Harappa - Curse of the Blood River

by Vineet Bajpai

  ‘Baba, I will listen to the rest of the tale upon my return. For now I have only one question – who is Romi Pereira and why does he want to kill me?’

  Dwarka Shastri nodded and replied, ‘Remember Vidyut, there is a very powerful force lurking in the dark that does not want the curse on mankind to end. The bloodied faultlines and manic killing suit its black and malicious design. We have been fighting this monster and protecting the secret for centuries across the land and beyond, from Harappa to Kashi to Goa, Calcutta, Delhi, Rome, Vatican, Syria and beyond. This dark force’s lust for power has transcended all frontiers of greed, and they want to use the name of God to establish what they call a New Order.’

  Vidyut was listening intently.

  ‘They have sent him,’ said the old matthadheesh. ‘Romi Pereira is just the first soldier from a whole legion of demons you will need to annihilate, Vidyut.’

  They had touched the grand old man’s feet and left his room. Damini was a bundle of mixed emotions. On one end she was delighted at having met and won the affection of Vidyut’s great grandfather, but on the other she was petrified at everything she had heard. The name Romi Pereira was driving her mad. Vidyut was her lifeline and she could not afford to lose him.

  Vidyut could sense Damini’s anxiety and put a reassuring arm around her. ‘I’ll take you to Sarnath tomorrow, my love,’ he said with a beaming grin. ‘I’ll show you where the Buddha gave his first sermons.’

  Damini stopped and turned towards her man. ‘You know I cannot live without you, Vidyut. Promise me that you will not let anything happen to you,’ she implored, ready to break into tears.

  Vidyut put his hands on her cheeks, looked into her eyes lovingly and said, ‘I promise, Damini. No harm will come to me. Don’t you remember, I am half-human, half-God.’

  Damini was back at her room and Balwanta was summoning fighters to the matth’s armory. Vidyut stole a moment and ran to Dwarka Shastri’s cottage, again.

  The grand old man was waiting, and had not moved an inch from where he sat before.

  ‘Pranaam, Baba. My apologies for running back in unannounced, but I felt there was something you wanted to tell me.’

  ‘Yes there is, Vidyut,’ replied the grandmaster gravely. ‘And it is this. Someone is going to betray you tonight, my son.’

  ‘I sense the presence of a black soul around you,’ continued Dwarka Shastri. ‘Romi is not alone.’

  Vidyut clenched his teeth. He could not help but think about the satellite phone in Naina’s hands. Who was she speaking to? He did not want to say anything to the grandmaster though. Naina had been raised at the Dev-Raakshasa matth since childhood, and was like family to Dwarka Shastri.

  ‘I will be careful, Baba. With your blessings on my side, no one can hurt me,’ said Vidyut.

  He touched his great grandfather’s feet again and took permission to leave. As he reached the door, he turned to ask his Baba one last question for the day.

  ‘Baba, I now understand why you said the statue of the Priest-King was me. It was originally Vivasvan Pujari’s I am sure. After over three thousand seven hundred years the great devta’s soul has taken rebirth as me, as your Vidyut. The same is with Damini. She is the reincarnation of the pious Sanjna. I see how karmic debts and bonds are interconnected over thousands of years. And I am blessed to be the chosen one.’

  Dwarka Shastri held back his tears, as he smiled at his great grandson. He had fought his entire life to guard the secret of the Black Temple, and had waited nearly three decades for Vidyut to come and take his rightful place. That day had finally arrived.

  ‘But Baba, if I am Vivasvan Pujari and Damini is Sanjna, who are you?’ asked Vidyut with a twinkle in his eyes.

  Dwarka Shastri grinned. After a moment he replied.

  ‘I am the last Saptarishi.’

  Harappa, 1700 BCE

  THE MIDNIGHT RAID

  ‘We must sack the prison tonight!’ said Manu, as he paced up and down the rocks around the bonfire that lit their camp for the night. They were now twenty miles away from Harappa’s city gates. The Sun banner, that represented Vivasvan Pujari, was fluttering in the dim glow of the fire.

