Harappa - Curse of the Blood River

by Vineet Bajpai

  Chandradhar did not want to delay the bad news. He spoke simply and clearly.

  ‘Gentlemen, within one cycle of the moon, Harappa will fall. Never to rise again.’

  Banaras, 2017

  ‘I’M HALF-HUMAN, HALF-GOD.’

  ‘What is the matter, Purohit ji?’ enquired Vidyut.

  Purohit ji looked at Govardhan, the monastery’s physician and chemist.

  ‘Mercury fulminate,’ said Govardhan.

  While Vidyut ran a cyber security company, he was well aware of what that was. But he kept quiet.

  ‘It is used in hand-grenades and other forms of friction-based explosives.’

  The three of them exchanged uncertain glances.

  Govardhan continued.

  ‘They are trying to kill you, Vidyut.’

  Dwarka Shastri’s alarm had resulted in the matth unleashing hard defense measures of every kind. After all they had been preparing for this day for hundreds of years. The ‘object’ that Vidyut accepted from the stranger at the ghaat, was subjected to scrutiny of all kinds. Govardhan and his team carefully disassembled the flip-top lighter and studied its contents scientifically. On the other hand, Pujari ji and his team performed a dhaatu-pareeksha (metal-examination) using an ancient occult practice to identify the presence of evil in a substance. Both examinations delivered the same result.

  The raakshasa cult had arrived. And they wanted to kill Vidyut…at any cost.

  ‘The mercury fulminate would have exploded in your face if you had used it only three or four times more Vidyut,’ announced Govardhan in the sabha (conference) hall of the Dev-Raakshasa Matth.

  The great Dwarka Shastri presided over the meeting. His condition had not improved, but he outright refused to visit a hospital. His heavy and labored breathing could be heard across the hall. His fingers clasped a small bundle of herbs tied into a cloth, that the matthadheesh inhaled into every now and then. The bundle held a mixture of ayurvedic extracts trusted with longevity and palliative properties.

  Govardhan had drawn a simple yet clear diagram on the whiteboard at one end of the hall. It depicted the internal mechanism of the flip-top device.

  ‘Mercury fulminate is very sensitive to friction. This cigarette lighter operates on the principle of mechanics - heat being generated by the strong friction that is caused between two metallic, heavily ribbed surfaces.’

  By now everyone had fully understood this simple yet lethal modus operandi of the enemy. Govardhan delivered the final message nevertheless.

  ‘This device is packed with so much mercury fulminate, that it would blow-up the head of a man to smithereens even if he was wearing a driving helmet.’

  There was silence in the hall. Balwanta stood with his eyes still bloodshot. He seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the floor with his intense gaze. In his mind he knew he was on the verge of playing a decisive role in the final God-demon war of planet Earth.

  Sonu was breathing heavily, rage overtaking his face and body language. He pounded the base of his trident gently but repeatedly on the ground, as if preparing for a full-out battle.

  Purohit ji was in an intense state of calm and calculation. His eyes appeared like those of a yogi in trance. His clenched teeth and pulsating temple gave him the appearance of a war-veteran preparing for a major offensive.

  Naina, who was representing and leading the very important and very revered women-folk of the matth, looked worried and ready to burst into tears. It was very unlike her to display this vulnerability. She liked to show she was as strong as Balwanta himself. She probably was. But here it was Vidyut under question.

  Dwarka Shastri was tired, very sick, with his mortal body pleading for release. For three quarters of a century he had led all the earthly and otherworldly battles of the matth. But now his awaited successor had arrived, to lead them in the greatest war of all times. He simply turned and called out to his grandson in a loud, rusty voice.

  ‘Vidyuuuuut!’ The grandmaster’s voice reverberated across the hall.

  Vidyut stood up and folded his hands as a gesture of respect to his Baba.

  ‘Utthishtha!’ thundered the grand matthadheesh throwing both his arms up in the air above his shoulders. What he said in Sanskrit meant one single word.

  Rise.

  He was beckoning his great grandson to answer his calling.

