Harappa - Curse of the Blood River

by Vineet Bajpai

  Everyone was now listening intently to Balwanta, with the sudden realization that the Dev-Raakshasa matth was over 1,600 years old.

  ‘We have fought wars that are not even recorded in history. These guns and swords are our last line of defense against a conspiracy encircling us at a scale that is unimaginable. You see Vidyut, we are all alone.’

  ‘What conspiracy, dada? What do you mean alone?’ asked Vidyut, a bit perturbed at Balwanta’s last statement.

  ‘Let your Baba tell you about it, Vidyut. He would know best how to initiate you into this surreptitious reality.’

  Vidyut nodded. He desperately needed another audience with the great Dwarka Shastri. Much was to be learned. Much seemed to be at stake.

  In the ring Balwanta sat to the immediate left of Vidyut. There was Sonu, devoted unquestionably to this scion of the Shastri and Pujari bloodline. Naina sat to the right of Vidyut, with her shoulders intermittently rubbing against his. There was Govardhan, adding maturity and experience to the group. The only new and external entrant into the bunch was Bala, Vidyut’s trusted friend. He had flown-in from Delhi at a four-hour notice earlier that morning.

  ‘So what’s the plan, Video?’ enquired Bala looking at Vidyut.

  The others in the huddle were quite delighted to see the warm irreverence Bala had in his tone as he addressed Vidyut like a buddy. They were convinced very quickly that the two were dearest of friends.

  ‘I’m going to find and kill that bastard’, replied Vidyut even as he inspected a neat Walther PPK automatic pistol.

  ‘Whoa…whoa…sure we will find him, Vids. And we will make him pay. But what’s with this kill him etc, buddy?’ said Bala. ‘We are not in 1,700 BCE anymore, bro.’

  Vidyut grinned in a tired manner. ‘Ya ya…I know, Bala. You know what I mean, man.’

  ‘Of course we kill,’ interrupted Balwanta in broken English. He looked angry and perplexed at this indecisive discussion around whether or not to kill the enemy. As far as he knew, the only way ahead was to deal in body bags.

  Bala now took closer notice of the Neanderthal looking character sitting across him, with short-swords resting on both sides. He burst into a laugh, riddled with disbelief at this strange looking man’s complete disregard for the law of the land.

  ‘Balwinder Sir…murder is illegal, sir’, said Bala in a jovial and typical Dilli-wala tone so as to not offend the cave man. He failed miserably.

  Balwanta was seething with anger at Bala taking his name wrongly, when Sonu intervened with a loud laugh and corrected the ex-military veteran, ‘Not Balwinder, Bala brother…our commander-in-chief is called Balwanta’.

  ‘Balwanta…Balwinder…same thing…kyun, Sir?’ Bala winked at Balwanta, pressing on with the teasing.

  Everyone laughed, with Vidyut putting his hand on Balwanta’s knee, calming down the warrior chief. Naina rested her head for a moment on Vidyut’s shoulder even as she broke into a beautiful laughter that turned her face red. Balwanta had already started disliking Bala. Bala on the other hand had developed great interest in this creature that was ready to kill for Vidyut.

  Vidyut picked up a cup of tea from the matth’s canteen and walked up to the second floor terrace. He lit a cigarette and took a sip of the cinnamon flavored, fragrant tea. The dusty, bustling town of old Varanasi spread out in front of him, with thousands of small jointed homes and temples in a continuous crisscross of lanes. Even as he took the first long drag from his Marlboro, someone flicked the cigarette off his lips. He turned to see the gorgeous Naina standing right next to him, taking a deep puff from his cigarette. Even before she completed the deep drag, she turned to him and winked naughtily. Vidyut gave her a scowl of protest. Deep down he was delighted to see her. At the same moment he remembered Damini. He quickly shrug off the magnetic attraction he was feeling towards Naina.

  Naina took out the cigarette from her lips, her mild lipstick leaving a clear impression on the stub. Without permission, without hesitation she put the cigarette between Vidyut’s lips. She didn’t leave it there. She didn’t turn to Vidyut. She expected him to take a pull at the cigarette while it was still in her fingers. It was a strange yet extremely effective way for her to show two things. One, that she felt great physical comfort with Vidyut. And two, that she did not need his permission.

