THE CURSE OF BRAHMA

by Jagmohan Bhanver

  He took a deep breath to calm himself; as he took in the lungful of air he sensed the foulest smell he had encountered in his life. It was the stench of decayed flesh, putrified over scores of years; and it came from somewhere behind him. Even before he could turn around to see what it was, he felt something soggy and scaly enter his ears. He turned to find himself face to face with a human-like creature. But this was no human. The creature had sunken eyes, mummified skin and narrow limbs. Its gigantic belly contrasted starkly with its slender neck. The creature had a host of maggots coming out of its ears and nose. Amartya instinctively brushed the side of his head with his hand, and a maggot that had entered his ear dropped to the ground. He looked at the maggot-infested creature standing next to him with a mix of fear and disgust. This was the first time he had come face to face with a bhuta. He realized now what had scared away the serpents. Bhutas were considered the most dangerous creatures in Paatal Lok and their hunger and thirst were impossible to quench irrespective of how much they ate or drank. Normally, bhutas inhabited the three levels of existence above the Tamastamah Prabha and rarely ventured into the seventh level. This one had probably been banished or had somehow lost his way into the hell of hells.

  The bhuta looked greedily at Amartya. He waved at the maggots covering his face in an attempt to dislodge them and several of them fell to the ground. The ones remaining buzzed in anger and huddled closer to each other. The hypnotic effect from staring into the snake’s eyes was over and Amartya tried to calm himself. He took a step back, away from the bhuta, and concentrated his mind to harness the universal force of Brahman. As he watched the bhuta approach him again, Amartya extended his arm to unleash the Brahman energy, just enough to repulse the creature. To his utter amazement, nothing happened. Amartya focused his mind and tried again; this time trying to invoke a larger quantum of energy. Again…nothing happened! It was as if he had never had the ability to control the force of Brahman. The monster grinned malevolently and leaped towards him. Amartya screamed in terror as he felt the fetid breath of the creature on his face. The momentum of the bhuta’s jump and his weight knocked Amartya to the ground. He struggled to push it away but the creature seemed to be possessed of supernatural strength and in the absence of his brahmarishi powers, Amartya found his efforts to wrench free of the creature were rendered futile.

  The bhuta started to bite off the pieces of flesh that were hanging limply from Amartya’s face. Amartya screamed as the already unbearable agony of his wound reached unimaginable proportions. Time seemed suspended as the bhuta bit off pieces of his flesh, bit by bit. The only sounds to be heard were the tearing off of the flesh and the disgusting munching noises coming from its mouth. And then Amartya gradually became aware of another sound. It started like the wind blowing on the surface of the ground, as if from a great distance. However, in a matter of a few seconds it gained intensity and it was as if a thousand banshees were screaming in fury. The bhuta heard it too and he paused his munching. The screaming held more meaning for him than for Amartya, it seemed. In the next instant, the bhuta leapt off Amartya and began running away. Amartya watched his retreating back. Even in his current state, he marvelled at the sight. The bhuta looked like he was gliding in the air, his feet barely touching the ground. Amartya recalled from his days in Brahma’s ashram that bhutas shirked any contact with the ground as it depleted them of their supernatural strength. This bhuta was moving at an incredible speed. The screaming sounds had by now turned into a roar. Amartya didn’t have to know what was happening to figure out that there was imminent danger. Instinct told him to head in a direction away from where the bhuta was going, because whatever was coming from afar definitely involved the vile monster. He got up and started running diagonally away from the bhuta. After he had placed what he thought was sufficient distance between the bhuta and himself, he paused to look back. The roaring noises had by now reached a crescendo. Amartya watched stupefied as the ground along which the bhuta had moved began to turn black. He wondered at this and then it hit him! Thousands of serpents were slithering in the direction of the fleeing bhuta. The deafening noise was a result of so many snakes moving together on the gravelly surface and their collective hissing and spitting. Amartya guessed the serpents that had been scared away by the bhuta must have got their own kind to come seek vengeance. Tamastamah Prabha was the land of the serpents. The bhuta was an outsider for them. As much as Amartya himself was. But then Amartya hadn’t snatched away the food from the serpents as the bhuta had, which made it a prime enemy; it had to be taught a lesson so that other outsiders wouldn’t dare to come into the region of Tamastamah Prabha and challenge the true inhabitants of the land—the serpents.

