the aborigines. With that, the migrants received social acceptance. Soon, there was intermingling. You yourselves are part Pishacha, part Naga and part Saraswat.’

  ‘WHAT!’ all of us shouted in unison. The unanimous reaction made us smile a little and became a good ice-breaker.

  ‘So, you’re saying that we are part cannibal, part nature lover and part knowledge seeker?’ I asked in all seriousness. I was flustered; it seemed that I had embarked on a journey that was clearly going to rip apart whatever ideas I had about myself. I was experiencing different emotions by the minute, and after sixteen years of confinement, this was disorienting but also exhilarating.

  ‘Well, if you put it that way, yes. And that is what makes you a formidable force,’ said Yuva, looking at the bubbling river. Its unhindered flow seemed to suggest that everything in nature seemed to move continually, even if gently so.

  ‘The river reminds us that our bodies and minds are rivers too. You are only a process that flows from moment to moment. Your senses are the tributaries that feed the flow.’

  I couldn’t help but pinch myself. There was no flow there, nothing besides flesh and solid bone there. Had Yuva taken leave of his senses?

  Yuva laughed. ‘A moment is of a shorter duration than the one billionth of the time interval that is there in a flash of lighting. The cartwheel touches the ground at a single microscopic point at any moment. Each moment, a new contact point replaces the old one. This flow from point to point occurs at a subtle level; the transition process is real, and yet, at the gross level ends up giving the experience of solidity.’

  Yuva followed the course of the stream, and soon, we were standing in the middle of a beautiful garden. He took in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, crisp air of the iridescent Valley. A soft breeze wafted to his ears. He closed his eyes to seemingly immerse himself in the beauty of the land.

  ‘This is what we call the Verinag or Virahnag garden,’ he said, waving his hands in the air. ‘Virah means ‘to go back’ and nag means ‘spring’, so this is where you have to come back to start your odyssey again,’ he said. ‘You know, by the first half of the second millennium, your people were known as the indigenous people to set them apart from the people who had immigrated later from the northwest of the country,’ he said, his eyes half-closed. I noticed that sometimes his lips didn’t even move when he spoke and the sound seemed to come from everywhere, which made the whole event even more surreal.

  ‘Outside people?’ I wondered aloud, but Yuva continued speaking.

  ‘This indigenous society excelled so much that Kashmir Valley’s contribution to humanity in the first millennium matched the impact that the Silicon Valley had in the second millennium, and the Twin Cities in the third millennium,’ he said gravely as he opened his eyes.

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’ I mumbled, flabbergasted. ‘Then how could such an advanced civilization commit genocide?’

  ‘It was Dushita who deceitfully sent in his followers along with the migrants from the northwest into the Valley at the beginning of the second millennium,’ he said quietly, ‘and the forces of conformity and obedience towards Dushita were unleashed once again. The earlier diverse society was reduced to a minuscule community. The exclusivist outsiders became insiders and the inclusive insiders became outsiders. To be exceptional was prohibited. Everything and everyone had to conform, especially the women who went from prominence to slavery. Perhaps, the ones who were the guides to the noble way of life had been blinded.’ With a deep sigh, he concluded, ‘And that’s the story of how Kashmir fell from glory and its enormous contributions to humanity were erased completely.’

  ‘So, that explains it! This is why my ancestors fled! It was Dushita.’

  ‘Not just yours but theirs too,’ he said, gesturing to the five boys. ‘Your people were the lucky ones who got out. The ones who were trapped behind and resisted Dushita were killed mercilessly.’

  I had been observing the boys all along with curiosity mixed with apprehension, for never in my life had I seen anyone like them or anyone, in fact, except for my mother. Friend or foe? I thought. Their curiosity about me was evident too, as they had been unabashedly staring at me, as if they had discovered an extinct species. It was clear that they had never seen a real-life girl. Suddenly, the tension on both sides became palpable.

  ‘Well, it is time for some introductions, I say,’ said Yuva, reducing the awkwardness, following which words just seemed to tumble out of the boys.

  ‘Hail truth! I am Tegh. I live in the caves in the Bandelier National Monument in New Mexico.’

  ‘Salaam, my name is Hafiz. I come from Mashhad, Iran.’

  ‘Om swasth, good health! I am Tan from Tibet.’

  ‘Shalom! I am Yaniv. I live inside the Solomon’s Temple.’

  ‘Everybody, swasti te astu, may all be well with you. I am Tabah Tasal from Kashmir.’

