Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series)

by Vineet Bajpai

  Banaras, 2017

  ‘KARTIKEYA TRIED TO BURN DOWN THE ILLUMINATI’

  As the sacred havana reached its end, Vidyut touched his Baba’s feet to obtain his benedictions. It was customary in Sanatana or simply, in Hindu families for the young to seek blessings of their elders in this manner.

  For the next two days and nights, the devta was going to need all the blessings he could get.

  ‘We will wait for everyone to leave, Vidyut,’ muttered the grand old man. ‘The time has come for you to stand face to face with your destiny.’

  Damini did not want to leave, but she sensed that it was time she left the two Shastri men alone.

  ‘Please allow me to take leave of you, Baba,’ she said, getting up and folding her hands in a pranaam.

  Dwarka Shastri smiled and bowed his head slightly, acknowledging Damini. Vidyut also turned and gave her an affectionate look as she walked out of the Bhairava temple.

  ‘Baba…’ said Vidyut, ‘the pujaris are going to take some time in winding up the poojan. Why don’t we sit in that corner and continue our conversation? I am still not aware exactly why my father Kartikeya Shastri was killed, although I can well imagine it now.’

  The Kaal-Bhairava temple was still filled with grey smoke from the ceremonial fire. Vidyut always found this delightful blend of yajna smoke, incense, marigold flowers and camphor, typical to temples, deeply moving. It gave him a profound sense of calm. It was the closest one could get to the fragrance of divinity.

  ‘The war between the matth and the Order intensified after the Black Death. The plague had made it clear to us that the secret brotherhood was far more sinister than we had envisaged till that point. It was now that the Shastri clansmen decided to take the fight to the Order’s doorstep. And then began the killings…’ said the matthadheesh.

  ‘What kind of killings, Baba?’

  ‘Let that be, Vidyut. I know your view on violence. I saw it in your reaction when Trijat was executed. By the way, Balvanta also told me that you released that one-eyed demon Brahmanand. It was a huge mistake, Vidyut. You will regret it one day. Anyhow, let’s not delve deeper into the assassinations. Just know that both sides were now hunting each other down. And your gallant father Kartikeya only did what he was expected to do. What he was ordained to do.

  This was all prophesized anyway, Vidyut. Remember the curse of the Blood River. She had condemned mankind to eternal strife and violence. The New World Order is simply a manifestation of that curse.’

  ‘Do share his tale, Baba. It is overwhelming to hear the magnificent achievements of our forefathers – Vivasvan Pujari, Satyavrata Manu, Advait Shastri, Durgadas Shastri, Markandeya Shastri…and finally Papa. It is all so mind-numbing, so gratifying.’

  Dwarka Shastri smiled.

  ‘You do know who is supposed to be the greatest of our bloodline, don’t you, Vidyut? It is you, my son. You are the prophesied devta. The last devta! Greater than all of us combined!’

  ‘Oh please, Baba…’ said an embarrassed Vidyut. ‘I don’t know why you, Purohit ji and everyone else in the matth keeps saying that. I have achieved not even a fraction of what our great forefathers had. Why, I have not done anything that comes close to even your greatness, Baba.’

  ‘You think combatting those deadly mercenaries single-handedly was not great, Vidyut? Do you know anyone else who can do that? What about Romi Pereira, the killer behind some of the most high-profile assassinations of the last decade and a half? Do you know that the Masaan-raja was nearly invincible? You vanquished the most lethal taantric on earth. And don’t forget Vidyut, I live and breathe today because it is your divine soul that protects me. Don’t underestimate yourself, my son.’

  Vidyut smiled and shook his head in polite disagreement.

  ‘I could not have beaten Trijat Kapaalik without your help, Baba. The daakinis that emerged from the netherworld – I could not have fought them. The Shiva-Kavach command that you have, I just don’t. So, it was not me alone, Baba. It was us.’

  Dwarka Shastri laughed with delight. Something had just struck him.

  ‘It bodes well that you believe even a devta needs help. By that logic, even God would require assistance, would he not, Vidyut? You know, my son…it is wonderful how you appreciate and talk about teamwork!’ he said, still laughing.

