Ganesha's Temple: Book 1 of the Temple Wars

by Rohit Gaur

  With a fierce look, she continued on down a dank and dimly lit hallway. She opened a bedroom door and ushered Tarun and Galerest inside.

  “Here you will sleep. In the morning, we will make our way to the lagoon.”

  “Yes,” Galerest spoke before thrusting his hand onto hers. “Thank you for your hospitality and your assistance. We know you risk your life to aid us, and we are grateful.”

  She looked at him levelly as if she were sizing him up. “I hope you have the courage to do what needs to be done,” she said. “And if you are caught, you never knew me.”

  “Of course,” he assured her.

  She left them with a single flickering candle. Galerest turned to Tarun.

  “What do you make of her? She seem trustworthy to you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tarun replied. “Do we have a choice?”

  “No,” Galerest admitted with a shrug. “I guess we don’t.”

  Parvati could tell that something was wrong. The commotion in the camp was greater than normal and small groups of militants stood talking in hushed whispers. She caught a brief bit of conversation as one of the groups walked close to the window of her cell.

  “ . . . raided two of the other camps. They could be coming here next.”

  “But how did they find them?”

  “No one knows.”

  “What are we . . .”

  The voices trailed off. Parvati breathed a prayer of relief: Arjun was getting closer. It wouldn’t be long before the entire Kashmiri army descended upon this militant camp. They could only hide for so long.

  The door rattled as the bolt slid off. In stepped the gravel-voiced leader, flanked by Hassan and another soldier. They were not smiling.

  “Up,” the leader commanded. “We’re leaving.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, remaining still upon the cot. He looked at her unsmiling, his eyes no longer coy or taunting as they had been when they had shot the video.

  “Into the forests,” he said with a sneer. “Now get up.”

  They tied her wrists behind her back and blindfolded her again. Gripped on either side by strong hands, she was led out of the cell and across the camp. Hassan whispered in her ear.

  “I promise you, Mrs. Sharma, no one will harm you. The leaders are worried that the camp has been compromised, so we are retreating to a more remote and hidden place. Don’t worry.”

  Soon, she was being marched into the forests, coached by her leads to step over fallen trees or large rocks. She could hear the footsteps of the dozens of other militants all marching away from the campsite. She had a feeling that wherever they were going, there were unlikely to be any roads, electricity, beds, possibly even any buildings at all. She knew the vastness of the northern Kashmiri forests. They could be hidden forever.

  Arjun! she pleaded in her head. Find me!

  Ganesha shifted slightly from his meditative pose as he observed Tarun jump into the clear blue water. The image had grown dimmer as they had journeyed to the southern seas and dimmer still when they entered the city of Phracta. The weakened link remained, however, and Ganesha now concentrated his mind one last time to lift and aid his champion’s quest.

  “Nothing is written, Tarun,” Ganesha proclaimed, “until you compose your own destiny.” He strained to deliver his words across the faint channel of communication he struggled to maintain. “Sacrifice will set you free.”

  Did he receive the message? Ganesha could not be sure. He was no longer able to feel Tarun’s mind, it was so distant and clouded over. He was truly on his own now, cut off entirely from any assistance.

  Ganesha felt his heart quaking, his meditative stillness interrupted by his concern not only for the success of the mission, but now also for Tarun. His eyes fluttered open and took in the sight of the cave, his home turned prison. Would Tarun see the inside of this cave again? Would he, Ganesha, ever see the outside? He sighed the wearied sigh of a fate foreclosed. The future was now out of his many hands.

  Chapter 15

  DIVING

  The next morning, Latrina led Tarun and Galerest out onto the streets of Phracta. In the daylight, the sidewalks were filled with lizards of all colors and types, iguanas, crocodiles, newts, monitors, and, of course, the Serpentine themselves, stalking down the path with arrogant looks and forcing all others to move around them. Servants in purple uniforms also moved among the crowds, their faces downcast in a posture of obedience or humiliation or perhaps simply self-protection.