  ‘Didn’t know you smoked, Naina,’ said Vidyut after taking a long drag from the cigarette in her fingers.

  ‘What do you know about me, Vidyut?’ she quickly responded with her eyebrows raised. She looked stunning. And annoyed.

  Vidyut just laughed, embarrassed at her question. She was right. He had not kept in touch despite them being best of friends in their early childhood. He realized she was prettier than anyone he had ever seen. The breeze on the terrace made a lock of hair flutter over her beautiful face. Her eyes seemed moist all the time, even when she laughed. That gave her an inexplicable look of vulnerability. Vidyut knew Naina lost her parents in childhood, and that she was a brilliant scholar and martial artist. But here, at this time, she was just a beautiful girl he could not help but admire more than he wanted to.

  ‘No really, Vidyut, how could you do this to me? I wrote perhaps a hundred letters to you without a single reply. I have been waiting for you for years, yaa. Not one phone call? Not one short note?’ Naina was now staring into Vidyut’s eyes with a complaining and demanding expression.

  ‘Well don’t blame me, Naina. You see the girls in Delhi were so fashionable. And you…you were a little plump, if I may say?!’ said Vidyut, now mischievously pulling Naina’s leg. He didn’t know what else to say anyway.

  ‘You cheapo, you…!’ exclaimed Naina in a display of artificial anger and landed a few soft punches on Vidyut’s muscular arm as her sign of protest. Her soft green dupatta (stole) slipped off her shoulder in the process, but she didn’t care. She didn’t seem to notice. But Vidyut did. Naina only looked prettier without the dupatta around her. Her dangling jade earrings were now accentuating the feminine attraction of her unusually lovely face and her long, slender neck made her look like the perfect storybook girl-next-door. While she was in her early-thirties just like Vidyut, this gorgeous, teasing and vivacious girl from Kashi looked nothing more than nineteen.

  Vidyut was now laughing fully and hopping around the terrace to escape the volley of the playful fists Naina was landing on him. Naina chased him around amidst peels of laughter, just like she did when they were children. Only that this time around there was clearly more amorous chemistry between them, despite Vidyut’s repeated yet ineffective attempts against it.

  ‘Okay stop, enough!’ said Vidyut, still laughing and panting as a result of the friendly pursuit.

  They both paused the chase, and rested with their hands on their knees, catching their breath and laughing like old friends.

  ‘Okay then say you’re sorry!’ demanded Naina, panting heavily, which made her look more desirable than ever. Her face was flushed red after the entire running around. She was laughing along with Vidyut, but appeared strangely emotional. All this was not a game for her.

  ‘Yes, yes…I’m sorry yaa! I’m sorry, Nainu…’ said Vidyut, folding his hands in full surrender. He did not realize he had called her Nainu - a name that he lovingly used for her many many years ago.

  Naina froze. This name was more special to her than she could ever tell anyone. This was her name when she was alone. This was what she called herself while speaking to herself in the mirror. She tilted her head slightly, and looked at Vidyut’s eyes as if imploring him for his love.

  ‘And say that you will never leave me alone again?’ she now whispered softly, her laugh slowly transforming into a plea, smiling and crying all at once.

  Vidyut was dumbfounded for a moment or two. On one hand all he wanted to do was to take this girl meant for love into his arms. On the other he knew he was spoken for. Damini was the love of his life.

  He said after a few seconds of pause, ‘Naina…my dear Naina…much as I care for…’ />
  ‘Shhhh…’ Naina suddenly put her soft and slender fingers on Vidyut’s lips.

  ‘Not Naina, Vidyut. Call me what you just did’, she moved closer to him and whispered into his ears. She was looking into his eyes enquiringly, as her cheek brushed against Vidyut’s, and her slightly open mouth touched Vidyut’s lips for a split second.

  Vidyut could feel her tender and fragrant breath on his face. He could see her yearning eyes ready to break into passionate tears.

  Even before he could say anything, Naina stepped forward boldly, flung her arms around Vidyut and pressed her lips thirstily against his.