  He was urging the devta in Vidyut to show himself.

  Vidyut stood facing the righteous and powerful gathering of Hindu monks and priestesses. He could see their eyes and faces filled with hope and expectation. He could sense their indescribable and probably undeserved devotion to him. He knew that the hour of meaning that he had always searched for his entire life, was here and now.

  ‘My veins carry the blood of my great ancestor Vivasvan Pujari,’ began Vidyut. ‘Your Vidyut is the son of the legendary warrior-monk Kartikeya Shastri and my divine mother Pooja. I have the privilege of being the great grandson of the mighty Dwarka Shastri. My soul enjoys the blessings of all of you, and of every ancestor and matth elder for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. While I am still unaware of the full ancient tale behind this impending dev-raakshasa conflict, I promise you this…’

  The men and women sitting in the sabha were now glued to Vidyut and every word this divine man was uttering. Their moist eyes made them believe they could see a faint halo around Vidyut’s persona. They could see he was the true bloodline of the mythical Vivasvan Pujari. It was crystal clear that Vidyut was the awaited savior. They now knew he was the promised last devta.

  Vidyut continued in an emotional, lofty yet humble tone.

  ‘I will punish the man who tried to kill me. And I will stop anyone and everyone who tries to harm me, or anyone from this great institution. For now I know one thing for sure, my dear well-wishers.’

  The audience was listening in rapt attention. Dwarka Shastri was hearing every word like it was a balm on his troubled soul. He could see his great grandson coming of age. He could see Vidyut finding himself. He could now allow his soul to liberate itself from his mortal body and duties.

  Vidyut made his concluding statement.

  ‘My revered fraternity, know this – I am half-human, half-God.’

  Harappa, 1700 BCE

  MOUNTAINS OF BRICK AND BRONZE

  The priestly council reassembled after a short break of dry fruit and saffron milk. Each one of them had to come to terms with what Pundit Chandradhar had prophesied. All of them were capable astrologers themselves, and they used these minutes to verify and re-verify the prediction. It was absolutely correct. The planetary configuration was darker than anyone of them had ever imagined. The chances of such juxtaposition were one in a million, but it was happening. As per Vedic astrology, this was the perfect storm. There was no way Harappa, the five thousand year old civilization, was going to survive more than thirty days.

  ‘We must abandon the city and flee while there is time,’ said one of the engineers. His words were greeted with nods of agreement across the grand meeting room of the priestly council. Several of the Harappan luminaries in their flowing robes sat around the gigantic wooden table spanning across the length of the room. The others stood around it in groups of twos and threes. The setting appeared not very different from what a prehistoric Senatus Romanus would have looked like.

  ‘We could travel eastwards. The horses, bull-carts and elephants can be used for the women, children and the disabled, while everyone else can travel on foot,’ suggested one of the council members.

  Yes! Yes…came the response from the congregation in the room.

  ‘The escape must begin at sunrise. We could leave the prisoners of the mrit kaaraavaas (dungeons of the dead) behind,’ said another. ‘Let their sins be washed in the deluge.’

  ‘Yes…yes…let’s warn our families and pack our valuables,’ came several suggestions in favor of the exodus. The room soon became chaotic with the noises and animated chatter of the accomplished people in it. One could hardly hear what
was being said in the commotion.

  THWAAAACK!

  A loud and tearing thud startled everyone into silence. They then saw the mighty devta Vivasvan Pujari leaning over his large gleaming dagger that he had dug on top of the center table, his hand still grabbing hold of the blue lapis lazuli handle of the blade. His muscular frame stretched across from where he stood to where the dagger had found its mark. He eyes were surveying the assembly from face to face in evident disgust.

  ‘What is the matter with all of you?!’ yelled the devta authoritatively.

  ‘We are the mighty Harappans! We are rulers of entire Aryavarta! We are the writers of the profound Vedas, the riders of the great ashvas and the founders of advanced metallurgy. Are we going to run away like cowards just because we are faced with an adversity??’ thundered Vivasvan Pujari, his powerful voice echoing across the tall ceilings of the hall.