  The three of them piled into a rickety wooden boat tied up on the canal directly across from the entrance to Latrina’s apartment. It was safer, she assured them, to take the boat to the lagoon than to navigate the busy sidewalks. “Get in and don’t make a sound,” she had said. “Don’t look at anyone, not even at me.” As he climbed aboard, Tarun noticed a number of figures moving about on the underwater street just below the surface. He checked underneath his uniform to make sure that his breathing mask was still tucked inside. He knew he would need it later. Settling down into a seat, he pulled his face down toward the floor of the boat and concentrated on not looking up.

  Galerest took command of the oars at Latrina’s insistence and rowed them down the wide canal. It would be suspicious if she were rowing her own boat with two servants in tow, she pointed out. As they slid down the waterway, they passed underneath a series of arching bridges that connected the sidewalks of the city. Palm trees and large ferns grew at intervals along the canal way, offering momentary respites of shade against the harsh tropical sun that beat down upon them. Although Tarun kept his gaze downcast, he caught glimpses of the city as they glided past.

  This could actually be a beautiful city, he thought. Too bad it’s overrun with Serpentine.

  At that moment, their boat rounded a corner of the canal system and was rocked by a crosscurrent of water. Before he could restrain himself, Tarun abruptly looked up into the face of a Serpentine guard, manning some kind of official police boat barely ten yards away from them. Galerest, with his back turned to the front of the boat and concentrating on the oars, did not see him, but the Serpentine stared directly and unblinkingly at Tarun as they rowed past, a hard black stare that triggered a long shudder down Tarun’s spine. Quickly he looked down again at the floor of the boat, imitating the posture of the other servants he had seen. Tarun felt sure that the guard had been looking at his face with suspicion, but perhaps it was simply contempt or disgust. They floated past the guard boat without incident.

  Tarun looked at Galerest. His face was lined with concentration, fatigue, and worry. He wondered what Galerest was thinking, but didn’t dare speak up. Latrina seemed nervous, tapping her wet fingers on the edge of the boat and muttering to herself. Tarun focused on acting the part of a docile servant, keeping his head down and his hands neatly folded in his lap. As they drew closer to the center of the island city, the canal grew quieter and less crowded, the foliage denser and more tropical.

  “There it is,” Latrina said suddenly, as the lagoon loomed into sight.

  Tarun cautiously raised his eyes again. The canal they were on ended at the edge of the lagoon’s water, which was a bright sapphire blue, crystal clear all the way to the bottom. As their boat nudged its way onto its calm and flat surface, he could see figures moving about on the sandy floor, playing games or relaxing as if at a great city park. A few other boats floated on the lagoon, but mostly far away. For the most part the lagoon was empty and quiet, seeming almost remote from the bustling city that lay strung out on the edges of the island. But then Tarun realized why.

  At the center of the lagoon lay another island—an island within an island—ringed with palm trees and dense foliage. In the center, a black-stone mountain rose craggily from the vegetation, a menacing spike thrust out of the earth. From its peak belched a column of twisting gray smoke. Tarun had never seen a volcano before, but he recognized one when he saw it.

  “We call it Xuluhuaxi. The Charring Precipice,” Latrina explained. “It
goes off a few times every year. Hence why no one lives along the lagoon.”

  Tarun and Galerest exchanged a look.

  They began rowing across the lake toward the volcanic island, directed by Latrina toward a small bay enclosed on both sides by rock fans that jutted out through the jungle forest into the water. Now that they were far from prying eyes or ears, Galerest spoke.

  “Tarun, the tusk is on the floor of the lagoon in an inlet along the shore of the island. Once again, you’ll be on your own. The Serpentine have laid a perimeter of poisonous coral that keeps any Veiled Lands creatures out. Luckily for us, there shouldn’t be any guards posted. We know they’ve wanted to avoid attracting attention to this final hiding place. And the Serpentine are overconfident in their security precautions, just like in Candeuil and the Forests of Aeran.” He smiled at Tarun as he spoke.

