Son of Bhrigu

by CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE

  It was then that he understood why the place had seemed familiar. It was almost identical to another structure he had explored long ago; only that structure had been built by the Devas for a very specific purpose.

  Shukra had decided, there and then, that this was the place where he would meditate for as long as it took to accomplish his purpose. He was clear about what he wanted — what he needed — and how it would help him. His defeat at the hands of the Saptarishis had actually given him a sense of purpose. He knew that his tapas would bear fruit. He knew that his devotion was appreciated. And now, it would go even further.

  What frustrated him no end was his failure to get everything he wanted. And it had not been for lack of tapasya. Shukra had single-mindedly pursued his purpose. For 5,000 years he had meditated. His devotion and perseverance had resulted in powers that made him much stronger than he had ever been.

  But then, his meditation had been rudely disturbed fifteen years ago. It was ironic. The same enhanced powers that had made him stronger had also made him more sensitive to external vibrations. And led to the disruption of his carefully planned tapasya.

  The cosmic vibrations that had touched his inner consciousness while he was deep in meditation had conveyed one clear message to him.

  A child had been born. And it was no ordinary child. It was the child of the prophecy. The child who was destined to stop him from achieving what he had started 5,000 years ago.

  It would have been foolhardy to ignore the warning. Shukra had immediately set about looking for the child. While his meditation may have been disrupted and his careful plans foiled, there had still been a chance to reinforce his position and consolidate his power by eliminating the child.

  The powers he had gained due to his tapasya had come in handy. The spirit world was now under his command and it was their help that he sought when looking for the child. After six months he had received the much awaited news—the child had been found. It was a boy and he was in Allahabad.

  It had been simple after that. Shukra had killed the child, ensuring the elimination of the immediate threat. There were no descendants, no connections, no loose ends. The prophecy had been defeated.

  Kaliyuga was here. The Saptarishis and Devas were helpless; their powers were weakened and their ability to influence the affairs of Bhu-lok, severely diminished. Shukra had been satisfied. He no longer needed to meditate to get additional powers, now that the main threat to his plans was out of the way.

  Or so he had thought at that time.

  Shukra had decided that the time was right for him to implement his plan. But he had not foreseen the multiple obstacles that would confront him.

  To begin with, the face of Bhu-lok had changed in the 5,000 years that he had been away. The world was no longer what it had been when Kaliyuga began. Even Bharatvarsha was now a different place, with different people and a totally different geography. His confidence had quickly evaporated. What had seemed to be child’s play had suddenly morphed into a difficult game of riddles.

  And he was not good at solving riddles. If anything, he hated them.

  Because of this, he had spent the last fourteen years searching for the key that would deliver to him the means to locate what he needed to achieve his goals.

  And he had found it.

  But it was during that quest, that he had made a startling discovery. One that had shocked him to his core and filled him with a fury that could make the three worlds tremble.

  The child was alive.

  He had been tricked. The boy he had killed was not the child of the prophecy. How this could have happened was beyond his understanding. But it was the truth. He had failed in his mission. And his entire plan was in grave peril.

  As Shukra planned his next move, he had had a stroke of luck. He had found someone who could help him. Who had helped him. And he had been able to trace the boy of the prophecy. There he had learnt of the elaborate plan that had been hatched to defeat him and thwart his mission.

  It had been easy for Shukra to decide on the fate of the people who stood in the way of him realizing his ambitions. He could not allow them to live.

  Shukra had followed the trail to New Delhi.

  But, once again, the boy had escaped.

  Shukra rose and paced the length of the cavern thinking hard.

  He was troubled. Something that he had thought impossible had happened at the Upadhyay house. Something that never should have happened.

  At that time, in the heat of the moment, deeply focused on carrying out his planned actions, he had paid no heed to the aberration.

  Now, with the luxury of time to reflect, it had come back to haunt him.

  He now knew where the boy was; where he had been taken. Even as he sat and mused, the boy was in the company of the Gandharvas.

  But that was not the thought that really bothered him and increased his frustration.