  Only the fittest survive! Amartya thought to himself. It doesn’t matter if you are strong. There will always be someone stronger than you. Unless…unless you can be stronger than everyone else…

  The epitome of immortal goodness that was Amartya Kalyanesu clenched his teeth to master the agony that threatened to subdue him yet again. The anguish and pain he felt at Brahma’s betrayal of his trust began to give way to the initial symptoms of anger and resentment He turned his back on the sight of the serpents chasing the bhuta, and slowly started walking in search of a place he could lie down and find some semblance of peace.

  Bhargava’s reminiscence was interrupted by the screeching notes of an owl. He looked around him. It had begun to turn dark. Amartya was still immersed in meditation, his concentration unbroken. Once again, Bhargava was thankful for having found Amartya. He wondered how different his destiny would have been if he hadn’t gone to Tamastamah Prabha that day…

  Bhargava had spent the last few hours in the most desolate stretches of Tamastamah Prabha. His quest for a specific medicinal herb had been futile so far. He was looking for a particular plant that was to be found only in the land of the serpents. The leaves from this plant, when mixed with other concoctions that he had evolved, would provide him the cure he was looking for.

  Bhargava was an udbhividyak (ethno-botanist) of the highest order and the medicines and panaceas he had developed over the years had served as palliatives and magic cures for several diseases and ailments. But there was one particular ailment that had been eluding even him. Over the past few months, a lot of asuras had been complaining of severe headaches, dizziness and eye infections. Bhargava had initially thought these were separate ailments and had treated them accordingly. However, as none of the standard cures worked, and the number of sick asuras drastically shot up, Bhargava was compelled to believe that these were not isolated symptoms but the result of a single virus. Months of study indicated that the only plant that could cure these symptoms was to be found in the seventh level of Pataal Lok, in the dreaded Tamastamah Prabha. This plant had mallow leaves, which when ground to a fine paste and applied around the eyes and forehead of a person, would prevent the infection causing the symptoms. The mallow plant was edible in nature and the only non-fleshy product that the serpents in Tamastamah Prabha fed on. It had fruits that were round and shaped like cheese wedges, which gave the plant its nickname. The mallow plant had immense curative properties.

  Bhargava had almost given up on his search and was about to leave when he heard an uproar from a distance. It seemed like a scream; the only difference was that the shriek sounded almost mortal. And it had a petrified note to it. The intensity of the cry told Bhargava he didn’t have a moment to lose if he had to save whoever it was. He rushed in the direction of the commotion. The scuffling and disturbance was emanating from inside a cave. Bhargava entered the cave, chanting the mantras he had learnt from childhood, to give him strength. What he saw left even him horrified.

  A pair of pisacas were attacking a mortal. One of the pisacas had punctured the mortal’s abdomen with its spike and the other one was feeding on the face of the hapless man. Pieces of flesh and bone had been torn asunder and the mortal was bleeding profusely. Bhargava concentrated his mind to focus on his innermost core. And he began to chant
the mantra he had sworn never to use on anyone.

  It was the most potent mantra known only to a few of the most powerful practitioners in Pataal Lok. Once invoked, it would unleash the force of Aghasamarthan, the opposing force of Brahman used by the Gods. Like the force of Brahman, the Aghasamarthan also harnessed energy from the universe, but unlike the former, the Aghasamarthan energy fed on all the evil forces present in the universe. And Aghasamarthan was quantum times less controllable than the force of Brahman.

  A person using it could get so caught up in its evil influence that he would find it impossible to break out of it. After a time, the user ceased to control the evil force. The force of Aghasamarthan controlled the user. Bhargava had invoked the force only once before in his life and the experience had convinced him never to use it again. But this occasion was an exception. He couldn’t allow the brutal murder of a mortal in Pataal Lok.

