‘Who is it Sonu?’ enquired Vidyut a bit irritably.
Even before Sonu could respond, Dwarka Shastri kept his hand on Vidyut’s shoulder and spoke with an affectionate smile, ‘Go Vidyut. It is an important visitor.’ The great matthadheesh could sense every presence, every new vibe in the Dev-Raakshasa matth.
‘As you say Baba. But I will seek more time with you very soon,’ said Vidyut and touched his great grandfather’s feet. The old man mumbled a blessing, a blessing more powerful than any other on the planet.
‘Who is it, Sonu?’ Vidyut asked again. He was very amused to see that Sonu was shy of even telling him who it was. With his snickering young friend by his side, Vidyut strode out of the grandmaster’s cottage and began walking towards the reception area of the matth situated in the outer precincts. But he didn’t have to walk all that way. His visitor was standing at a distance in a walkway between the monastery’s gardens. Even after a reasonably long journey, Damini looked beautiful.
Harappa, 1700 BCE
THE PRINCESS OF MOHENJO-DARO
‘But I don’t want to be a king, you wicked wicked woman! How on Earth could you steal the holy seal?’ shouted Pundit Chandradhar, even as Priyamvada strolled out of the room. He was trembling with anger and emotional defeat. He was used to it.
Chandradhar was a fine soul. Perhaps among the finest the Earth had ever hosted. He was a priest, a warrior, an ascetic, a statesman, a scholar, a military general, an architect and a master astrologer. He had been in battle numerous times, and had defeated the mightiest of enemies. He had planned towns and built metropolitans. He had co-authored the constitution of Harappa and contributed to even the Vedas. After the devta Vivasvan Pujari, he was the most revered man across Aryavarta. Everyone loved Pundit Chandradhar. Everyone held him in great esteem.
Except for his wife. Priyamvada treated him no better than a slave. The bold and brilliant Chandradhar, who impressed and dominated the whole world, was nothing but a scared puppet at home. There is a hidden streak God grants women, which has the power to change the world. Whether that is for the better or for the worse, depends on the woman who yields that influence. It is a woman that is the progenitor of entire creation. Yet it is often a woman that has led to the bloodiest of wars. Man is but a conduit for the will of the woman.
Chandradhar did not know what to do. His wife had just confided everything in him, to his horror. The shav-saadhana of Gun, Ap and Sha, the evil possession of Nayantara, the fake summon, her brutal execution, the Mesopotamian alchemy and the poisoning of Harappa’s water sources. Chandradhar could not believe his ears. He could not believe someone could be so demonic in her intent and actions. He felt like a sinner and his heart was ready to explode. And when the thought of his sister Sanjna hit him, he crumbled down to his knees, sobbing and screaming with mental agony.
The husband and wife had had a turbulent wedded life. Chandradhar was a large-hearted, brilliant and able man. But he was so deeply in love with Priyamvada that all his wisdom and sense of propriety took a backseat when it came to her. She was an unbelievably beautiful woman, with a regal upbringing as the princess of Mohenjo-daro. While there were no kings in Harappa and its great ally city, the daughter of the Chief Priest of Mohejo-daro was known across Aryavarta as a princess. She behaved like one. She expected everyone to behave like she was one. The painful part, as Chandradhar would discover a few months into his marriage, was that despite being the revered Chief Priest’s daughter, she had the soul of a serpent. And what she considered to be a personal shortcoming would soon make her dark persona worse. She was a personification of hate, envy and greed. Moreover, deep down she was extremely violent and cruel. Never once pricked by even a pin herself, she did not think twice before inflicting inhuman pain on others. And yet Chandradhar was in her complete emotional captivity.
The rise of Vivasvan Pujari had always been a bone of contention between the husband and wife. Chandradhar knew Vivasvan Pujari was an extraordinary soul, a devta, whereas he was himself just a commonplace mortal. Priyamvada had not witnessed all the things he had. He had seen Vivasvan Pujari in battle and knew that no one untouched by divinity could combat like that. The devta had fought and defeated hundreds of armed tribesman of the west singlehandedly. He had fought dangerous beasts and once struck a massive horse along with its rider to the ground with one single blow. He could shoot an arrow and find his mark from miles away. He could slice through the trunk of an oak with one shot from his machete. But more than his physical superiority over every man on Earth, it was the devta’s spiritual power that bedazzled Chandradhar and made him Vivasvan Pujari’s devoted friend and follower.
