Harappa - Curse of the Blood River

by Vineet Bajpai

  ‘Enough!’ came a deafening snarl. Ranga stood glaring at Manu.

  ‘Fight someone your own size, O son of the devta!’ challenged Ranga loudly for everyone to hear. He held a massive spear with ominous spikes at both the ends. He was twirling this heavy weapon around his shoulders in swift, expert moves. At over seven arms in height and broad as the one-horned rhino from the far East, Ranga looked like a bloodthirsty monster.

  ‘I was waiting for you, you malevolent commander!’ replied Manu defiantly. ‘I heard you struck the mighty Vivasvan Pujari from behind at the courtroom, like a coward. Today is your judgment day, Ranga!’

  By now Ranga and Manu had come closer, walking cautiously towards each other and preparing for what both knew was going to be a herculean battle. To the death.

  All fighting had stopped and combatants from both sides paused to watch the titanic clash between the cruel monster Ranga and the young ascetic Manu. The evil commander and chief henchman of Priyamvada had picked the double-spiked spear as his weapon of choice. Manu on the other hand held two heavy short-swords, which he swung like they were made of straw. The two warriors were now moving in a circle, waiting to pounce upon the other at the first opportunity. The lightning and the lashing rain continued relentlessly.

  Ranga made the first move. He moved to one side to mislead Manu, and suddenly leapt back to the other, attacking Manu viciously with his powerful spear. The young lad twisted his full torso at a dazzling speed and avoided the spear completely. In the same flow of movement, he slashed Ranga’s waist just below his armor. The commander yelped in pain. Within moments of the duel, Manu had stamped his superiority over the oversized beast. He was now going to make him pay for his sins. Manu could not get the picture of his dear and noble father being assaulted brutally by this man out of his mind, and he was going to make him suffer.

  Ranga charged again, this time swirling his lethal spear in gigantic circles. Manu ran towards the rushing monster and a moment before contact he slid down into the slushy mud, gliding past Ranga and hacking a deep cut on the commander’s thigh. The scoundrel shrieked in pain. As he crashed to his knees, Ranga was convinced in his black heart that he had underestimated the young warrior-priest.

  It was now Manu’s turn. Under the clapping thunder and punishing rain, he lunged forward with the swagger of unmatched supremacy and swung both his swords across at Ranga’s chest, tearing it open. The giant commander was now completely overpowered. Blood oozed out of his chest like it were a leaky bucket.

  Manu was now prancing around Ranga like a harpy eagle flies above its prey before launching into the final dive. He wished his mother and father could see this sight. He wished they could see how easily he had vanquished this unworthy foe. After a few moments of waiting, Manu decided to deliver the killing blow. He leapt forward and struck the red headgear off Ranga’s head. He grabbed the hair of the colossal fiend and pulled his head backwards. Manu stared around at everyone watching this gory exhibition. He wanted to make sure everyone was seeing. He hailed from a family that detested violence and embraced love. But this was not the time. Ranga had sinned against the last devta on planet Earth. And Manu was not going to forgive him.

  Just as Manu was about to slit the throat of the beast, Ranga raised both his hands and begged for forgiveness.

  Raindrops were spluttering on the wounded commanders face. Although Ranga could barely keep his eyes open, Manu could make out they were begging him for mercy.

  ‘Mercy!’ whimpered the once brazen Ranga. He was shivering with fear.

  ‘Mercy, O mighty Manu Pujari!’ he repeated.

  Manu was in no mood to relent. He was thirsting to punish the man who dared to strike his father Vivasvan Pujari and who conspired to send him to the dungeons of the dead. He decided to ignore the pleas of mercy and was about to dig his blade into Ranga’s jugular.

  ‘Have mercy, O son of the devta Vivasvan Pujari! Do not malign your good father’s name by executing an unarmed man,’ begged the treacherous rogue.

  The sound of his father’s name held Manu back. Would his father have killed an unarmed and defeated man, no matter what his sin was?

  No.

  Manu looked up at Somdutt. The chief engineer was himself a man of high values and righteousness. He nodded at Manu. This impeccable morality was the Harappan way of life before everything was poisoned by the vicious lust of one ambitious woman. Love, compassion and forgiveness were the bedrocks of the Harappan people.