  Everyone looked at Tabah inquisitively. He was different from the others in that he had a feminine look. He had beautiful porcelain skin, almond eyes, a hairless face and a slim body. His eyebrows were shaped like a bow.

  I folded my hands in front of me and greeted the boys, just the way I would greet my mother in the morning. Some would have found it odd, but my mother was very particular about our long-lost culture and made it a point to include some of the ancient habits in our daily lives. ‘Namaskar. I am Dawn and I reside in the cave of Trisirsha in Mount Kailash,’ I beamed. I was, frankly, bursting with excitement to finally meet people! ‘And I would love to know more about you all. You know, Tan, I am almost your neighbour, and yet you never dropped in. Tegh, I wonder how your cave compares to mine? Hafiz, Yaniv, there is so much to learn from you. Tabah, out of all of us, you’re the only one who lives in our homeland. How does it feel?’ I stopped to catch my breath because I had been speaking too fast, while I saw from the corner of my eyes that Yuva was chuckling.

  Tabah smiled too and gave a slight bow. ‘Well, where to begin?’ he said, his brows furrowed. ‘I can tell you about my family lore, if you’d like. Shall we sit down and chat?’ he said, pointing to the lush hillside.

  We sat down on the hills, the river beside us flowing downwards. The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze. Having lived in a weather-controlled pod all my life, the smell of nature was new and heady.

  Tabah began recounting his story, ‘Well, where do I start? We are the descendants of Kumarajiva of Kashmir from the fourth century. They say that he was a great teacher who had settled in Xi’an, China. His pagoda has been maintained by our family for aeons.’

  ‘Aeons? That’s amazing!’ I gushed. Suddenly, his expression changed to one of immense pain and sadness.

  ‘My father was slain by Dushita’s followers, while protecting my mother . . . He had refused to convert to their cause,’ he said, looking into the distance. ‘But he managed to ship me to the tomb of the terracotta warriors in Xi’an, which became my hideout . . . my new home. I got discovered, but I managed to change my outfit to resemble a transgender by wearing bright coloured, baggy Sinbad pants with my belly button visible under a tank top. I had to protect myself in order to survive. My desperate ploy to position myself as Narishandi—a transgender, breastless woman—worked. Because a Narishandi is sterile, I was allowed to live whereas the captured outlaws, especially women, were all killed.’

  ‘What! How? This sounds so much like a piece of fiction!’ exclaimed Tegh, his mouth agape.

  Tabah gave a slight shrug. ‘Well, that was the only way to avoid getting the shikha implant. But it gets stranger. Unfortunately, I got caught and taken back to Dushita’s headquarters where I became part of the honour guard and a master of ceremonies for stage perf
ormances. My oddity has kept me alive and made me into a celebrity of sorts,’ He ended on a sarcastic note.

  ‘What? You are his honour guard?’ I interjected, unable to hide my surprise. ‘This is dangerous, Tabah. What if he finds out? What will happen if you get caught? What—’

  ‘Hear him out, Dawn. I know that you are, well . . . how do I say it? . . . new to groups. You need to learn how to make conversations as part of a group.’ Yuva admonished me, his trunk outstretched. ‘Listening is a virtue, my dear. So, let’s hear him out.’

  Going red in the face, I smiled at Tabah and looked down.

  Tabah gave a slight bow, acknowledging Yuva’s lesson on good manners. His lips curved into a soft smile, ‘Don’t worry, Dawn. I will be fine. I cover my tracks well. I know about the dangers that I face better than anyone else. But today is a day for which I have waited for a long time!’ he said throwing his hands in the air. ‘Dawn, I can assure you that the world has no option but to fight Dushita. I am the sole insider left and as your spy, I will show you all how to do it.’

  I was touched by the unspoken openness of how Tabah admitted his identity. What all must have it taken to pull off the role of a breastless woman? I thought that he must be very brave to live his life on the line. I couldn’t believe that I had met someone as courageous as him.

  Yuva gingerly wrapped his truck around Tabah’s back and squeezed it. ‘You did good, my boy. You stayed true to the memory of Kumarajiva, your illustrious ancestor who too was taken prisoner but eventually became free.’ He then turned to another one of the boys and said, ‘Now. Hafiz, could you tell your new friends about you?’

  I examined Hafiz more closely. He had a close-cropped beard and a backpack that was wired to his black spacesuit—a free-flowing long kurta and a pair of loose pyjamas—and a smart bracelet on his right wrist. He wore a white skullcap. He said, ‘Tabah, you know, my ancestor had to endure a similar situation like you, so I understand what you had to go through.’