  Vidyut could not understand anything and gave a bemused look to his Baba, almost laughing himself just looking at the grand old man’s glee.

  ‘Vidyut…you are also in someone’s team. That is what you have been sent for!’

  The devta had not understood what his Baba meant when he spoke about God requiring assistance or him being in someone’s team. He decided to change the topic and steer it to what he longed to know most.

  ‘Do tell me about my father now, Baba.’

  ‘Yes, my son. I am sure you would have guessed by now as to who was behind the killing of Kartikeya. They were the same dark forces that slew Advait, Markandeya and Durgadas Shastri - the New World Order! But know this, Vidyut - blood was spilled from both sides. For every son that this family sacrificed in protecting the secret of the Black Temple, we eliminated several Overlords and accomplices of the Order. There were sensational political assassinations carried out by us when needed. On other occasions, the fight took the form of ethereal battles of occult and exorcism. Some of the others were just no-holds-barred street fights.

  The scale finally started tilting in our favor when Kartikeya decided to take the offensive to their stronghold in the United States of America. It was in Kartikeya’s time that the Order had to pay the heaviest price for every drop of Shastri blood they had ever drawn. But the Illuminati and the other secret societies that together form the New World Order, were too powerful even for Kartikeya. They finally caught up with their enemy number one, surrounded him and killed him on a rainy night in San Francisco. Even in his mutilated and half-dead state, my grandson and your father, the valiant Kartikeya Shastri, did not reveal the location of the last Black Temple.’

  Vidyut sat there stunned. He wanted to burst out crying, but he could not. His veins were ready to explode with rage and vengeance.

  ‘So, you see, beta,’ Dwarka Shastri continued in a near-breaking voice, ‘in every sense of the word, it has been a war. A war waging for hundreds of years. And we, the Shastri bloodline, lost everything we held dear during the course of this trying journey.

  But I assure you, Vidyut, even then never once did we harm an innocent. Never once was our fight anything other than our holy duty towards protecting mankind. Not once, over hundreds of years, did our ancestors abandon propriety and dharma.’

  It was now that the real nature of this war sunk into Vidyut. From what he remembered of his loving father, Kartikeya Shastri was a soft-spoken, ever smiling, thorough gentleman, who read fairy tales to Vidyut at night. And here it was – the cold truth. Assassinations, occult, exorcism, killing of the Order’s Overlords…this went deeper, farther than he had permitted his mind to wander. Every time Dwarka Shastri had spoken about this centuries’ old blood-feud, somewhere deep down Vidyut knew what it meant. Just that it was hard for him to accept his father’s, his grandfather’s and all his forefathers’ hands to be stained with blood, even if it were so in the righteous path of saving the meek from the monster.

  Vidyut was faced with a choice. He could get up right now, dissociate himself from everything like it was a terrible nightmare and turn his back on his great grandfather, on the matth and on this thousand-year saga of horror and viciousness…never to return again. He could go and live an affluent, metropolitan life in his glamorous penthouse with Damini, with all material comforts at his disposal.

  Or he could inherit this war, embrace the violent legacy of his forefathers and fulfill the ancient prophecy.

  In that very moment, Vidyut accepted his destiny. He looked at Dwarka Shastri with eyes that said everything to the grand old man. The devta clenched his teeth, shut his eyes and proudly embraced his bloodline for e
verything that it was. He bowed his head for a few moments, in silent salutation to his great ancestors who had sacrificed themselves one after the other at the altar of humankind’s temple. When he opened his eyes, he was someone else.

  He was the last protector of Kaliyuga’s greatest secret.

  The secret of the Black Temple.

  The Marshes Surrounding the Great Ark, Aryavarta, 1698 BCE

  THE MAN-EATING OGRE

  The Ark looked like the darkest night had descended upon earth. Stretching for miles in length and taller than the tallest peak of the mighty Himalayas, from miles and miles away the entire Ark appeared to be a black, titanic block.