  Manu let go of the commander’s hair. He stretched himself straight, threw his head back and let the pouring rain wash his face. Even though he could see that the hallucinating Harappan soldiers were still growling with hate and madness, he dropped his swords on the wet ground. Expecting the maniacal troopers to appreciate this magnanimity, Manu started to walk towards Somdutt. He wanted to take his mother and get out of this graveyard of fresh carcasses. He was very close to Somdutt and could see his father’s friend smiling with admiration for his act of kindness and generosity. However, as he came just a few short steps away from Somdutt, he saw the engineer’s expression change to one of petrified shock. In this briefest of moments Somdutt could only raise his finger and stare at Manu. But the devta’s son was no ordinary warrior. In a split moment he could see that Somdutt was not staring at him. He was staring at someone behind him.

  Manu did a full split and dropped starkly to less than half his height. But it was too late. Ranga had slashed his back deeply with a thick machete. Manu convulsed with pain. He struggled back to his feet before the giant attacker could strike again. Ranga was now charging in with renewed madness.

  Manu stepped on one side in an expert move to dodge the mad man’s assault. In one seamless flow of trained kalaripayattu routine, he landed his fist in a claw-formation into the gut of Priyamvada’s bulldog. Manu’s fingers were equipped with lethal tiger-claw hooks, which would one day be inherited by one of his ablest descendants. Within moments he disemboweled Ranga, tearing out his heart along with his intestines.

  This duel was not between equals.

  The delirious soldiers of Harappa were now in disarray without their cruel leader. While there seemed to be no letting-up in their blood-thirst and aggression, they certainly were retreating slowly. The handful of fighters with Manu and Somdutt broke into a cheer. Manu had displayed every quality expected from a warrior and a hermit – valiance, skill, fearlessness, composure, but most of all…compassion.

  The rejoicing was transient. Just when Manu, Somdutt and their fellowship thought the worst was over, they heard the long and haunting blare of Harappan army’s battle-horns from a distance. They could hear a massive battalion approaching the campsite. The reinforcements for Ranga and his crew had arrived. They exchanged exasperated glances. How could the remaining twenty-five of them take on a thousand riders of the Harappan cavalry?

  Even before Manu could think what their response should be, he heard Tara scream out his name. Tara was one among his magnificent nine and unlike her brave and balanced self, she was shrieking with dread. Manu looked at her and his blood froze. Tara was near the cluster of rocks where Sanjna had taken refuge.

  In the heat of the violent battle, Manu had forgotten about his promise!

  Banaras, 2017

  RISE OF THE DEVTA

  Just as he was about to go after Romi, Vidyut heard a blood-curdling scream. It was a battle cry. On the now completely packed ghaat Vidyut saw Balwanta and Sonu swinging massive swords and charging into the crowd. They had clearly spotted something. In two minds whether to chase Romi or to rush to their help, Vidyut turned to see that Romi was gone.

  As Vidyut dashed towards the direction in which he had seen his companions running, he saw what had spurred his team into action. A menacing group of men dressed in black combat outfits was heading directly towards Vidyut. In an instant the devta knew it was the same unit that the guptachar sena had cautioned them about. These men were clearly not ordinary street fighters. They were muscular, t
rained and disciplined, and were moving in a commando formation. In the flicker of a glimpse that Vidyut caught of them, he could see they were ex-military veterans from perhaps Iran, Russia - he couldn’t say for sure. But he was certain of one thing - they had grossly underestimated the foe. It was only now Vidyut could see what they really were. Mercenaries!

  Vidyut suddenly felt worried for Sonu. While Balwanta was an accomplished warrior, these mercenaries were beyond Sonu’s league. Vidyut tore his way through the crowd towards the men in black. He had to reach them before Sonu or anyone from the matth got hurt. He was relieved to see Bala also pounding towards the battle scene. If there was anyone beside himself who could match the skill of these trained fighters, it was Bala and Balwanta. And from what he had seen back at the matth, perhaps Naina.