  Upon his return from the mrit kaaraavaas, Somdutt and his men had managed to locate Manu, Sanjna and their handful of companions. The engineer’s own trusted soldiers, Manu, his nine companions and himself made all of thirty-six fighters. While he had promised Vivasvan Pujari a daylight rescue raid the next morning, Somdutt was not sure how it could be pulled off. Harappan soldiers, priests and people had become even more aggressive than the previous day. Vegetarians were chopping horses and eating raw meat. Mothers were intoxicating their own children with Somras. Temples were being used for gambling and prostitution. Granaries were being looted and havan-kundas were being desecrated. But worst of all, the givers of nourishment in the form of divine milk, the worshipped cows of Harappa were being slaughtered. Both Manu and Somdutt were convinced, that the end of the metropolis was near.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Manu,’ retorted Somdutt with the authority of a godfather. Much as he admired the boy, Somdutt could not put him at risk. He had met Manu’s divine father earlier that evening and had witnessed suffering and degeneration beyond description. He had sworn to protect Sanjna and Manu, even if it meant sacrificing his own life. How many people get to serve a living God anyway?

  ‘We can take them, uncle,’ replied Manu. ‘There are three hundred guards around the prison. They are all hallucinating. An assault under the cover of darkness will allow us to eliminate all of them. We have only a few hours left uncle. Permit us to attack!’ insisted Manu.

  Somdutt was intently sharpening his copper long-sword on a stone. He stopped, inspected the blade for a moment and kept it aside for later. It needed more work.

  ‘The security of the prison is far more impregnable than it looks. I agree the soldiers are drunk on whatever is making this city go mad, but I observed them closely this evening. The beastly aggression of the intoxicant more than makes up for the sluggishness it causes. They may be slow tonight, but they are free of fear and pain. You cannot defeat such troops, Manu. They are not human anymore. They are raakshasas.’

  ‘But, uncle…’ Manu tried to protest.

  ‘Enough, Manu,’ said a loud but graceful feminine voice. Sanjna had spoken from a corner of the bonfire camp. She was listening to the entire conversation and had decided to go with the opinion of her husband’s trusted friend. Somdutt was the last word she had received about the well being of her doting husband. She valued that above all else.

  ‘If brother Somdutt says we should attack only tomorrow, we must go by his wisdom,’ said Sanjna.

  Sanjna’s word was treated like the word of the devta, sometimes even more than that of his. She was a golden soul. Unfortunately, her purity and power of goodness was no match to the grotesque and dark forces at play in Harappa this hour.

  Manu sat down with a plate of rice in his hands. He was terribly tired and had been on horseback for over twenty hours. He needed this meal and a short rest to prepare him for the impending battle the next morning. He had to snatch away his beloved father from the clutches of the beastly Harappan soldiers.

  As he ate a mouthful of the freshly cooked rice, Manu winked boyishly at one of Somdutt’s soldiers sitting across the bonfire. The soldier grinned back, delighted at being greeted by the scion of the devta himself. Even before Manu could take his eyes off, a lethal arrow pierced right through the head of the smiling soldier. Within split seconds there was a rain of metal. Ranga was here with four hundred of his manic fighters growling and screaming like goblins. The camp of Manu and Somdutt was completely surrounded with the attackers shooting arrows from all sides.

  As more of Somdutt’s men fell, Manu and his nine companions moved into a battle-formation at the center of the camp, their backs towards each other in a huddle, shields up and bows ready. The ten of them were each facing the ten different directions that Vedic scriptures divide the space ar
ound into.

  The five girls among them shot a volley of arrows back at the raiders, while the five boys glided and spun shields so as to block every arrow and spear coming towards their formation. Each one of the five archers was unleashing four arrows at one time, nearly each arrow finding its mark. The ten fighters appeared to be one single organism, their battle moves choreographed to perfection. Ranga’s men fell by the dozens at this vigorous counterattack. This also gave time to Somdutt and his men to take striking positions.

  Manu and Somdutt knew that this battle of bows and arrows was soon going to give way to a close, face-to-face conflict with the enemy. Ranga’s men were closing in from all sides and despite the loss of scores of their men, they still outnumbered this small squad by one is to ten.

  Manu broke the formation and dashed towards the cluster of rocks where he noticed his mother hiding. Dodging the arrows and spears flying around, he leapt straight into the corner where Sanjna sat crouching.