While all of Harappa and especially its priests were sophisticated practitioners of Vedic meditation and ethos, no one came close to Vivasvan Pujari’s spiritual prowess. It was believed that the devta was the bloodline of the primordial Rishis who existed at the time of Creation. And Vivasvan lived up to this reputation. He had mastered all of the eight siddhis that existed. This achievement provided him with extraordinary resistance against fire, hunger, thirst, injury, alchemy, illness, gravity and exorcism. The devta was a master taantric who could use the craft for the betterment of the individual and the society. He could study the space-time continuum and had intuitive vision into the past and future. It was the intensity of his penance combined with the goodness of his heart that made the devta dear to even the profound Saptarishi.
After all of this, Chandradhar found it ridiculous that Priyamvada wanted him to compete with Vivasvan Pujari. She was blinded by her ambition to become the first woman of the metropolis. Why didn’t she understand? How can a human compete with a God? And he knew that even as a human, Vivasvan Pujari was the better man. By far.
Priyamvada was in her private chambers, bathing in milk and rosewater. The plight of Vivasvan Pujari’s family, the gruesome killing of Nayantara, the madness of thousands of Harappan men, women and children had no effect on the princess of Mohenjo-daro. She hummed her favorite gandharva (celestial musicians) tune as she enjoyed her luxurious bath with half a dozen maids at her service.
Chandradhar walked in unannounced. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath was heavy with rage. The maids immediately bowed out of the bath, leaving their mistress and master to their privacy.
‘What, Pundit Chandradhar? You don’t have to run into my bathing suite just because you want to see your poor little wife naked!’ teased Priyamvada, pretending to cover her breasts with her palms, ignoring the obvious fury on her husband’s face. She was a temptress par-excellence, and used her beauty and sensuality as potent weapons.
‘I am not going to let this happen. I am leaving now to rally physicians, ayurvedacharyas (Ayurvedic doctors) and alchemists from all the surrounding provinces. We will disinfect the waters first and then cure our people of this frenzy.’
Priyamvada was listening quietly to her husband. She had handled such rants many times before. Yes this one was exceptionally challenging, but she knew in the end she would have her way.
‘In parallel, I am going to summon an emergency meeting of the council, and get all the orders against my friend Vivasvan Pujari annulled. Let them punish me any way they like. I deserve every bit of it. You have shamed me like never before you wicked woman! Are you not scared that the heavens are watching?’
Priyamvada slowly got up and stepped out of the rose-milk with the grace of a mermaid. Stark naked with her skin glowing under the wetness of the fragrant immersion, she came closer to Chandradhar and started planting soft kisses on his neck and shoulders. She whispered into his ears, ‘Isn’t heaven here and now, my lord?’ Her hands slowly reached down to undo her husbands lower robe. Chandradhar grabbed her wrist, twisted it in an instant and pushed her away to the floor.
Okay, so that didn’t work, thought Priyamvada.
Banaras, 2017
DAMINI
Vidyut could not believe he was seeing Damini at the Dev-Raakshasa matth of all places in the world! She look
ed gorgeous in a white sleeveless vest tucked into her tight blue jeans. Her checked cotton shirt was tied around her waist. She wore black sunglasses, big round earrings and her beautiful brown hair was tied behind her head in a bun. Even in this casual clothing Damini looked smashing.
Vidyut could instantly figure out why Sonu was gushing with bashfulness. Damini’s outfit was a wee bit bold for the traditional matth clothing. He couldn’t care less. He was delighted to see her.
Damini shrieked with bubbling happiness as she saw Vidyut coming towards her. She dropped her backpack and ran towards her dashing boyfriend. The residents of the matth were pleasantly embarrassed when they saw Damini jump straight into Vidyut’s arms, her hands and legs wrapped around him. They were both laughing and in pure bliss. Young Sonu stood there mesmerized, observing the couple. Somewhere in his heart he wanted a girlfriend like Damini. What a life that would be! He immediately admonished himself for entertaining the thought even for a moment. Damini was the devta’s better half, and hence worthy of worship.
