THE CURSE OF BRAHMA

by Jagmohan Bhanver

  ‘How do you do that?’ Brahma asked with interest. All this talk of military strategy was new to him, and he found himself strangely drawn towards it. It was as if after a lifetime of not picking up weapons, he seemed driven by some primal force to learn everything there was to learn about war in a single day. Shiva had once again donned the role of mentor and Brahma was yet again, the protégé.

  Shiva understood this and smiled benignly at Brahma. ‘What you do is plant a few of your trusted lieutenants in enemy territory. These people become your eyes and ears and give you vital information about what is happening there. A smart war strategist could also identify powerful allies within the enemy land and try winning them over to his side, or he could also exploit their weaknesses to get them to fight against each other and create chaos. In the resultant confusion, he will then attack and vanquish the enemy before the enemy even gets a chance to realize what is happening.’

  Brahma stared in fascination as a hundred myriad thoughts coursed through his brain. But he knew there was more to be learnt here and he stayed quiet.

  ‘Amartya Kalyanesu is going to do the same thing. He will send some of his trusted soldiers to Mrityulok to keep a tab on what is happening there, if he hasn’t already done so. Let Narada check if any strange people or any unnatural incidents have been observed in key places across Mrityulok.’

  Brahma made a mental note of this, as Shiva continued with his education on war strategy.

  ‘Amartya will also pick a few of the most powerful kingdoms in Mrityulok and try and exploit the weakness of their rulers or he may try and pit one kingdom against the other in an attempt to create chaos. He may also try and woo some of these kings to see if they will ally with him in his attempt to take control over Mrityulok. Ask Narada to make it a point to visit all the influential kingdoms to assess if there is anything amiss with the behaviour of the rulers of those kingdoms.’

  ‘I will do that, My Lord,’ Brahma nodded. ‘Those will include the kingdoms of Magadha, Madhuvan, Bateshwar, Bahlika, Vidarbha, Hastinapur, Madra and Gandhar, among others.’

  Shiva nodded in approval. He was always a quick learner, he thought to himself, shielding his thoughts. He didn’t want Brahma getting complacent with early praise.

  Brahma rose to leave. He was elated at what he had achieved with Shiva. Even though he had refused to destroy Amartya, Shiva had still provided sufficient guidance to him. Brahma could now to do all that was necessary to pre-empt any move on Amartya’s part to start his destructive vengeance.

  ‘Brahma!’ Shiva spoke softly as he saw him getting ready to leave. Brahma looked at him, expecting some last-minute advice on war strategy.

  ‘Remember, when all your planning fails, there is only one person who can help you. Come to me when that happens and I will tell you who to go to.’

  ‘Who is that, My Lord?’ Brahma asked, confused. He had thought he could come back to Shiva for his help in case something went wrong.

  Shiva smiled in response and Brahma noticed him dissolving in front of his eyes. The thought struck him that he had been talking to Shiva’s projected image all this while. Shiva had never been here. He had just used his immense powers of concentration to create a holographic image.

  And then another thought struck Brahma with the force of a thunderbolt that knocked all the breath out of his body. Shiva hadn’t said ‘If your planning fails’; he had said,‘When your planning fails’. That could only mean one thing: Shiva knew that whatever Brahma did, Amartya Kalyanesu would still succeed in doing what he planned; at least enough for Brahma to require coming back to Shiva to seek the help of someone that Shiva hadn’t yet told him about.

  The Seeds of Confusion Have Begun to Be Sown

  he hills surrounding the powerful nation of Banpur reflected the shimmering light from the full moon. Banpur, nestled among the mountains of north-east Bharat, was ruled by the noble and formidable King Bana; one of the most respected and feared kings in the vast land of Bharat. Bana had taken over the reign of the nation following the death of Bali,. who wasn’t just Bana’s father, but also the man who had carved out the lush land of Banpur from the rocky mountains surrounding it. Bana took over from where his father left off and made Banpur a paradise on Earth; the most beautiful hill nation in Mrityulok. The country had not seen a war in the past twenty years, mostly because no ruler was foolish enough to take an army against King Bana. Not only because he was a great leader of men, but it was almost impossible to attack the hill nation, ensconced as it was amidst an armour of mountains. Hence, Banpur existed in peace, and the country prospered.

  This particular night, the denizens of Banpur slept peacefully as the relative coolness of the dark night brought some respite from the unendurable heat of the day. A lone figure kept a wakeful watch on the royal palace. He was waiting for the guards outside the king’s residential quarters to doze off before making his move. He did not have to wait much longer. Used to the uneventful and rather mundane routine of their duty, the guards dozed off one after the other, not bothering to adhere to the protocol of maintaining an active shift while the other lot slept.