  It was the recollection of what had happened at the Upadhyay house. He gnashed his teeth as he remembered the mantra he had used. And what had happened as a result. He had been shocked but unable to understand it.

  And it was this episode that had inserted a niggling thought into his mind; one that had begun to grow with time, until it had exploded as a full-blown doubt.

  Had he been correct about the child from the prophecy?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Some Answers

  The Gandharva Valley

  Arjun marvelled at the scenic beauty of the valley as he followed Virendra and Pramila along the path that led up the side of the mountains that guarded the southern flank of the valley. Led by Varsha, the trio from Delhi threaded their way through the Gandharva houses. Built at a fair distance from each other, with vast spaces between them, the houses lined the mountainside like bay windows protruding from a stone building.

  He could not help but admire the well-tended gardens that adjoined the houses, each flaunting a profusion of flowers in myriad colours. Colourful, silken, curtains fluttered coyly in the cottage windows. Some of them were parted to reveal kitchens from where aromas wafted out — food being cooked for the midday meal.

  Arjun suddenly realized he was hungry. After the halt for dinner at Gwalior, there had been no time for eating. They had driven straight, all the way to Panna. He hoped that the Gandharvas would serve them some food.

  Presently, they arrived at a small house with blue chik blinds lining the windows. In front of the house was a garden — a patch of green grass and some bright seasonal flowers — blocked off by a wooden gate. It looked really inviting to their tired eyes and they gratefully entered the sitting room and flopped down on the comfortable chairs there.

  ‘I’m sure you must be hungry,’ Varsha smiled at them. ‘Food is on its way.’

  After she left, there was an uncomfortable silence. For one thing, they were all tired, and welcomed the luxury of being able to sit down and rest for a while. For another, while Arjun was bursting with questions, he didn’t know where to start or how to broach the subject.

  But he knew this was his opportunity to find out just what was going on. Clearly, things were not as they seemed. He needed to know how deep these waters ran.

  He looked at Virendra, who was slumped on a chair with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

  ‘What’s all this about, uncle?’ he asked. ‘Why are we here? Why are these people calling you Kanakpratap? Who are you, really?’

  He was shocked by his own directness.

  Virendra opened his eyes. ‘I guess we owe you an explanation,’ he said, his tone contrite. ‘But use that name with respect, Arjun. I will explain to you what it means.’ He paused and then looked Arjun in the eye.

  ‘You need to hear this story carefully.’

  The Agra-Gwalior Highway

  Maya woke up with a start and looked around to find herself in Tiwari’s little car. He smiled at her. ‘Had a good nap?’ he asked. ‘You were out for the count.’

  She nodded, smiling a bit sheepish
ly. Somewhere along the way, sleep had overwhelmed her. After last night’s terrifying nightmare, she had really needed to catch up on her sleep. The smooth road, the hum of the car engine and the pleasant weather had all contributed to lull her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ‘Hungry?’ Tiwari indicated the back seat of the car with a nod of his head. ‘There are bananas at the back. And water.’

  Maya wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but her mouth was a bit dry, so Tiwari pulled over to the side and they both slaked their thirst.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ Maya turned to Tiwari after they had resumed the journey.

  Tiwari looked at her curiously, then turned his attention back to the highway. ‘Sure, Maya. I think I know what you want to ask. But go ahead. I’ll answer you to the best of my ability.’

  Maya hesitated for a moment. She had thought long and hard about her dream last night. She desperately wanted to understand what it had meant. However, despite Tiwari’s good-naturedness and her trust in him, she couldn’t bring herself to talk about the dream frankly. It had been just too bizarre.

  But there were still questions to which she wanted answers.

  Like, who was Shukra? Why had he come to her house? What had he wanted from her father?

  And, the big question that had popped into her mind this morning at the breakfast table.

  Who was Shukra really after?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The Story of the Past

  The Gandharva Valley

  ‘My real name is Kanakpratap Singh,’ Virendra told Arjun. ‘Rudrapratap Singh, my elder brother, was your father.’