‘Hi babyyyyyy…’ shouted Damini in a shrill voice almost tearing through Vidyut’s eardrums. Vidyut laughed in sheer delight and kissed Damini twice on her cheeks. Even though they were meeting after only a couple of days’ gap, they were both somehow relieved to be in each other’s arms.
‘How on Earth…how did you find this place Damini? How did you know I was here?’ asked Vidyut as he gently eased Damini down from her high perch. He could sense that coy laughs and wide glares were being exchanged between the matth dwellers.
‘Well you know how resourceful I am, baby…I’m a journalist after all!’ replied Damini, melodramatically whistling at her fingernails. The brilliant and astute Damini found only one person with whom she could shed her intellectual skin and be the crazy girl she was deep down. It was Vidyut.
‘No seriously, how Damini? Bala wouldn’t tell you without asking me for sure,’ enquired Vidyut again, still wondering.
‘Oh come on yaa…don’t be such a silly boy. I called Rhea yaa…she told me you were in Varanasi.’
‘Arey, but even Rhea doesn’t know this place,’ said Vidyut.
‘Yes but she knows the cab company that sent you the taxi. And the cab company knows which driver was on duty for you that day. Simple!’ replied Damini, quite pleased with herself.
‘Paras Pandey!’ exclaimed Vidyut, fondly remembering the interesting fellow who drove him from the airport.
By this time Sonu had taken Damini’s bag. As he swung the bag around his shoulder, Damini noticed how desperately shy the young man was. She could also see the honesty on his face. She decided to tease him a bit.
‘Oh my God, you have really good-looking guys in this monastery, Vidyut,’ she said loudly, staring at Sonu with an expression of excessive admiration. Sonu couldn’t look at Damini in the eye, but his heart was pounding. ‘The girls in Delhi would go nuts meeting him yaa,’ Damini pressed on. The gruff and valiant Sonu, who had challenged even Vidyut at the great gate of the matth, was no better than an ecstatic puppy by now. He almost crumbled to the ground, so weak were his knees.
‘Okay that’s enough, Damini,’ intervened Vidyut with a laugh. ‘Sonu will make girls go nuts wherever he goes,’ he said putting his arm around his blushing friend. Damini pulled Sonu’s cheek affectionately. She had won not just Sonu over with her gregarious and loving self, but also everyone around who were watching.
Or almost everyone. Naina stood at the window of her room, her eyes ablaze, staring at what was happening.
Damini was a golden soul. Unfortunately, her purity and power of goodness was no match to the grotesque and dark forces at play in Kashi this hour.
As Vidyut and Sonu led Damini towards the guest quarters of the matth, Purohit ji greeted them on the way. Vidyut muttered ‘Purohit ji’ to Damini so that she knew who this revered person was. Vidyut immediately bent down to touch Purohit ji’s feet and receive his blessings. Damini felt that was her cue and followed suit.
‘No…no…please beta (child), girls don’t touch anyone’s feet,’ said Purohit ji, stopping Damini mid-way, affectionately but surely.
‘But why is that Purohit ji? If Vidyut can touch your feet and win your blessings, why shouldn’t I get the opportunity as well?’ asked Damini with a smile, softly and respectfully. Sonu and Purohit ji were both deeply impressed to see this sharp metropolitan girl, so willing to embrace their little nuances of tradition.
‘My blessings are always with you beta. But in Sanatana and Hindu dharma, women represent the Goddess Herself. And the Goddess bows to no one. We bow to Her,’ said the old priest.
‘That unmarried girls don’t touch anyone’s feet, not even their parents’, was something I knew Purohit ji,’ said Vidyut. ‘But then why are married women seen touching the feet of the elders?’
‘First of all Vidyut, there is no edict of any kind. Hindu dharma champions free will of the individual. Touching of feet is only symbolic. It simply represents affectionate deference to an elder. Quite like the westerners kiss hands. If a woman wants to touch the feet of elders, it is her choice. If she does not want to follow this tradition, it is absolutely her choice again. Isn’t this liberty and freedom of choice what makes our ancient dharma distinctive, Vidyut?’ asked Purohit ji with a proud smile.
