THE CURSE OF BRAHMA

by Jagmohan Bhanver

  Airawat marvelled at the brilliance of the architecture and the planning of the city. The pit-dwellings ensured security for the city denizens during an emergency. The ground level was aesthetically built with every imaginable facility, to make life comfortable during peace time. The top-most level of the city was constructed all over the hill to provide the Bateshwar soldiers a strategic advantage over any enemy approaching from ground level. It also ensured the safety of key members of the royal family and the other court members.

  Finally, Captain Hitarth came to a halt. They had reached the last building at the end of the steep road. It was balanced on the edge of the hill. It would be ridiculous to call this a building, chuckled Airawat. The structure was magnificent and was a perfect example of a parvata durga (hill fortress). The only difference was that Airawat had never seen a hill fortress such as this one.

  Normally, there were three types of hill fortresses. The prantara durga was built on the summit of a hill. This was the most common type and most kingdoms in Bharat had such forts. The giriparshva durga had both, major civilian structures and fortifications extending down the slope of a hill or mountain, to include the strategic civilian population within the defence system. In the third type of hill fortress—the guha durga—the residential quarters of civilians were situated in a valley surrounded by high, impassable hills. The hills housed a chain of outposts and signal towers connected by extensive defensive walls.

  The beauty of the Bateshwar defence system was that it included the best features of all the three types of fortress formations. In fact, the entire city of Bateshwar resembled a veritable fort, surrounded by hills on all sides, with the royal palace itself being housed on the top of the hill.

  Captain Hitarth had a hurried conversation with his counterpart at the fortress gate. The captain of the guards outside the hill fort looked like a twin of Hitarth, both in physical form and in the efficient and cool way that he appraised Airawat. He nodded to Hitarth and barked an order to one of his minions to open the gate to the fort. Captain Hitarth motioned to Airawat to follow him and the two men entered the palace fortress.

  Airawat had always considered Madhuvan to house the most beautiful palace in all of Bharat. But the royal palace at Bateshwar simply took his breath away. The residential quarters of the royal family were on the east side of the fort. They were separated from the rest of the area by a running stream of water, five gavutas in width. A cobbled road led in a direction away from the residential area and ended in a large field, big enough to contain a thousand warriors without appearing cluttered. This was the place where Sini Yadav and Vasudev were training the task force to take on the asura assassins. Airawat’s jaw dropped in incredulity as he saw the number of warriors assembled on the field. At least five hundred of the toughest men he had ever seen were engaged in various forms of exercises and manoeuvres. They were supervised by a tall broad-shouldered man, with long hair that reached beyond his shoulders. He carried himself with the air of a military man born to war. His chest plate was full of decorations he had received in countless battles over the years. Airawat recognized the stripes on the man’s shoulders and realized he was looking at the commander-in-chief of the Bateshwar army, Sini Yadav.

  Sini Yadav’s attention seemed to be focused at the moment on a group of warriors fighting a solitary figure in their midst. Airawat noticed that Captain Hitarth too had reined in his horse and stopped to observe the intense sparring happening at a distance. Six men were attacking a masked man. The masked man wore a spotless white robe, loosely wrapped around his body. He had a lean form but each part of the warrior’s body seemed to ripple with an unnatural strength. What struck Airawat with particular interest was that he was not wearing any armour and held only a wooden sword in his right hand. The other six fighters wore heavy armour protecting every part of their body and each of them was armed with a gleaming metal sword.

  ‘This is crazy!’ whispered Airawat. ‘The odds are too unfair, and that man is not even armed properly’.

  Hitarth gave Airawat a perfunctory look. ‘Watch!’ he said softly, his eyes intent on the scene unfolding in front of them.

  The masked man crouched low, his torso leaning forward, the left arm extended in front of him and the hand holding the sword pointed backwards in an iron grip. His aggressors circled him carefully; it was as if they were trying to bring down a fearsome opponent and they knew they couldn’t afford any chances. Each of the attackers was looking for an opening, a chance to get through the strategic stance adopted by the masked man. The ragged breathing of the six attackers was the only sound in the vast field. The masked man seemed to be perfectly calm, his concentration unbroken even as the others continued to circle him.