  Not a single flicker of light was permitted. Not a single lamp could be lit. Manu, Dhruv, Tara and Prachanda had decided to use darkness as a battle tactic. Messages had been sent to the tens of thousands of inhabitants of the Ark – all days and nights here on were to be spent in complete darkness.

  The reason was simple. The daitya attack, reinforced heavily by the brigands from the badlands, was now imminent. Hundreds of daitya camps had mushroomed all around the Ark, at a distance of a few miles away. It was clear now that the cannibals and the bandits were surrounding the great boat from all ten directions.

  The residents and fighters of the Ark were justifiably nervous, and visibly shaken - but they were not unprepared. In fact, the entire vessel was now a gargantuan garrison, ready for the terrible adversary they awaited.

  In the complete darkness, it was impossible for the attackers to spot where the thousands of archers atop the decks of the great Ark crouched, ready in their positions, fortifying the entire perimeter. Vast legions of the elite fish-folk infantry and cavalry had made their move in the blackest hours of the night, and were now waiting in enormous, secret chambers that the daityas could never foreknow even in their wildest imagination.

  Sprawling, temporary kitchens had been set up deep inside the belly of the Nauka. So deep that the colossal cooking fires were not even remotely visible to any observer outside the Ark. This was done to ensure that a nourishing broth of hot vegetables and rice was supplied to the thousands of fighters on the frontlines at regular intervals. A thick soup of meat and rice was being cooked continuously in hundreds of oversized pots. This was to keep the asura soldiers fed during the grueling days and nights of battle that lay ahead of them.

  Nearly every deck of the great vessel creaked under the bludgeoning weight of the latest cargo that had been added over the last few weeks. Arrows. And as Tara had planned – millions of them. Each Ark archer was now armed with more than a thousand arrows, ready to be replenished at a moment’s notice.

  But above all the other preparations and readiness for a full-scale war, what Manu was depending on most was the one weapon Matsya had bequeathed upon him before the magnificent blue-man had departed.

  ‘Use it when you think all is lost, O Satyavrata,’ Matsya had said. ‘And Agni, the God of fire, will come to your aid.’

  He had demonstrated it to Satyavrata and Dhruv in a secret location, after which he had supplied them with hundreds of barrels full of this alchemical wonder.

  Gandhak.

  Somdutt looked unusually worried as he struggled through his rationed meal, taking minutes between each morsel. Manu sat beside him, eating his own rice broth in silence. By now their eyes were used to the perpetual dimness. Therefore, even in the pitch-dark cabin, Satyavrata could sense his trusted counsel’s anxiety.

  ‘Something seems to be bothering you, Somdutt ji...’ enquired Manu.

  He knew Somdutt was one of the people who would play a decisive role in the future of mankind. Without him the great Ark, this astonishing marvel of ship-construction, would not have been built. Working together over the last several months towards this daunting undertaking, the mutual affection and respect between both these iconic men had grown boundlessly. But most of all, Somdutt reminded Satyavrata Manu of his father, Vivasvan Pujari. Not for a moment could he forget that it was Somdutt alone who stood by the Surya when even the latter’s own shadow had forsaken him. Manu had come to love the chief architect of Harappa as well as of the Ark like a father. Somdutt was the only parent Manu had left, since Vivasvan, Sanjna and Matsya had left him. In turn, the great architect loved the young priest-king like a son.

  ‘Yes, I am worried, Manu. I am seeing all these battle preparations around me and it is all very heartening. With the combined forces of the Harappan army, the marvelous fish-folk warriors and the asura fighters, we do stand a small but real chance of repelling the colossal army of cannibals preparing to surround us. Between you, Dhruv, Tara and Prachanda we have excellent Generals to lead this antim-yuddha or last-battle of the human race, before pralay engulfs the entire planet.’

  ‘It is reassuring for me to hear these words from you, Somdutt ji. But then what is it that is bothering you so much that you are unable to enjoy this frugal but delicious meal?’

  Somdutt turned to look at Manu. Despite the all-pervasive darkness, Manu could see fear on the chief architect’s face.

  ‘Nara-Munda, Manu…we are not prepared for that demonic fiend Nara-Munda!’