  ‘Stop!’ Bhargava shouted at the pair of pisacas. The two creatures turned around from their prey to see who had dared to disturb their meal. There was a flicker of recognition as they saw Bhargava. The udbhividyak was a known man within all the seven levels of Pataal Lok and was held in awe by even the most powerful asuras and council members. But the pisacas were beyond reason by now. Their blood lust and the taste of live flesh made them disregard the note of warning in Bhargava’s voice. They turned their backs to him and went back to eating the mortal. It was a mistake they wouldn’t live to regret.

  Bhargava finished chanting the deadly mantra, and his body began to turn a green hue as the evil forces of Aghasamarthan rushed in from all over the universe to become a part of him. Then when it seemed that the energy building within him would burst through every pore of his existence, he emitted a low sigh that emanated from the pit of his stomach. In the same moment, he extended both his index fingers in the direction of the pisacas. The intense green light that burst out of his fingers reduced them to ash in the blink of an eye.

  The mortal, barely alive, stared at Bhargava. The udbhividyak looked fearsome, his eyes burning a fiery green and his body too enveloped in the green shower. Bhargava chanted another set of mantras in order to control the Aghasamarthan force that threatened to consume him. Gradually, the green force surrounding him began to wane and his eyes reverted to their natural colour. He looked closely at the mortal he had just saved from certain death. The left side of the man’s face was completely burnt. The charred flesh was hanging loosely on the side. Most of it had been eaten away by the two pisacas he had just saved the man from. His abdomen was a wreck of blood and gore, where one of the pisacas had buried his spike inside his gut. Yet with all the wounds he had, the man was still alive. He is strong beyond belief, Bhargava thought in amazement. He wondered who the mortal was and how he had landed in the hell of hells.

  ‘Who are you?’ Bhargava asked in a soft voice as he felt for the wounded man’s pulse to gauge whether he would live. The man returned his gaze unblinkingly. He was alive but it seemed to Bhargava that something in him had died forever.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the man replied and his voice, when he spoke was rasping and hoarse, no longer the one he had been born with. ‘Amartya Kalyanesu…ordained as brahmarishi by Vishnu and Shiva…cursed by Brahma to remain forever in this hell.’

  Bhargava stared incredulously at the man he had just saved. News of the man who had been initiated by the supreme gods as the youngest brahmarishi in the history of the universe had travelled to Pataal Lok. Bhargava had heard about it. He couldn’t believe he was standing next to the same man who he had heard had single-handedly defeated the combined forces of all the devas after his initiation as a brahmarishi.

  Bhargava fell down on his knees and bowed in respect to Amartya. ‘My Lord, I would be blessed if you accompany me to Ratanprabha—my house, as my honoured guest.’

  Ratanprabha was the first and the highest level within Pataal Lok where the royalty and the mightiest of the asuras resided.

  Amartya nodded weakly as he raised his hand to bless the man kneeling before him. He did not know yet that the effects of the Brahmashira would wear off in a few hours’ time and he would regain his brahmarishi powers before the sun would set that day. The white-haired Bhargava and the grievously wounded brahmarishi walked alongside each other. It was not only the beginning of the seventh day of Amartya’s banishment to Pataal Lok; it was also the start of a friendship that would endure for a lifetime. Bhargava hadn’t found the mallow leaves he had come in search for, but he had found something that was far more important to him…the one person who could help him seek revenge on Indra and the rest of the devas.

  Amartya opened his eyes, his meditation finally over. As he bent to pick up his cloak from the ground, he became aware of Bhargava sitting close by, watching him.

  Amartya smiled at him, but his disfigured face made it look more like a grimace. ‘Have you been waiting long, Bhargava?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I had come to talk to you,’ Bhargava replied returning his smile. He took a deep breath, ‘I just had word from Jarasandha. Narada has started his campaign of cautioning various kingdoms about the presence of our assassins on Mrityulok. Some of these kings have started preparations of their own against this danger, while others have decided to play the wait-and-watch game.’

  Amartya nodded. The meditation had calmed him and he did not react to Bhargava’s report. ‘What news of Kansa? How is he doing?’