  One of the attackers had tiptoed noiselessly behind him. And another one on his right had slowly but gradually moved closer to their target. The masked man didn’t seem to show any signs of having noticed either of them approaching within his safety zone. Sensing an opportunity, both men attacked; the one from behind focused on the lower back of the masked man and thrust his sword in that direction. The attacker on the right simultaneously made a sweeping motion with his sword in an attempt to hack off the man’s head.

  Airawat forced himself to stand still at what he thought was the end of the white-robed figure. Just when it seemed that the sharp metal from both attackers would seal the fate of the masked man, he suddenly bent lower till his body was almost parallel to the ground. The attack from the rear passed over his head with inches to spare, and the other sword circled harmlessly in the air above him.

  And then, the masked man made his move. In a lightning thrust, he extended his sword arm backwards in an upward motion, catching the man behind him in the middle of his abdomen, just where the armour ended. The contact made the attacker behind him double up in pain. A simultaneous rear kick to his head finished off the man and he dropped unconscious to the ground. In the same instant, the masked man circled his sword arm and caught the aggressor on his right just behind the knee. The attacker stumbled and his face made a shattering impact with the elbow of the masked man. The second attacker staggered and fell to the ground. It had only taken a few seconds. There were now four aggressors left. They looked at each other, grim faces reflecting both fear and awe at the prowess of the man they were attacking. But these were hardened warriors and had been handpicked by Sini Yadav. They would not let a single man humiliate them in front of their commander-in-chief. They looked in the direction of Sini Yadav, who smiled encouragingly at them. This appeared to make them more determined to defeat the masked man.

  The men seemed to reach an unspoken decision as the remaining attackers realigned themselves around their target. There was now a man on each side of the faceless man. Airawat realized with a jolt what they were planning; this time the attack would be from all sides. He watched spellbound. The masked man had changed his stance too. He was no longer crouching but stood erect, facing the man directly in front of him. He seemed oblivious to the other three on his sides and the rear. Time stood still. Everyone present on the field forgot to breathe as they paused their activities to watch the next stage of the duel. For a moment, it looked as if no one wanted to make the first thrust. The remaining four aggressors seemed to be waiting for the masked man to make his move and decide their response accordingly. The masked man, however, seemed unfazed. He looked like he was cast in stone, as he stood unmoving, unblinking. The warrior standing in front of the masked man exchanged a quick look with one of his partners on the left of the target. It is a signal, thought Airawat, his excitement and apprehension for the lone fighter mounting. The same quick look was exchanged between the remaining warriors. The fighter in Airawat noticed that the attackers had tightened their grip on their swords. They had stopped breathing, too. It was a certain sign that they would attack in the very next moment. Airawat tensed as he waited for the inevitable assault from all sides.

  When the assault finally came, Airawat was not the only one shocked
. The masked man turned around in an unpredictable move to face the man who had been behind him. Even before the attacker had time to register what had happened, the masked man punched him hard under his chin. The man’s head rolled back revealing the whites of his eyes, and he crashed to the ground. A lighting kick caught the second man behind him in his groin and felled him. The third warrior on his left had regained his composure by now and brought his sword down on the masked man with all the might he could muster. The latter did not attempt to step out of his way. He dropped down on one knee and gripped his opponent’s wrist, twisting it in one quick motion. The aggressor’s sword clattered to the ground and he screamed in agony as he felt the bone in his wrist break. He was no longer a threat. The fourth man snarled and throwing all caution to the wind, charged towards the target who was still on one knee. The masked man observed the attacker’s shadow, and in a calculated move, waited for him to come within striking distance. As the warrior reached closer, the masked man drove his sword backwards. It hit the attacker on his inner thigh and stopped his charge. He then got up and turned to face the last aggressor, who stood clutching his leg. The wooden sword had connected hard with his femoral artery, located within the inner thigh to the side of the man’s genitilia. If it had been a real sword, it would have sliced through, leading to fatal loss of blood, followed by paralysis and then death. In this case, it had only incapacitated the man temporarily. The masked man touched the debilitated warrior on the head with his wooden sword, and the man bowed low in respect.