  No one had the courage to respond, let alone counter the devta. They remained silent. Vivasvan Pujari could make out his fellowmen were more intimidated than convinced. He immediately pulled out his dagger and put it back into its leather scabbard. He stood straight up and spoke in a low yet emphatic tone.

  ‘We have built a civilization more painstakingly than our descendants would ever believe. Each one of us has bled and sacrificed for this great nation. Would history believe that we tore out metals like copper and bronze from the very heart of the land? Would they credit us for building the most advanced cities of this planet? Would anyone remember that it was we, the Harappans, who could pump water even against the pull of the Earth? And will we leave all this glory and run like mice just because a river challenges us??’

  There was silence in the room. The council members, the priests, the engineers and the military commanders, were all listening intently. Vivasvan Pujari continued.

  ‘We are together the most powerful force on the planet. We have soldiers, engineers, astrologers, metallurgists, physicians, alchemists, architects and more. What can we not achieve together? Maybe this is a test. Maybe the Gods want us to show them that we are worthy of their benevolence!’

  ‘What the Gods want is clear from the panchaanng and the nakshatras Vivasvan,’ said one of the high priests. ‘You know this better than I do my friend, my leader…this planetary formation is unprecedented. It is screaming out death and destruction.’

  ‘Be that as it may, my friend, I believe we can prevent this calamity. Or stand in its way and fight! The collective will of our people can endure more onslaughts than the ranges of the Hindukush.’

  Vivasvan Pujari looked around the room again. He was disappointed to see drooping shoulders and unsure eyes. He felt as if he was standing amidst strangers. He had never seen such timidity and escapism in the brilliant and fierce leaders of Harappa. Were these the people he believed to be the finest on Earth? Were these the people he had appointed as the priest-leaders and guardians of his beloved city?

  ‘Do you have a plan, Vivasvan?’

  Vivasvan Pujari turned with delight to see his friend and partner Chandradhar finally participating in the debate. He was relieved.

  ‘Do you have a plan?’ repeated Pundit Chandradhar as he made his way to the center of the assembly.

  ‘Yes I do, Chandradhar,’ replied the devta. ‘As long as I have the support of this esteemed gathering.’

  Chandradhar smiled. He looked like he was saying ‘You stubborn idiot!’ to his devta friend. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘Tell us what you have in mind, O great devta. You have been our savior numerous times in the past. You are the Surya of Harappa. We have no reason or stature to question your fine judgment,’ said Chandradhar with a respectful bow and a great amount of officiousness. He meant every word. He wanted to remind everyone in the gathering who they were speaking to. Vivasvan Pujari had pulled off impossible victories from the claws of defeat on more occasions than he could count. Chandradhar was not going to let them forget their debt to the devta.

  ‘Thank you, Pundit Chandradhar - my friend and my able partner,’ replied Vivasvan with equal formality. ‘I do have a plan. It will sound ridiculous at first, but I promise you I will make it work.’

  ‘But this is absurd Vivasvan!’ exclaimed Chandradhar. The other people in the room could not believe the audacity of the plan Vivasvan Pujari had suggested, and there were cries and moans of disagreement across the hall.

  ‘It may sound absurd, Chandra, but this is the only option we have. And tell me, why can’t our engineers and architects, who have built sprawling cities and modern towns, build these structures?’

  Chandradhar didn’t know what to say. On one end he was trying to grasp what Vivasvan was proposing. On the other he could see people in the room exchanging mocking glances and silent snickers. He continued the discussion nevertheless.

  ‘So tell me again, what exactly do you want to build?’ he asked.

  ‘How and why do rivers change their course gentlemen?’ Vivasvan replied with a question directed to everyone in the gathering. ‘It is great mountains or giant rocks that force even powerful rivers to divert the direction of flow. Moreover, if water from a stream can be filled into a bucket by placing it at the right place and at the right angle, then water from a river can also be collected in a giant reservoir. The science is the same. The scale is different.’

  There were more groans and grumbles of disbelief in the room.