  The skulking figure of the pisaca crept out of its hiding place as he saw the last of the guards succumb to sleep. He had to get inside the king’s personal chambers and do what his master had commanded. But he had to be surreptitious. The king of Banpur was a noble man but his physical prowess was legendary. Some said he was even more formidable than Kansa; the prince who had thrashed him so thoroughly during their attempt on his sister’s life. The pisaca was in no mood to experience a similar fate tonight. He slithered noiselessly across the distance separating him from the palace entrance. He made it there without attracting any attention. Once there, he clambered up the wall to reach the zone forming the perimeter of the king’s residential quarters. He made his way past the sleeping guards. Just as he reached the mammoth door that served as the entrance to the king’s sleeping chambers, he saw one of the guards move in his sleep. The pisaca came to an immediate halt, waiting for the guard to settle down. The guard, however, seemed to be having a disturbed sleep. As the pisaca started again towards the door, the guard opened his eyes. For an instant, the pisaca thought of melting into the shadowy corners of the adjoining wall, but it was too late. The guard stared at him in a state of bewildered fear. Any moment and he could scream. The pisaca had no alternative. He surged ahead and one of his tentacles wrapped around the guard’s face, stifling the guard’s scream. Another tentacle swiftly found a particular nerve just under his ear, and pressed it hard for a couple of seconds. The guard’s head rolled back, unconsciousness claiming him almost instantly. The pisaca propped him up against the wall, where he lay oblivious to his surroundings. He knew the guard wouldn’t get up for at least an hour. That gave him more than enough time to do what he had come here for. When the guard would get up in the morning, he would probably think he had imagined seeing a creature in the night; maybe a nightmare. Either way, he would not mention it to his companions for fear of being ridiculed. And even if he did, there was no way anyone would know what had really happened.

  The pisaca quietly entered the king’s chambers. He could see the gargantuan form of King Bana, sleeping peacefully on his large framed bed. This man must be at least seven feet tall, thought the pisaca in stupefaction. The king’s shoulders seemed like the trunk of a huge oak tree placed sideward—they were that wide. The pisaca now hoped more than ever that the king wouldn’t get up and find him lurking in his room. He quickly scanned the enormous room, his eyes searching for something. He found what he was looking for in a far corner of the room. Keeping one of his several eyes fixed on the king, he slinked towards that side of the room. A large pot of water was kept on the shelf. The pisaca hissed in satisfaction, and carefully extracted a packet concealed under his tentacles. He opened the packet gingerly, and holding it above the pot, emptied its contents into it. The colourless powder dissolved instantaneously, blending with the water. The pisaca moved away and
soundlessly exited the room, much in the same way as he had come in. The guards were still sleeping without a care in the world, as was their noble king. Only the pisaca knew that once the king drank that water, he would never be the same again. He would forever become a puppet in the hands of his master, dancing to his will like the several others who would soon lose their identity and be powerless. They would then do as the Dark Lord commanded them.

  King Bana got up in the middle of the night. He felt unnaturally thirsty and his throat was strangely parched. It felt as if an inexplicable voice in his head was telling him that he needed water. Bana shrugged off the feeling, attributing it to an overactive imagination. Nevertheless, he felt horribly thirsty. He swung his large frame out of the bed and ambled over to where the water was kept. He poured some of it into an earthen container and gulped down its contents. But the thirst seemed to be getting worse. He poured himself another measure of water and ravenously swilled that down too. To his astonishment, the thirst assumed burning proportions. Losing patience, he lifted the entire pot of water, and pulling his head back, he rapaciously drank from it. As the final drop of liquid entered his system, he felt a sense of relief, the indelible thirst finally in control. Bana sighed, feeling suddenly light-headed. He walked unsteadily towards the bed, and fell on it, losing consciousness before his head even touched the pillow.

  ‘The king is getting up,’ exclaimed the attendant, excitedly motioning one of the guards to call for the royal physician. Bana was beginning to stir from his sleep, his eyes not yet open but his movements indicating that he would soon be up. The physician stumbled into the room in his haste to be at the king’s side. He was relieved to see the king showing tangible signs of being awake. He pressed his thumb against the king’s wrist and felt his pulse. Oh my God, his pulse is racing at an unprecedented rate, he thought. It’s almost as if he has been running for miles, he reflected, the beginning of a frown creasing his furrowed brows. He shook his head in consternation. He didn’t understand why the king’s pulse was so high. And whatever he didn’t understand bothered him.