  ‘I’m fine…I’m fine…go out there and fight,’ urged Sanjna as soon as Manu reached her.

  ‘I can’t leave you here, Maa,’ replied Manu. ‘I can’t let you get hurt!’

  ‘We will all get hurt if you don’t show them your valor tonight, Manu. Remember who you are, my son! Remember your illustrious father!’ insisted Sanjna, smiling proudly and looking straight into her son’s eyes.

  ‘But they are too many, Maa. We may not be able to defeat them!’ argued Manu.

  ‘Do we have a choice, Manu?’ asked Sanjna calmly. She bent forward and kissed her son on his forehead. ‘Now go. Do what you have to. That’s my commandment.’

  ‘I shall do as you say, Maa. Don’t worry about me and stay here. I will come back for you Maa, I promise…I will come back for you,’ said Manu as he drew his sword and darted back into the thick of the combat.

  He made a promise to his mother. A promise he resolved to not let anything in the world stand in the way of.

  Banaras, 2017

  SANKAT MOCHAN

  The motorcycles roared. Vidyut was the pillion rider with Sonu. Naina sat behind Bala. The warrior Balwanta rode his own bike. The five of them rode out of the Dev-Raakshasa matth at around 6 pm, with the powerful Enfield Bullet engines revving. Eight of the matth’s elite fighters had already been dispatched an hour before.

  The guptachar sena had been active for forty-eight hours now, but there was no lead on Romi. However they did find something unusual. Around fifteen foreigners, all of who had a muscular, military built and unusually heavy bags, had checked in to seven different hotels of the city. No ordinary observer could connect these bulky ‘tourists’ with each other, since they arrived into Varanasi at different times and moved into a variety of hotels – from the cheapest lodge to the sparkling five star hotels of the city. But the guptachar sena was by no means ordinary. They had not only spotted the unusual visitors but had also informed the matth that they were all seen taking different transport options earlier that evening. While they were travelling separately, they all had the same destination – the Dashashwamedh ghaat.

  As the group left the matth gates, Purohit ji noticed that his great mentor Dwarka Shastri was unhesitant in sending Vidyut out to the riverbank to hunt for the hunter. Much as he worried for the well being of his great grandson, he also had boundless faith in his bloodline. He had seen Vidyut rise and speak two evenings before. Dwarka Shastri was an astute judge of men’s abilities. The demons would have to conjure up something extraordinary to be able to harm even a hair on Vidyut’s body.

  Upon Purohit Ji’s express instructions, the group took a very small detour to pay obeisance at the mighty Sankat Mochan temple. Literally translating to the ‘Destroyer of Distress’ or ‘Reliever of Troubles’, this temple was a stone’s throw from the famed Assi ghaat. Believed to have been established by the great poet-saint Tulsidas just where he had a vision of the Lord, this temple belongs primarily to the powerful Hindu deity Hanuman. An omnipotent form of God, with His idol being a permanent companion of none other than Barack Obama, the ex-President of the United States, this sanctuary was hallowed territory of Hanuman, the supremely powerful ape-God.

  Vidyut stood in front of the bright orange and strangely disfigured statue of Lord Hanuman. The courtyard of the divine temple was thronging with devotees. The famous Besan Ka Laddoo (sweet balls of gram flour in condensed sugar) was the most popular offering to the Lord. There were all creeds, classes and sorts of people in this melting pot of human beings. There were the middle-class housewives walking amongst those who were stricken with abject poverty. There were flashy young girls stepping out from luxury cars rubbing shoulders with handicaps and the destitute. There were the nonagenarians walking in step with the millennials. There was no one rich and no one poor in this temple compound. There was none too beautiful and none too ugly here. Sankat Mochan was a great leveler. Everyone here was a beggar, a seeker.

  On one end was the twisted yet endearing sculpture of Hanuman Himself, and on the other was a deeply magnetic shrine of Lord Rama, the greatest God of the billion plus Hindus of this planet. Vidyut stood bewitched in front of the statue of Hanuman. Something drew him to the great deity. The blanket of hundreds, thousands of people around him started to feed an inexplicable streak of energy into Vidyut. He stood in front of Hanuman motionless, but every devotee seemed to be adding to his inner light. It was surreal. Vidyut stood embracing the energy for several minutes, before he fell down on his knees, in complete submission to Hanuman. The Lord was speaking to Vidyut, or so the last devta felt.