  “I’m still scared,” Tarun confessed.

  “I know, Tarun,” Galerest assured him. “But I believe in you. Everything that we’ve accomplished so far has been due to your bravery and quickness. You can do this.”

  Latrina offered a weak smile but said nothing.

  As they neared the cove where he would dive in, Tarun once again put the breathing mask over his face and readied himself to jump in. Shortly Galerest had steered the boat close to the inlet. Tarun would have to dive into the lagoon and make his way into the inlet from below, since the boat could not fit through the narrow opening. Slipping his legs over the edge, he looked at Galerest a final time and took the plunge.

  In a small village in northern Kashmir known primarily to visitors as a destination for hikers and backpackers, the Manwati family ran a small inn for tourists to the region, offering clean private rooms and fresh-cooked meals. Since it was the summer, the inn was full of guests and Sid and his wife Aarti had been working long hours each day to keep their hotel running smoothly. On this particular morning, they were clearing away the breakfast dishes used by the lodgers when they heard a commotion from the front porch, first shouting, then a clatter of loud footsteps.

  “What is all that . . .” Aarti had begun to ask when the heavy wooden front door of the inn crashed open from a forceful push. She leaped back with a shriek as three soldiers, each one wearing the fitted brown uniform of Kashmiri troops, rushed into the breakfast room just off the inn’s lobby, pointing lethal-looking rifles at her and her husband. She dropped to the ground as she watched a soldier pin her husband to the dining table still strewn with dirty dishes.

  “Stay down!” a soldier shouted close to her ear. Never had she been more terrified than at that moment.

  A half hour later, she was upright again, sitting dazed on her floral sofa across from Arjun Sharma, chief minister of Kashmir, a man she knew only from the television. He was apologizing to her for the actions of the soldier, explaining that they were searching for criminals hiding out in the north. She had, of course, heard on the news about the kidnapping of his wife and son. But she had not considered the possibility that she and her husband might at some point be accused of harboring wanted agents, let alone considered dangerous suspects.

  After the soldiers had searched the inn in vain for signs of the kidnappers, questioned the guests who had not left for the day, identified the computer that had accessed some website she had never heard of, and became satisfied that the owner was not the man they sought, she and her husband had been released. By that time, the chief minister had been flown in on a helicopter that landed—though it seemed impossible to believe—on the neatly hedged lawn in front of their quaint little inn in a remote village of the Himalayan mountains. To their astonishment, he had stepped out of the helicopter and strode right into their living room to deliver an apology himself.

  As they left, she overheard one of the men speaking into a headset. “One down, en route to the next site.” Then, just as abruptly as the Kashmiri soldiers and their commander in chief had come crashing into their lives, they were gone.

  Down Tarun sank to the bottom of the clear lagoon, the white sand rising up to meet his outstretched feet. Through his mask he could see clearly, though through a bluish haze. He glanced back up at the boat he had just left to see Latrina and Galerest peering over the side. He waved up at them but they appeared not to notice. Tarun looked around: sand in every direction, pockmarked by clumps of bright coral or translucent seaweed. Colorful anemones and sea polyps covered exposed faces of rock. No other residents of Phracta seemed to be nearby.

  A few hundreds yards to the north, Tarun could see the lagoon floor sloping up where it formed the island and then the volcano above it. Notched into the side of the slope, however, was a narrow inlet to a small bay. That must be where the tusk has been placed, he thought, and set a path toward the entrance. Walking underwater was slow, the heavy weight pressing in on all sides, making movement difficult. As he struggled to make headway, Tarun let his mind wander. He remembered that if he retrieved the tusk, they could return to Ganesha’s cave. Then they would go back to Kashmir, save his mother, and be on his way home. Who knew—maybe he could be home even by that very night! The thought of this energized him even as he realized with some regret that after he returned home, he would likely not ever see Galerest again. Or Ganesha for that matter. It was shocking to realize how important they had become to him in just a few days. Already they felt like friends, real friends.