  At the mention of Kansa, Bhargava’s face grew grim. ‘Kansa has started showing signs of delusion and paranoid schizophrenia,’ he said and paused. ‘It appears your svapnasrsti has worked its effects on him faster than we thought. Maybe because his mind is in a vulnerable state these days.’

  Amartya nodded again. There was no joy in his expression. ‘Kansa will become completely schizophrenic in the next few days,’ he said tonelessly. ‘Once his dark side takes over, he will do whatever his inherent nature compels him to do.’

  The two men sat quietly as the night turned darker and the shadows grew heavier. Finally Bhargava spoke. ‘Are we doing the right thing, Amartya? Do the means justify the end?’

  Amartya coughed hoarsely. He knew this was not the first time Bhargava was suffering from self-doubt, and it wouldn’t be the last time either. ‘In the end, there is only the end…not the means. Swarglok has to be cleaned of the corruption that people like Indra have pushed it into. Nothing that we do in order to root out that corruption is unjustifiable, Bhargava. Not the destruction of Kansa; not even the death of other innocent mortals. The bigger evil lies elsewhere and if the supreme gods will not do anything about it, then someone has to.’

  Bhargava listened quietly. He knew Amartya was right. Indra had committed every form of debauchery and depravity over the past few centuries. Yet, neither Shiva nor Vishnu had taken him to task. The vile man rules over all the devas and is steeped in sin…still no one says or does anything, Bhargava fumed in silent fury. Images of his mother’s body lying in a pool of blood clouded his vision, as they always did whenever he remembered the trauma of his own past.

  Time crept on as the two men sat lost in their own thoughts; each one consumed by his private hell and thinking what the future had in store for him. Meanwhile, the wheels of destiny kept rolling. They stopped for no one; not even for a brahmarishi.

  Turned over to the Dark Side

  arasandha finished reading the letter he had dictated to Upadha. The forger has surpassed himself. Ugrasena will never know the difference, he thought with satisfaction.

  Jarasandha had worded the letter to Ugrasena with great care. It was imperative that the old king of Madhuvan did not realize that this particular letter was not written by Kansa. Jarasandha had already destroyed the original letter written by Kansa to his father, but not before Upadha had scanned Kansa’s handwriting in order to forge the duplicate letter dictated by Jarasandha.

  Jarasandha had crafted the letter in such a way that it would appear as a reply from Kansa in response to Ugrasena’s
letter. This should break the umbilical cord between father and son forever, he thought with a devious smile. He dismissed the forger with a significant reward for his services and asked his attendant to call for Rabhu—the messenger sent by Ugrasena.

  Rabhu materialized almost immediately. It had been a few hours since he had handed Ugrasena’s letter, meant for Kansa, to Jarasandha; and he had been wondering what he had been up to. He knew the Magadha king would not have given the letter to Kansa; that much was clear to him. But how would he explain to Ugrasena that he had returned without a reply from Kansa? This petrified him. If Ugrasena got to know he had not handed the letter to Kansa, the punishment would be instant death.

  ‘Here, take this letter and give it to your king,’ Jarasandha commanded handing the same scroll to Rabhu that he had carried from Madhuvan.

  ‘B-but, My Lord,’ Rabhu stuttered in fright. ‘What do I tell the king?’

  Jarasandha looked contemptuously at the man standing in front of him. He hated traitors, even though Rabhu had deceived his master for his own benefit. ‘Let Ugrasena know you gave his letter personally to Kansa…and tell him that the prince has sent his reply.’

  Rabhu wavered. He wasn’t sure about this. ‘But, My Lord, I gave the king’s letter to you. Has the prince replied to that letter?’ His voice faltered as he saw the look of fury on Jarasandha’s face.

  ‘Listen to me, you dog!’ Jarasandha growled, shaking Rabhu roughly by the neck. ‘You will tell Ugrasena exactly what I have told you. You gave Kansa the letter Ugrasena sent through you, and the prince has sent back this letter in reply.’ He let go off Rabhu’s throat. ‘Now do you understand this or should I break your neck for you?’