  Airawat watched as the man with the broken wrist also bowed to the masked man. The other four aggressors struggled to get up from the ground and approached the man who had single-handedly defeated six of the best warriors chosen by the commander-in-chief of Bateshwar. They didn’t know the identity of the white robed man wearing the mask; but they were kshatriya warriors, and they respected only one thing—a man who could defeat them in fair battle.

  Sini Yadav moved his mount in the direction of the masked man. When he came close, he jumped off the horse and stood face to face with the mystery figure. ‘Maybe you should fight those bloody asura assassins, all by yourself,’ he joked, smiling at the masked man.

  Airawat watched closely as the masked man patted the shoulders of the commander-in-chief. A muffled voice spoke from behind the mask covering his face. ‘I wouldn’t mind fighting them alone, but I don’t see the point of you training these men if you are not going to use them,’ he laughed.

  Airawat recognized the voice of Vasudev even before the prince of Bateshwar had taken off the veil covering his face.

  ‘What news have you brought from Madhuvan, my friend?’ Vasudev said smiling at Airawat. He gripped the Madhuvan cavalry commander by his shoulders in the standard greeting favoured by warriors. While he waited for Airawat to reply, he doused his head in a large pan filled with cold water to wash away the grime and sweat accumulated during the duel. The blend of rose petals and lime slices mixed in the water rejuvenated him and whatever little fatigue he may have felt as a result of the recent sparring left his body.

  ‘I’m afraid the news is not so good,’ Airawat said in an uncharacteristically pessimistic tone. ‘Kansa has refused to return to Madhuvan.’

  Vasudev couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Does he place his differences with his father above the safety of his motherland?’ he asked incredulously.

  Airawat was quiet. He did not feel the need to respond to the outburst and he knew that Vasudev didn’t expect an answer either. He had just expressed the same sentiment that Airawat himself had felt when Ugrasena had told him about Kansa’s refusal to return.

  Vasudev shook his head sadly. ‘This is not the Kansa we know. This is a different man…’ He let his words hang in the air. Airawat and Sini Yadav waited for him to speak but Vasudev seemed lost in thought.

  The training behind them continued unabated as Sini’s task force practised various fighting techniques amongst themselves. Loud cheers erupted every time a warrior would defeat a sparring partner in a particularly spectacular fashion. Vasudev remained oblivious to all the cheering and shouting around him. Finally, he appeared to come out of his self-imposed reverie, and when he spoke, his voice was firm. ‘Sini, you will lead the Bateshwar task force against the asura assassins. Give them no quarter. Let them feel the heat of our metal so that no one dares to attack our motherland again.’

  Turning towards Airawat, he spoke softly, but the resolve in his voice was unmistakable. ‘I will return to Madhuvan with you. You will lead the team under my command. Together we will dig out the asuras from wherever they are holed up.’ Airawat bowed to Vasudev, acknowledging his instructions. This time, there was no hesitation in his mind as he kneeled to Vasudev, accepting the prince of Bateshwar as his new commander-in-chief.

  Jarasandha handed Kansa the scroll containing the letter from Ugrasena. He watched as Kansa excitedly opened the lid of the scroll to extract the letter. In his excitement to read the letter, Kansa did not even notice that the seal on the lid had already been broken once. He had not expected a reply from Ugrasena so soon. Father must have been really happy to read my letter, he thought to himself as he unfurled the letter, spreading it out in front of him. I’m glad I wrote to him, he smiled, his brown eyes twinkling with genuine happiness after a long time.