  There was little time to contemplate this realization, however, because before long Tarun had made his way across the bed of the lagoon and was standing before the narrow passage. Cragged walls of igneous granite rose abruptly from the sandy floor, leaving only a slight space in between, barely wide enough to fit a person. The walls reached up almost to the water’s edge, closing off entry above to boats.

  Tarun walked through the passage, dark and chill, letting his hands guide him along the slimy walls. Thankfully the passage was short, so he could see the strip of light ahead that signaled the entrance to the other side. He focused on that light, since in the darkness of the channel, he could barely see where he was putting his feet or hands.

  At the moment that he was just about to reach the light and jump out from that unpleasant confinement, he saw a dark object pass ominously by the opening on the other side, briefly blocking a concerning amount of light. Tarun froze until the shadow glided past and the strip of light once again loomed unbroken. Cautiously, he moved himself forward until he could peer around the edge of the opening.

  In front of him stretched out a small bay, its floor covered in the same white sand as the lagoon. In the center, a twisting mass of orange-red coral stretched up from the floor to the water’s edge above. The tusk must be in there, Tarun realized, eyeing the tangled, fire-colored thicket. But what had cast the shadow just a moment ago? As Tarun cast his gaze around the small bay, he realized what the shadow had been.

  From around the other side of the coral brush, a massive, evil-looking shark glided out, as long as a school bus.

  Tarun crouched back into the darkness, hoping it would not catch a glimpse of him as it patrolled the area surrounding the coral. As the immense shark slowly swam past, Tarun could examine its ghoulish eyes, its open jaws, its rows and rows of sharpened teeth. Its leathery gray skin was crisscrossed with long, vicious scars. One thing was clear: there was no way he could be seen by, let alone try to fight, this monster.

  Tarun watched as the shark swam around the perimeter of the small bay, never stopping or slowing, but looping around and around along the same predestined path, like the minute hand of a lethal clock. At almost ten o’clock, the shark disappeared behind the stand of coral, before reappearing at two o’clock a few minutes later.

  His only chance, Tarun realized, was to swim out at the exact moment the shark disappeared and then hope he could match the precision of his speed and circumlocution to avoid being seen. Tarun waited, working at memorizing the shark’s movement, testing himself by closing his eyes and counting the beats before the shark reappeared. When he finally felt like he’
d mastered the shark’s route, Tarun readied himself to swim.

  Now! Tarun pushed himself off from his crouch just as the shark’s head vanished from view. He forced his body forward, counting the beats of the shark’s movement on the other side of the coral. The water was so heavy and impassible. His legs felt like they were made of concrete and that he was dragging them along the sandy floor of the bay.

  Too slow! he shouted in his head, realizing that he was only halfway across when he should be already at the center. He dove toward the coral but was still several feet out when the shark lurched into view on Tarun’s right, only a few yards away on the edge of the bay.

  Tarun cringed and waited for the shark to spy him.

  Any minute now the shark would sense the intruder.

  Soon it would all be over. Shark bait.

  Instead, nothing happened. The shark simply swam its appointed rounds, seeming not to notice Tarun’s presence or even glance in his direction. The shark’s bulging eye did not appear to see Tarun at all. Serenely it followed the edge of the bay until once again it disappeared around the edge of the coral.

  What just happened? Tarun wondered but only for a split second. Leaping forward again, he crossed the remaining few feet. Galerest had warned him that the coral would likely be poisonous, another venomous form of protection devised by the Serpentine, but that he, Tarun, would again be immune. Tarun gingerly put his hand forward and grasped the nearest stalk. Just like the fog in the Forests of Aeran, it did not seem to affect him. The coral shaft was stiff but dimpled, devoid of any pain or other side effect.

  But Tarun also realized in touching the coral why the shark had not seen him: the bright orange-red thicket was the perfect backdrop camouflage for Tarun’s own flaming plumage. In the tenseness of the moment, Tarun had almost forgotten how far along his transformation had taken place. For the second time, Tarun was grateful for his feathery appearance, shielding him from detection for the second time that day.