  Harappa, 1700 BCE

  SIN LIKE A HUMAN. REPENT LIKE A GOD.

  Vivasvan Pujari was riding his stead faster than ever before. He was angry, both at himself as well as at the circumstances. It was the first time in his life that he had struck a woman, and he was not ready to pardon himself for this deplorable deed. In a fit of rage he had momentarily forgotten his own strength. A slap from the devta was too punishing for the delicate Nayantara. She had fallen on the floor with a painful cry, her lower lip bleeding profusely.

  Next to Vivasvan rode his brilliant son Manu. He was a bit worried for his illustrious father. Along with the servants of Nayantara’s mansion and several of his own bodyguard, Manu had seen his father stomping out of Nayantara’s private chambers in a visible state of fury. Moments before that everyone in the reception hall and at the entrance of Nayantara’s palace had heard a loud clap, followed by her short cry, as if she were in excruciating pain. Vivasvan Pujari had walked out of the reception hall, mounted his horse, and without a word rode out of the mansion courtyard. His son and cavalry had followed him. Not one of them had failed to notice the stains of blood on Vivasvan Pujari’s snow-white robes.

  ‘The devta answers only to the Saptarishi and no one else,’ said Manu sternly to the red-hooded head-soldier. He could sense his own temper rising, but Manu was not one to react violently. He maintained his composure despite the unspeakable humiliation he and his family were being subjected to.

  ‘My lord, I am but a humble soldier under the command of the priestly council. I am here only to do my duty,’ replied the head-soldier with a respectful bow. He knew he stood on hallowed ground, the residence of the mighty Vivasvan Pujari. But he also appeared to be vilely intoxicated with what Manu assumed was nouveau empowerment. There was something amiss in his overly respectful demeanor.

  The turn of events was more rapid than the venerated Pujari family could grasp. Within a few minutes of Vivasvan Pujari and Manu reaching home, almost a whole garrison of heavily armed Harappan soldiers had arrived at their doorstep, their red turbans fluttering in the breeze. Something that was unthinkable till only hours ago was unfolding itself like a carefully drawn game plan. How time alters even the loftiest fortunes in a matter of moments was once again to be witnessed. The soldiers carried an arrest warrant for the most powerful and revered man in all of Aryavarta. They had been ordered to take into custody none other than the devta himself!

  Vivasvan Pujari had barely sat down for his daily incantations, when Sanjna disturbed him with a mild clearing of her throat. In an instant Vivasvan opened his eyes, his senses tingling with unfamiliar human anxiety. In over thirty years of wedlock, Sanjna had never once interrupted her husband’s daily penance. She was well aware that much of the devta’s indescribable powers found their source in the deep recesses of his advanced Vedic meditation and practices. It endowed him with profound wisdom, boundless strength and spiritual supremacy over ordinary mortals. But most of all, it enriched his very soul with deep compassion and humility. He was the only chosen and direct disciple of the great Saptarishi. In fact, for years many in Harappa and even in neighboring Mohenjo-daro believed just what the Saptarishi had promised Vivasvan the previous morning - that Vivasvan Pujari would one day join the celestial ranks of the mighty Seven Sages. And that they would together bless this world as the Eight children of the loving Saraswati, the Eight Sages – the Ashtarishi.

  But that was not to be. What cosmic destiny has in store, none can foresee.

  Let alone becoming one of them, within one cycle of the moon this devta was going to wipe out the very existence of the Saptarishi, the sacred sages he considered to be the protectors of Harappa and his own divine guardians, from the face of planet Earth.

  The succession of horrors and violence that Harappa was about to withstand had never been witnessed before by mankind, but hereon would be endured again and again. Each time man would shed the blood of innocents to quench the unquenchable thirst of one demon. Every era would hear the shrieks of suffering millions, only to satisfy the insatiable hunger of one tyrant who wanted it all for himself. And it was going to begin soon. First when an island’s deca-polar demon-king would be vanquished by an avatar of the Lord Himself; then in an epic battle between first cousins for a throne that would be won only after it is drenched in the blood of an entire generation; then in the form of a black plague that would ravage all of known Earth in its wake; then in the central-Earth battle between followers of the fair Shepherd and the worshippers of the divine Prophet who rode into the sky; then in a four-year war that would claim the whole world; to the world battle that would end with the Sun exploding in the very land it rose every morning. And yet, it would not end. The bloodshed would never end.