  Kansa started reading the letter. It was very brief. Jarasandha, who stood close by him, felt that he read the letter several times. Kansa’s body stiffened perceptibly as he continued to stare at the letter he held in his hands. Tears poured down his face as he stood, unmoving, and all of a sudden, his huge shoulders slumped as if they no longer had the courage or the strength to carry his weight. Even as Jarasandha looked on, Kansa staggered, his legs buckling under him as he crashed on his knees to the ground. He held his face in his hands, willing to tear the eyes that had made him read the words he would never forget…or forgive. And from within the depths of his soul, a scream erupted that reverberated throughout the palace walls and raised the hair on Jarasandha’s neck. It was a primal shriek that carried all of Kansa’s pain and rage closeted within his heart. Jarasandha moved tentatively towards his friend, fearing that Kansa might hurt himself, but more fearful for his own safety. The man who sat screaming on the floor was not the Kansa he knew. That man had changed in a way that was difficult to comprehend.

  Jarasandha held Kansa by his shoulders, in a vain attempt to help his friend get up. Kansa, still in the throes of a powerful emotion, pushed him away and the mighty Jarasandha found himself hurled through the air as he landed on his back a few feet away. It took him a few moments to gather his senses and get up, still shocked at the inhuman strength with which Kansa had thrown him. He stared with trepidation at his friend’s back, but this time, did not venture near him. Gradually, Kansa’s body seemed to slacken and without turning around, he held out the letter in his hands, towards Jarasandha.

  Jarasandha had already read the letter, and he knew Ugrasena had written this as a reaction to the letter he had sent on behalf of Kansa. But he had to make a pretence of reading it again, as if he were seeing it for the first time.

  Kansa,

  I have read your letter. You do not need to return now, or ever again to Madhuvan. If Devki wants you to attend her marriage, I will need to bear the fact of your presence here, but I will do so for her sake.

  When I die, one of my ‘true sons’ will take over as king of Madhuvan. And if none of my blood sons is deemed capable of handling the throne, I am going to decree Vasudev as the future ruler.

  I have considered at length before writing this letter to you. But in the end I am compelled to believe that you have more of your birth father’s instincts in you than you have of your mother.

  I too wish you the best in what you need to do.

  Ugrasena

  Jarasandha looked up from the letter and stared at Kansa, who had his back towards him. ‘This…this is disgraceful,’ he said, in an attempt to add fuel to the fire. ‘On the one hand
he calls you a demon’s son and then he tries to use that as a reason to disinherit you and have some wimp sit on the throne that belongs rightfully to you!’

  ‘What do you think I should do?’ Kansa said in a whisper, his voice eerily soft.

  Jarasandha thought quickly. The letter from Ugrasena had already turned Kansa irrevocably against his father and also planted the seeds of distrust against his closest friend Vasudev. If he could somehow turn that distrust into a deep-seated hatred for Vasudev, it would be an invaluable step forward for his own plans. And if somehow Devki could also be alienated…that will be like having your cake and eating it too, he thought. And then it struck him exactly how he could turn Kansa against both, Devki and Vasudev.

  ‘The throne belongs to you after Ugrasena’s death, Kansa,’ Jarasandha said carefully. ‘But there is time for that. I think you should talk to Devki and see how she feels about all of this.’

  Kansa nodded slowly, his back still towards Jarasandha. ‘Yes, I will talk to Devki. She is perhaps the only person who really cares for me. But I will not go to Madhuvan to meet her Jarasandha…not right now…not after this letter.’

  Jarasandha struggled to conceal his smile. He had been apprehensive that Kansa might go to Madhuvan and the truth of the forged letters might come out if he met Ugrasena. He now addressed Kansa in the gentlest tone he could muster, ‘I will send Asti and Prapti back to Madhuvan with a message for Devki. Don’t worry, you will not need to go to Madhuvan right now. Devki will come to meet you here.’

  ‘Thank you, my friend’ Kansa said, turning around for the first time since he had read the letter, to face Jarasandha.