  King Bana stretched his arms with a big yawn and gradually opened his eyes. He lay immobile for a few seconds. All of a sudden, he became aware of the presence of people in his room. He turned his head and saw the physician looking strangely at him. He also noticed his chief minister, Bahusruta, standing at attention at the foot of his bed, worry and relief written large on his face. He got up slowly into a sitting position. He had never felt so good before. It felt as if he was several times stronger than he had ever been.

  ‘What’s the matter, pranapati?’ he asked the physician, calling him by the name of his profession. ‘Why are all of you in my room?’

  The physician exchanged a furtive glance with the chief minister. The exchange of looks did not escape the alert eyes of king Bana.

  ‘What is it, Bahusruta? he asked his chief minister. ‘Why are you people acting so strangely?’ Bana sounded miffed.

  ‘Your Majesty, we are happy that you are okay now,’ Bahusruta paused, unsure of how to continue. Bana’s impatient look goaded him on. ‘You…Uh…you have been unconscious for a while, Your Majesty, and…and we were rather worried about you,’ he finished lamely.

  Bana gave Bahusruta a surprised look and then looked quizzically at the physician. ‘How long have I been unconscious?’

  The physician shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He again looked at the chief minister.

  ‘How long, dammit?’ the king snapped uncharacteristically. Bahusruta cleared his throat, ‘Twenty days, Your Majesty!’

  King Bana felt his head spin. This was ridiculous. He felt as strong as an ox. If he had been unconscious for that long, he would have been emaciated by now. On the contrary, he had never felt as strong and energetic. Then another thought struck him and he looked sharply at the physician.

  ‘If I was unconscious for twenty days, why aren’t there any tubes in my body? How did you feed me all this time?’ he asked, his eyes not leaving the physician’s gaze even for a moment.

  ‘Uh…we couldn’t p–put any t–tubes in your body, Your Majesty,’ the physician stammered in dismay. He pointed to a set of needles lying trashed in a container beside the bed. ‘Every time we tried inserting the needle into your arm, it would bend and break…’ He finished without completing the sentence.

  The king stared contemplatively at the half dozen syringes lying in the container.

  ‘How did you feed me then…all these days?’ he asked finally.

  The physician wished he did not have to undergo this questioning any longer. His inability to explain any of what had happened in the last few days left him feeling desperately embarrassed and inadequate. He took a deep breath. ‘We didn’t Your Majesty…we didn’t feed you at all these past twenty days!’

  Bana took a long hard look at the physician and his chief minister. ‘If I haven’t been fed intravenously how did I survive all this while?’ he wondered in astonishment. An inexplicable feeling of dizziness took hold of him, all of a sudden, and he held on to the edge of the bed to support himself.

  Bana suddenly felt like being by himself. He waved his hand dismissively at the physician and Bahusruta motioning them to leave him alone. Bahusruta nodded respectfully and left the room. The physician hesitated for a moment, but decided he should leave too. He just couldn’t comprehend why the king’s eyes looked so green today. He shook his head as he left; there were a lot of things he didn’t understand in this particular case.

  Bana felt relieved as he saw them leave. He heaved himself off the bed, feeling his body lighter and more agile than ever, despite the recent bout of dizziness. He walked towards the shiny steel mirror at one end of the room. As he gazed at his reflection, his attention was drawn to an unnatural green light glittering in his eyes. He bent towards the mirror to take a closer look at the strange light reflected there. That’s when he heard the voice in his head. It was a rasping kind of voice, inaudible, but there. Not being able to see anyone in the room, he stood confounded. He felt his limbs locked in an invisible stranglehold as the whispering voice grew more audible with each passing second. He strained to hear what the voice was saying. And then all at once, he heard it clearly, and the blood froze in his veins. Welcome to the dark side, the grating voice rasped. You are mine… From now on, you will call yourself Banasura.

  Beyond the north-western frontiers of the great land of Bharat lay a vast country feared for its ferocious fighters. It was said that the warriors in this land could shoot a flurry of arrows with deadly aim while riding a horse at unimaginable speeds. These were large men. A few amongst them were so intrepid and powerful that they could wrestle a grizzly bear with ease.

  This was the land of the Yavanas, ruled by none other than the charismatic King Chanur. Even in his middle age, Chanur stood ramrod straight and looked healthier and stronger than most of the young warriors of the nation. He had once killed a tiger with his bare hands while protecting one of his soldiers. They had been pursuing a large tiger who had wreaked havoc in some of the villages of the kingdom. Chanur had pledged to end the life of this man-eater. He was accompanied by a group of bodyguards and soldiers.