  In the background the Ganga aarti had been commenced, drowning the noise of the clash of blades and knuckles that had begun. Both sides knew that gunshots would attract immediate and needless attention, and were relying on swords, machetes and military-grade knives, at least for now. The loud chanting of mantras by scores of priests combined with the devotional striking of cymbals and blowing of conches, was now rendering a deafening and haunting din. Tens of thousands of devotees thronged the Dashashwamedh Ghaat, their eyes shut and their hands folded in devotion. Hundreds of massive lamps swung in the hands of the priests and threw mystical reflections on the holy river’s water. It appeared as if the entire ghaat, the sacred river, the thousands of pilgrims and the mantras of the priests were all working in harmony to quell the power of evil this night.

  They were fifteen. Even as he covered ground towards the fight, Vidyut counted the number of adversaries. Sonu had succeeded in slashing one of the mercenaries around his ribcage and Balwanta had inflicted a deep cut on another. By now Naina was engaging two of the attackers at once, fighting like a warrior-princess. Whose side was she on? Vidyut was now running at lightning speed even through the crowd and launched himself into the heart of the fight, leaping at the throats of two of the mercenaries. He noticed that two of the matth’s fighters were badly wounded by the commando knives of their attackers, and Sonu had been struck hard on his face with a pistol butt, tearing his lower lip. Bala had also reached the fight zone.

  ‘Bala…take our fighters and Sonu away from here,’ instructed Vidyut, as he was slowly surrounded by twelve of the fifteen mercenaries.

  ‘We will fight by your side, Vidyut,’ protested Balwanta fiercely. He was like a raging bull, ready to take on an entire army. Balwanta was not going to leave Vidyut alone. These men in black were among the most skilled fighters he had ever confronted, and they were too many of them. Vidyut did not stand a chance.

  ‘Do as I say!’ commanded Vidyut. He suddenly carried the authority of the matthadheesh in his voice. He was not requesting them. As the scion of the Shastri bloodline, he was passing a diktat.

  Bala took Sonu and the two wounded fighters aside. Balwanta and Naina stood next to their injured companions, ready to witness the encounter between Vidyut and twelve deadly adversaries. The odds were by far not in Vidyut’s favor.

  Surrounded on all sides by the mercenaries, Vidyut’s concentration was so intense that it looked as if he were meditating with his eyes open. The twelve ex-commandoes had pulled out lethal military knives and short machetes. Vidyut was unarmed. The twelve men in black showed no excitement or rashness. They were moving with the cold precision of trained soldiers.

  One of them closed in on Vidyut with his machete. Vidyut swung at stunning speed and landed a crashing kick on the attacker’s jaw. The hit was so powerful that the mercenary collapsed in an instant, letting out a short, agonizing grunt. For a moment the remaining adversaries stood shell-shocked. They had never seen a teammate from their elite squad be overpowered so swiftly and comprehensively. Two more of them attacked Vidyut, this time in a coordinated move, attempting to catch their prey from two sides at one time. In an expert counterattack maneuver Vidyut blocked the attacking arm of one of the strikers, twisted it in a flash and with a swift blow from his elbow, broke his arm into two. The other attacker had been met with a ramming kick into his diaphragm, sucking out the last whiff of breath from his lungs. Three of the black unit’s members now lay on the ground, writhing in pain. Less than half a minute had passed since the fight began. Despite being veterans of several brutal wars and face-to-face conflicts, the black mercenaries had never come across a fighter like Vidyut.

  His team watched the proceedings with their jaws dropped. In a matter of seconds Vidyut had summarily crushed three of the twelve dangerous enemies. Balwanta was delighted to see this one-sided assault. Naina’s heart was beating faster than an express train. She was both worried as well as deeply attracted. Sonu was nearly jumping with excitement. The matth’s fighters were overawed. Pilgrims and worshippers had now started gathering around, a commotion building up. Vidyut knew he did not want any police or paramilitary around. He had to finish this quickly.

  As he glided into a typical low stance of advanced kalaripayattu, Vidyut tied his long brown hair into a short ponytail behind his neck. He went very low on his left knee, his right leg straightened out to his side. And then he pounced on the black squad like a panther, landing fatal kicks and crushing blows at devastating speed. Balwanta and Naina immediately noticed that while Vidyut’s initial stance was a traditional kalaripayattu posture, he was attacking with a unique combat form combining Japanese Jiu Jitsu with Israeli Krav Maga. The martial art Vidyut was deploying was unheard of, unthinkable. He was fighting with a masterful technique that could not be beaten.