  ‘What?’ Arjun couldn’t believe his ears. All this time he had known Virendra to be his mother’s brother. Why had Virendra and Pramila pretended to be brother and sister?

  ‘And my real name is Yajnaseni,’ Pramila added. ‘The Dhruv you’ve been hearing about was Maya’s father, who you know as Naresh uncle. He had also changed his name. I know this is confusing for you, Arjun, but there is a legitimate reason why we all had to change our names.’ She looked at Virendra who nodded at her, asking her to continue.

  ‘When you were just about one year old, Shukra turned up at our doorstep in Allahabad,’ Pramila resumed. ‘We had no idea who he was. Luckily for us, Dhruv had dropped in for a cup of tea and he figured out what Shukra was after. Your father and Dhruv decided to face Shukra, while Virendra and I managed to escape with you. We came to Delhi. Later, Dhruv joined us with Maya. He confirmed our fears. Shukra had proved to be too powerful for the two of them to tackle. He had killed your father and Dhruv just about escaped with his life. So the three of us changed our names – and our lives – in case Shukra came looking for us again. And we managed to outwit him for almost fourteen years, though we were always careful, always scared of him hunting us down. I don’t know how he was able to find us after all this time.’

  Arjun didn’t understand.

  ‘Who is Shukra?’ he asked, seeking more clarity. ‘And why is he after us? Why did he kill my father?’

  Pramila sighed and looked at Virendra. It was clear that she expected him to take up the thread of the explanation.

  Virendra nodded his acknowledgement. ‘I will tell you. But whether you will believe me or not is a different matter.’

  ‘Why should I disbelieve anything you tell me, uncle?’ Arjun was baffled. ‘I need to know. Please.’

  ‘To understand what this is all about,’ Virendra continued, ‘we have to go back 5,000 years. Perhaps more. Shukracharya — or Shukra, as we refer to him — is the son of Bhrigu, a wise and great sage, who lived thousands of years ago. Unfortunately, the son turned out to be the opposite of the father. Shukra bonded with the Asuras and became their guru. Being a passionate devotee of Lord Shiva, he managed to obtain the vidya required to resurrect the dead, through sheer hard tapasya. A rare ability. Shukra is a great Rishi in his own right. If only he had turned his powers to the pursuit of good. Instead, he kept trying to find ways of helping the Asuras to gain control of the three worlds. 5,000 years ago, the Saptarishis decided to put an end to his machinations. They warned him of dire consequences if he continued his attempts to open the gates of Pataala Lok . Shukra disappeared. For 5,000 years, no one knew where he had gone or what had become of him. Then, without warning, he appeared fourteen years ago. In Allahabad.’

  Arjun’s head spun. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This stuff was right out of mythology! How could something like this be real?

  This tale brought back memories of his history class and how DJ sir had discussed the Mahabharata with them. He had liked narrating stories from the ancient epic and would always describe them with such animation that the stories appeared real. He had once told them the story of Shukra and Kacha, the son of Brihaspati — the guru of the Devas — who was the only person to have learned the science of resurrecting the dead from Shukra. Devayani, Shukra’s daughter, had been in love with Kacha, and had wanted to marry him. He still remembered bits of that story.

  But that was all mythology! Fantasy!

  Yet, his uncle and mother were talking to him about the main character of these mythological stories as if the guy was real.

  A thought struck him. ‘So if Shukra is back, why can’t the Saptarishis take care of him like they did 5,000 years ago?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as it seems, Arjun. It was the Dwapara Yuga, 5,000 years ago,’ Pramila replied. ‘That was around the time of the Mahabharata, when Lord Krishna still walked this earth.’

  Arjun’s bewilderment increased. His mother was speaking of Lord Krishna as if he had really existed. He knew a lot of people revered the epic but for him, the Mahabharata had been a story and nothing more.

  ‘With the passing of Lord Krishna from this world,’ Pramila resumed, ‘Kaliyuga began. This is the fourth and final stage before the universe is destroyed and the cycle of creation begins again.’ She looked at Arjun. ‘I have told you about the four yugas, remember?’