  ‘Today you say you will halt the flow of water. Tomorrow you will say crafts made of metal will fly in the sky!’ one of the senior engineers shouted scornfully, hiding his face so as to not offend the devta.

  ‘If the course of a river can be changed, then probably wind will also be harnessed one day to light up villages!’ another voice came. It was followed by subdued laughter.

  Vivasvan Pujari was unfazed. He knew he could save Harappa, irrespective of the new-found cowardice and skepticism of his colleagues. He, however, couldn’t help but notice that some of the engineers and army commanders in the room were new faces. He also observed strange and unexpected insolence in the demeanor of some of the attendees he knew for long, something no one could dare show in front of the devta himself. But he ignored all of it. There was a mountain of a task ahead. Literally. He would deal with them for their misbehavior later. It was this clarity of thought and priority that made the devta who he was.

  ‘We will build mountains of brick and bronze, and change the course of the mighty Saraswati!’ concluded Vivasvan Pujari.

  There was stunned silence in the room. Chandradhar and Somdutt were amazed at both the ambition as well as the simplicity of the proposed plan. Little did they know then, that the devta had just drawn out the blueprint for the planet’s first river dam.

  ‘I need a thousand horses, two hundred elephants, four thousand men and the entire supply of bronze, brick, wood, copper and rope till this undertaking is complete. I will lead this project myself and will camp on the riverbank. If Sara Maa chooses to swallow her children again, I will be the first at her altar.’ The devta did not believe in half measures. He also forgot momentarily that the cosmos is always listening.

  There were murmurs in the room. The plan that Vivasvan Pujari had proposed was hard to reject. But it was equally outrageous to accept and implement.

  After a few minutes of deliberation Pundit Chandradhar stood up from his wooden stump seat. He raised both his hands in a plea for silence. It was only after a couple of minutes of cajoling that he could command the silence and attention he wanted. Harappa’s otherwise able and dignified leadership was behaving uncharacteristically uncouth today. Something was not right about any of this.

  ‘My brothers and friends,’ said Chandradhar, ‘devta Vivasvan Pujari has rescued us from the darkest of hours, not once but many times. Do we forget it was he who defeated the warlord Sura’s armies and rode back to Harappa with the first five thousand ashvas? Do we not remember that he subjected himself to the forces of the netherworld and co-authored the often-frightening Atharva Veda
, when none of us could withstand the dark occult rituals? I clearly remember when he fought twelve of Sura’s ace swordsmen alone on the ghaats of Kashi and crushed them singlehandedly. He did that to save me…’

  Reminiscing about Vivasvan Pujari’s contributions and achievements made Chandradhar emotional for a few moments. He pressed his chin against his chest to hold back the tears. He then raised his head and announced with deep conviction and influence.

  ‘If the devta says we will build mountains, we will! If he says we can change the course of the mother river, we can! Friends and brothers, we will build mountains of brick and bronze!’

  ‘It will be done, my lady. The dancing girl shall be made to rest pinned to her great bed as soon as the devta leaves her private quarters. And yes, all cisterns of saffron milk were spiked with the concoction provided by the sickening swines, Sha, Gun & Ap. Yes, all the council members, engineers and commanders were affected.’

  This was the vile progress report Ranga whispered into the meticulously carved grill of the regal Priyamvada’s secret chamber. She stood listening even as the purple and red skies threw distorted and ugly shadows on her hidden face. To a common observer Ranga appeared as if worshipping the idol of a goddess at a dilapidated temple. No one knew that the black soul of Priyamvada stood listening on the other side.

  As Ranga was about to take leave, his evil mistress murmured out her last commandment.

  ‘Make sure Ranga, what has happened to the priests and engineers today, should happen to all of Harappa starting tomorrow. Every well, every tank and every fountain of the city should be poisoned with the potent Mesopotamian salt of Sha, Gun & Ap!’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ responded Ranga. He was wondering what his mistress really wanted from the general populace of the city. He didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘In two days Harappa should be a city of zombies and madmen!’ hissed Priyamvada.