  Apart from a shallow dagger slash across his chest, Vidyut had suffered no injuries and no blows. It had been mayhem for the black squad. As Vidyut inspected the squirming and moaning mercenaries littered around him like dolls thrown about in a little girl’s play area, one of the attackers got up and pulled out a Beretta 92fs pistol. Before he could pull the trigger, Balwanta rammed into his ribcage like a bulldozer. The fight was over in less than three minutes. The supremacy of the devta was palpable. He nodded at the warrior-chief to acknowledge the timely help. Vidyut caught his breath and slowly undid his hair. He ran his fingers through them as he looked up at the sky and mumbled a short prayer. He then gestured to Bala to call an ambulance for the fallen mercenaries. Only Vidyut could have a heart large enough to care for even his darkest enemy. The night wind was blowing hard from the river and the chanting of mantras and striking of cymbals had reached their zenith.

  As members of the Dev-Raakshasa matth witnessed this extraordinary man, this astonishing warrior and this fabulous leader standing tall amidst fallen foes, they were mesmerized by his sheer presence. As they saw Vidyut’s chiseled face glowing even in the eclectic lighting of the Dashashwamedh Ghaat, his hair blowing in the sacred wind against the moonlit sky, they all had only one thought etched on their minds.

  Vidyut was, beyond doubt, the savior they had been waiting for over centuries.

  He was the last devta.

  Balwanta ran towards Vidyut and nearly lifted him up in his arms with glee. Vidyut laughed and winced at the same time, blood now oozing out from his chest wound on to his checked shirt. Sonu was clapping away from where he lay injured, his lip wound still bleeding profusely. Naina ran up to Vidyut and hugged him tightly. She did not get any response. Vidyut looked away towards Balwanta. It did not matter. Naina was relieved that Vidyut was okay.

  ‘We must stay alert Balwanta dada, and get out of this place as fast as we can. Let’s move towards the lower ghaat, away from these wounded mercenaries,’ said Vidyut to Balwanta. ‘Romi is still out there. And that coward will not attack from the front.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Balwanta, ‘yes we should. Let’s also send Sonu and the other wounded fighters back to the matth.’

  ‘That’s a good…’

  Even before Vidyut could complete his sentence, they heard a shrill scream. They turned to see Naina leaning over Sonu, who was gurgling in his own blood. In th
e chaos of the crowd, an expert killer had slit his throat in just a centimeter long gash. But a gash that was sure to kill the man, slowly and painfully.

  Balwanta and Vidyut ran towards the struggling Sonu. They were horrified to see the strapping young boy in extreme suffering, gasping for breath. How were they going to face Purohit ji? Naina was sobbing heavily, her eyes filled with horror. Enough was enough. Vidyut could not hold himself back any more. He grabbed Naina’s hair and pulled them violently. The devta had never hurt a woman in his life. But then he had never encountered a murderous witch like Naina. His great grandfather had warned him about a dark betrayal. He was sure Naina had betrayed him. She had betrayed the whole matth.

  ‘Why did you do this, Naina?’ hissed Vidyut, completely unlike his dignified self.

  ‘What are you doing, Vidyut?’ protested Naina. ‘Have you gone mad? Sonu is like my brother!’

  Balwanta was alarmed at what Vidyut was doing. ‘No Vidyut, Naina will never betray us. She is one of us, O mighty devta!’ he said, as he held Vidyut’s wrist, gently tugging it in order to set Naina free.

  ‘You don’t know anything, Balwanta dada! She hates Damini. She wants to harm us. If she was not working for our enemies, why would she carry a satellite phone in the middle of the night? She is the one who has been informing the enemy about our movements!’ replied Vidyut, his face sweating with anger and hate.

  By now Naina had stopped struggling. She was just holding Vidyut’s hand to try and loosen his grip and ease the pain of her hair being pulled. She stared at Vidyut with helpless eyes and an irreparably broken heart.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Vidyut. It was I who gave her the Iridium 9555 phone. That is the only way we stay connected with the guardians of the Black Temple!’ yelled Balwanta.