  Arjun remembered well.

  ‘In Kaliyuga,’ Pramila continued, ‘the power of the Saptarishis and the Devas is diminished. All the stories of the Devas being visible in Bhu-lok — in our world — and intervening in the affairs of humans, is from before Kaliyuga. Once the fourth age began, they have had to retreat to their own worlds, which cannot be accessed by humans anymore.’

  ‘Not all humans,’ Virendra corrected her. ‘Some humans can still, at least theoretically, visit Swargalok. But that is a very rare occurrence. Those worlds are generally out of bounds for us.’

  ‘True,’ Pramila agreed. ‘It is the same with the Saptarishis. Their power is of little use in Bhu-lok though they do continue to ensure that the universe functions normally. But they cannot, and do not, interfere in the affairs of humans. They will not stop Shukra, because they cannot.’

  ‘Apart from that,’ Virendra interjected, ‘we fear that Shukra has spent the last 5,000 years in tapasya. If he has sought and obtained more boons from Lord Shiva, who knows what powers he has acquired since then. For him, Kaliyuga is the perfect time to set his plans in motion.’

  Despite his misgivings about what he was hearing, Arjun couldn’t help but feel a chill creep up his spine and enter his heart.

  ‘But why is he after us?’ he asked plaintively.

  Chapter Thirty

  More Revelations

  The Agra-Gwalior Highway

  Madhya Pradesh

  The car had just passed through the ravines of Central India, made notorious by the dacoits who had infested this region until just a few decades ago. Now peaceful, the ravines still looked ominous and threatening. Maya could just imagine the terror that the bandits would have once struck into the hearts of the villagers who lived in the region.

  ‘So what does Shukra want?’ Maya asked, looking away from the ravines and focusing on the answers that she wanted. ‘Why did he kill my father?’

  Tiwari looked at her, surprised.

  Maya nodded, her lips c
ompressed, trying to suppress her anguish. ‘Yes, Ratan, I know. You don’t have to keep it from me. My father is dead. I don’t have evidence, but I feel it. Shukra murdered my father. I want to know why.’

  ‘You know who Shukra is,’ Tiwari told her, ‘you just don’t realize it yet. You’ve read quite a few ancient texts. Remember Shukracharya, the son of Bhrigu?’

  Maya’s eyes widened at this revelation. ‘You can’t be serious.’ She stared at Tiwari in disbelief. His face was grim. Its usual cheeriness seemed to have drained away, replaced by a granite gloom that told her that, not only was he dead serious, but also that he was worried.

  She sat back, trying to sort out her thoughts, which seemed caught in a whirlwind.

  How was what Tiwari was saying even possible? The Shukracharya of Vedic tradition had lived thousands of years ago! He was just a character in stories that she had read in the Mahabharata and other ancient Sanskrit texts that her father had shared with her.

  ‘You’re right,’ Tiwari affirmed, reading her thoughts. ‘Shukra is indeed a character from those texts of thousands of years ago. But while many stories in the Vedas, Puranas and the epics may be allegorical in nature or have spiritual underpinnings, surely you didn’t believe that there was absolutely no basis for them? That they were pure fiction? Did the possibility never cross your mind that some of the characters may have actually existed?’

  Maya admitted that she had wondered as much, several times. ‘But how can he still be alive today if he is the Shukracharya written about so many years ago?’ she was still incredulous.

  ‘He is a yogi,’ Tiwari explained. ‘A very powerful yogi. A Rishi of one of the highest orders. Remember, he is the grandson of Brahma himself.’

  ‘I know,’ Maya replied. ‘I’ve read about the creation of Bhrigu, Shukra’s father.’

  ‘Just think about it then, and you’ll realize that you knew it all along. You just never stopped to think about it, forget about accepting the reality of it.’

  Against her will, her mind recalled the scene she had witnessed on stepping out of her room. Her father, floating in the air, struggling to communicate with her against the invisible grip that Shukra seemed to have over him.