  They sighted the tiger after a frustrating chase lasting a little under two days. The animal was finally cornered, its back against an unyielding grove of trees, and surrounded on the other sides by the Yavana soldiers. Growling in barely suppressed fury, the tiger looked around helplessly for a way out. There was none. Chanur gave the signal to one of the soldiers to shoot the tiger down. The soldier, in an attempt to impress the king, pointed towards his sword, indicating that he wanted to kill the tiger with the long knife.

  Chanur blinked in surprise at the foolhardiness of the soldier. This was no ordinary tiger. It was a man-eater, a very large one. And its senses were inflamed. For all his bravery, the soldier would certainly be killed if he went in with just a sword. Chanur hesitated. His instincts honed over a lifetime of war told him that he should tell the soldier
to stand back and shoot the animal with an arrow rather than engage it in close combat. But he knew if he refused the soldier now, it would embarrass and humiliate the warrior in front of his fellow men. To a Yavana warrior, that would be a fate worse than death. The other soldiers stood looking at the king, waiting for his decision. Chanur made up his mind. He took a deep breath and raised his right arm. Then slowly he pointed his thumb in a downward direction, giving the soldier permission to engage and kill the tiger. The young warrior smiled in relief, and bowed to the king. Then unsheathing his sword, he moved stealthily in its direction, watchful of every move the animal made. The tiger looked warily at the approaching soldier. As the warrior moved closer, it pulled back on its haunches and snarled. Two long saber teeth were visible as the tiger opened its mouth wide. When the soldier was about one gavuta away from the animal, the tiger went into a crouching position. The warrior knew this was an indication that the beast would jump at him any instant, and he primed himself for the attack, holding the sword in front of his body. But nothing in his past experience prepared the soldier for the speed and fury of the man-eater. The tiger was on top of him in one leap and the impact of its body crashing into him wrenched the sword out of his hand. The warrior went down with the animal still on top of him. The claws of the man-eater ripped out flesh and bone, and in a matter of seconds, the soldier’s body was a wreckage of blood and torn skin. The smell of the warrior’s blood made the tiger go insane with bloodlust, and it raised its head towards the sky and roared exultantly.

  The other soldiers watched horrified, paralyzed at the speed with which everything had happened and the sheer fury of the animal. Chanur was the first to snap out of the hypnotic state the gory scene had put everyone into. In a flash he was off his horse and he lunged at the tiger in the same instant that the animal opened its gaping mouth to crunch the soldier’s head between its teeth. If Chanur had been a second late, the soldier would be dead. Fortunately for the young warrior, the tiger’s attention was distracted by Chanur charging towards it. Leaving the wounded soldier lying on the ground, the tiger turned its attention towards the new enemy. Chanur saw the tiger coming for him and he stopped, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. As the tiger leaped at him, Chanur twisted his body in one graceful maneuver and as the tiger passed him, missing his body by inches, Chanur grabbed the animal by its torso. The weight of the falling tiger dragged Chanur down too, but he didn’t let go of the animal’s body. He landed on top of the tiger, and before the beast could find its bearings, Chanur jumped off lightly and stood facing the man-eater. The enraged tiger opened its mouth in a blood-curdling roar and attempted another jump at the king. But this time, the distance was too short and the tiger was forced to stand up on its rear legs to charge at Chanur, considerably reducing the impact of its attack. In one swift motion, Chanur gripped the tiger’s open mouth with both hands, and held on with all his might. The veins in his arms were close to bursting with the strain, but Chanur was used to it, having fought with bears over the past several years. Just as it seemed that he wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer, Chanur took a deep breath and let out a roar that was even more fearsome than the beast’s. In one quick move, he snapped the tiger’s mouth wide open, breaking the animal’s neck in the same instant. The tiger’s body went limp, collapsing to the ground like an empty sack. The warriors stood looking in shock at what they had just witnessed. They had heard about Chanur’s strength and his battles with wild bears, but seeing him fight a large man-eater in front of their very eyes was a different experience altogether. The fight with the tiger had lasted a little over a minute. The spectacle of the battle had been so captivating that it had not occurred to any of the soldiers or even the bodyguards to shoot the tiger down during the fight. However, as they saw the man-eater crumple to the ground, their suppressed emotions erupted as one resounding shout of victory, in honour of their mighty King.