‘For sure Purohit ji,’ Damini spoke politely. ‘But then why this differentiation between married and unmarried women? Why are married women advised to bow to elders, and not the unmarried ones?’
Purohit ji smiled and kept his hand on Damini’s head as a gesture of blessing. ‘Because with marriage comes responsibility and partnership, my dear. After marriage women are free to embrace this tradition as the inseparable halves of their husbands, just like they share all other duties. But then again, there is no compulsion. Like I said, our dharma places the woman on a much higher pedestal than man.’
‘How do you say that, Purohit ji? Aren’t women still exploited in the name of tradition?’ asked Damini. She was thrilled to have found someone she could fearlessly clarify her doubts with. Vidyut was enjoying the conversation. In fact he had started it purposefully. Damini was a devout Hindu at heart, but with firm views and objections about the many regressive so-called traditions. She couldn’t have met anyone better than the wise Purohit ji to allay her doubts.
Purohit ji had invited Damini to sit down on a bench next to the gardens. Sonu took Damini’s bag to the guest quarters to get everything ready for her stay. Vidyut stood and listened as Purohit ji and Damini sat on the bench and spoke with great affection and candidness.
‘Religion is a great cleanser beta, but it is also vulnerable to the dirt it aims to clean,’ spoke Purohit ji. ‘Tell me this – if you take a snow white muslin and use it to clean dirty vessels, what will happen to the cloth after some time?’
‘The cloth would become dirty, Purohit ji,’ replied Damini.
‘Exactly. Same is the case with dharma or religion. It is pious and spotless in its original form, but as years, decades and centuries pass, the dharma itself gets tarnished due to the vested interests of rogues who twist and misinterpret it in order to gain political or economic mileage. Exploitation of women in Hinduism is a preposterous distortion. Consider this, everything we hold dear in material or spiritual life, is worshipped as a Goddess, NOT as a God. Wealth is worshipped through Maa (Mother) Lakshmi. Valor through Maa Kaali. Nourishment through Maa Annapoorna and knowledge through Maa Saraswati. Why, even day to day blessings like wellness and courage are sought from Maa Seetla and Maa Durga respectively!’
Damini was listening very carefully. She knew a lot of what Purohit ji was explaining, but his conviction and integrity were impeccable. She could have this conversation for hours. Purohit ji too was now on song. He wanted Damini to grasp every nuance carefully.
‘This is not all Damini. Have you seen any other religion where God is considered to be incomplete without his better half? Probably not. It is only in Sanatana dharma that we worship Lord Ram ess
entially with his wife, Maa Sita by his side. We don’t worship Krishna without his beloved Radha or Lord Shiva without his consort Parvati. So how can anyone in his right senses say that Hinduism has anything but boundless respect and love for women?’
Damini was amazed at the clarity with which Purohit ji reminded her of the inherent fabric of equality in Hinduism. She knew about the Gods and Goddesses he had mentioned, but she had never fully appreciated what Purohit ji had just elucidated. She mentally ran through all of the other religions she could think of, and realised that a male God dominated almost all of them! Hinduism was the only refreshing change.
‘And don’t forget Damini, not only does Hindu dharma offer equality to its ladies, it also makes the men duty-bound to stand by their women and protect them. Lord Shiva entered his universally destructive taandava dance-form only to avenge the self-sacrifice of his devoted wife Sati. Lord Ram waged war against the demon-king Raavan only to rescue his beloved wife Sita. Damini beta, our dharma has the woman, the Goddess, the female form of Shakti (power) at its very core.’
Damini was touched. She realised she had been focusing more on what she was consuming as media stories and on the propaganda around her. She was unknowingly blaming it on the religion without really diving deep into its essence. She knew almost everything that Purohit ji had described, but she had never tried to assimilate and grasp it the way he put it. She was conveniently bashing this profound religion all this while, when it was perhaps a bastion of sanity in a world full of faiths based on conquest, forced-conversion and bloodshed.
Harappa - Curse of the Blood River Page 14