  Vidyut was now present in front of the durbar (Court) of Lord Rama, or so the Hindus called the set of statues of Rama Himself, His beloved wife Sita, His devoted brothers Laxman, Bharat and Shatrughna, and Hanuman at His feet. For people uninitiated into the unconditional love of Lord Rama, this sight may not mean much. But for a billion worshippers of Rama, He was the very essence of creation, the symbol of goodness, love and hope.

  Vidyut touched his forehead on the steps of Lord Rama’s durbar. He didn’t ask for anything. He never did. He knew the Lord was watching over him every moment of his existence. All he muttered under his breath was, ‘Help me Rama. Bless me with the valiance and propriety that you taught the world when you vanquished the demon Raavan.’

  Vidyut opened his eyes as he stood up, only to notice a very old temple priest dressed in saffron robes staring at him in amazement. Vidyut turned to the priest and folded his hands as a sign of respect. The priest raised his right hand to bless Vidyut and said just one word.

  ‘Utthishtha!’

  Rise.

  The plan was simple. Vidyut would break away from the group a few hundred meters before the ghaats. He would walk around on the riverside, smoke, speak on the mobile phone and wait for Romi. All this time his combat team would keep a close watch, each one of them maintaining a distance of barely a few seconds from him. If Romi was watching, he would come for Vidyut.

  Vidyut did not really want Sonu, Naina, Bala, Balwanta and his fighters to accompany him at all. He did not want any one of them to come in harm’s way, and was prepared to take on Romi alone. But this suggestion from him had been shot down immediately by his fellowship, and they were now here in the battlefield with their devta.

  As he stood on the massive stairs of the Dashashwamedha ghaat watching the crowd building up, Vidyut dialed Bala’s mobile number. Bala was only twenty feet away but understood that Vidyut wanted to speak from a distance.

  ‘Ya, Video?,’ answered Bala.

  ‘Just a quick one, Bala,’ said Vidyut. ‘I know this will sound absurd, but keep an eye on Naina, will you?’

  Bala was stumped for a moment. ‘What? Naina? You gotta be kidding me, man!’

  ‘Just do as I say, Bala,’ requested Vidyut before disconnecting the call.

  The number of people on the ghaat was increasing steadily and lights were coming on all around. There were tiny shops lining the top of the ghaat, selling flowers, garlands of marigold, lamps,
sweetmeats and incense. A whole battery of young and old priests was busy preparing for the Ganga aarti. The beloved river Ganga was now reflecting the lights from the ghaats like a gleaming black mirror, mesmerizing the visitors on both land as well as those who were enjoying a boat ride before the aarti, and would participate in it from the boats itself. The place looked like a noisy and colorful carnival.

  And there, amidst hundreds of people moving up and down the stairs of the ghaat, Vidyut saw that handsome, childish face.

  Romi stood smiling at Vidyut from a distance.

  Harappa, 1700 BCE

  MANU

  Somdutt was right. The intoxicated soldiers of Harappa were indeed free of fear and pain. Even those among them who had been shot with arrows multiple times, were fighting on like delirious ghosts. One thing was clear to both Manu and Somdutt – these demons were not going to retreat. Manu will have to kill them to the last man. But how? They were too many.

  The battle raged on, with the smaller unit inflicting far greater casualties on the enemy. It was now a no-holds-barred spectacle of brutality. Swords tearing into throats, daggers ripping up faces, eyes were being gouged out and hearts being torn open.

  Soon the perpetually black and purple clouds burst violently, and the midnight encounter was now swept by heavy wind and rain. Fighting in the heart of the mayhem Manu suddenly saw Somdutt at a distance, surrounded by fifteen or twenty enemy soldiers. He could not let anything happen to his father’s last real friend. Manu pounded across the camp towards Somdutt, slashing and decapitating anyone who came in the way. He yelled out a fierce battle cry as he pounced upon the soldiers surrounding Somdutt. In a matter of moments he had drawn all the soldiers towards him and was moving his sword at the speed of light. Blood sprayed like fountains as Manu massacred the deranged villains like a lion slaughtering a herd of sheep.