  It was all going to begin with the falling of the great devta Vivasvan Pujari. Whether he was chosen to be the cause of planet Earth’s darkest curse, or just a medium for Creation to assert itself yet again, even eternity would never know. The universe was going to test him beyond his endurance. And he would fail. He would unleash his deadly wrath on not just his enemies, not just all of Harappa, but also upon anyone and everyone who came in the way - including the Seven Sages from the mountains. But anger is the darkest poison. What he forgot completely during this spell of blind rage was that an act against the Saptarishi - was a declaration of war on the Gods themselves!

  But then again, the blackest of depravity and the whitest of goodness, both reside in the same heart, suppressed or bolstered at the behest of the soul. Much as he was destined to preside over the destruction of the great Seven Sages, it was none other than Vivasvan Pujari himself that was going to make the Saptarishi immortal. He was going to make them shine like stars in the night sky till the end of time.

  This devta was going to sin like a human. And repent like a God.

  Banaras, 2017

  MANKIND’S GREATEST UNTRUTH – PART II

  Vidyut was relieved to be sitting next to Dwarka Shastri again. More than twenty-four hours had passed since the grandmaster had sensed the presence of an alien object in Vidyut’s pocket, and the meeting between great grandfather and grandson had been disrupted. A lot had happened in this time, with Balwanta, with Bala…and with Naina.

  ‘The truth is never sold and marketed like lies are, Vidyut. The truth is what gets subdued the most, buried the deepest,’ began Dwarka Shastri.

  ‘I know it is hard for you to forget and unlearn what has been systematically fed into you by your modern-day schools and books that find inspiration for their content from European or western influences. So before we proceed, let’s consider the following important questions about the discovery and subsequent history of Harappa –

  ‘When did the Harappan civilization exist and when was it discovered?

  ‘Who discovered it?

  ‘What was it originally called?

  ‘What happened there several decades before its officially recorded discovery?

  ‘And most importantly, what happened after it?’

  Vidyut was listening intently. He was delighted to see words flowing from his ailing great grandfather at a rapid and sharp pace. There was so much to be learnt, and Vidyut knew that time was ticking away.

  ‘Baba, I am not a scholar in this field. But I do know that a British officer discovered the Harappa site in 1921. I think his name was Sir John Hubert Marshall. Other sites like
Mohenjo-daro were excavated over the next few years…by 1931, if I’m not wrong.’

  Dwarka Shastri was impressed with Vidyut’s fundamental knowledge about this nearly forgotten chapter of history. He couldn’t help but chuckle nonetheless.

  ‘What happened, Baba? Did I say something that is not correct?’ enquired Vidyut.

  ‘No no…you are absolutely right,’ responded Dwarka Shastri. ‘Now tell me, what else do you know, or should I say, what else have you been taught about what you call the Indus Valley Civilization? Tell me everything.’

  Vidyut felt embarrassed. Despite being an exceedingly wellread man, he didn’t really know too much about Harappa -definitely not enough to have a long discussion with a master like his grand old man. He concentrated hard and gathered everything he could recall from memory.

  ‘Like I said, Baba, I am not very conversant with this topic. But I will try and recollect whatever little I know, and share it with you.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Dwarka Shastri with uncharacteristic patience.

  ‘Harappa is believed to be a civilization that thrived in the Indus Valley region, a large part of which is now in Pakistan. The civilization was at its peak during 2600 to 1700 BCE and is considered to be from the Bronze Age. Harappa and Mohenjo-daro are perhaps the most popular among the sites excavated, although over 1,000 such locations were discovered. Some of the other well-known settlements from that era are Dholavira and Rakhigarhi, both these being in modern India.’

  Dwarka Shastri was smiling. He always knew Vidyut was no ordinary fellow from a big and heartless city. But he was now admiring his great grandson’s knowledge about something as unconventional and obscure as Harappa, especially for an information technology entrepreneur from New Delhi.