  ‘You all do not understand…he is not human!’ yelled Somdutt to everyone sitting in the war-room of the Ark.

  Immediately after he had expressed his concern to Manu over their brief meal, Manu had convened a meeting of the Generals. His closest and most trusted aides, Dhruv, Tara and Prachanda were now present. As were the Saptarishi.

  ‘Nara-Munda is not born of natural procreation. I am not aware of how he has become what he has, but he is certainly a biological mutation of some kind.’

  Everyone in the war-room was listening intently to Somdutt.

  ‘Have you ever thought why even the great Vivasvan Pujari and the wise Pundit Chandradhar had kept the Harappan administration away from the dark forests of Aryavarta? Think about it. Even with the mighty army of Harappa riding under his banner, fully aware of his own divine valor, my friend Vivasvan Pujari never ventured towards the eerie forests,’ continued Somdutt.

  The reality was slowly sinking into everyone present. Clearly, the Surya of Harappa was trying to keep the metropolis safe from something. Something terrible that lurked in the dark forests. It was now that Somdutt had unveiled the truth.

  ‘Even the Surya of Harappa, the slayer of the mighty demon-king Sura, the destroyer of armies, the invincible Vivasvan Pujari – even he did not want to lock horns with the man-eating ogre Nara-Munda!’ concluded the wise architect.

  This last, unsettling piece of information made Manu nervous.

  Very nervous.

  Banaras, 2017

  ROHINI NAKSHATRA

  ‘The holy Nakshatra is about to commence, gurudev!’ announced a sadhu, an aged priest with a long white beard, as he entered the Bhairava mandir. The old man’s eyes were filled with tears of joy as he looked at both Vidyut and Dwarka Shastri.

  The matthadheesh closed his eyes, mumbled a prayer to Lord Vishnu and nodded at the old priest. ‘Prepare for the prophesied hour, Mahant Yograj. The devta is ready!’

  Vidyut was bewildered as he heard the exchange between the two men from the Dev-Raakshasa matth. Even before he could ask for an explanation, dozens of priests in crimson and saffron robes streamed into the Kaal-Bhairava shrine, collectively chanting mantras and throwing fistfuls of consecrated ash and flowers into every corner of the temple. Vidyut was amazed at the synchronization in the intonation of the mantras. The holy priests nearly half-sang the sacred prayers as if they were all in fact one person. The resulting effect was a booming, harmonious melody that seemed to make every pillar, every wall and every dust particle of the temple shudder in an overpowering, positive vibration.

  ‘Walk with me, Vidyut. The time has come, my son. The moment this planet has been waiting for. The hour for which we have all bled over centuries. The prophesy of Matsya. The secret of the Black Temple awaits you, O devta!’ pronounced Dwarka Shastri, shouting above the din of the chanting, ges
turing towards Vidyut to follow him.

  At the very same moment Damini walked in to the reverberating temple, looking around in a daze at the priests. Several hours had passed and she had been sent for by the matthadheesh. She was closely followed by all the others – Purohit ji, Naina, Govardhan, Balvanta, Sonu and other senior priests of the matth. By now several cymbals and tinker-bells used in yajnas and aartis had been taken out. They were being clanged and chimed at a high pitch, in rhythm with the sacred chanting.

  Vidyut was an accomplished yogi and taantric himself. He now focused on the loud, mesmerizing intonations and immediately recognized them.

  The priests were collectively chanting the ultimate prayer of Lord Shiva – the very blessed – Rudra Path!

  The devta was now clear about one thing. The priests and the matthadheesh were sanctifying the shrine they stood in – preparing for something extraordinary. Something otherworldly.

  Something supernatural.

  Vidyut had never been to this part of the matth. In fact, he did not even know such winding alleys and hallways existed in the raakshasa-khannd. Dwarka Shastri had led him into a dark pathway right behind the dominating bust of Lord Kaal Bhairava. Vidyut was surprised to see a concealed entrance behind the splendid statue. This doorway was not visible from any spot in the mandir.

  They were now walking in and turning into almost a maze of stone corridors led by Balvanta, who illuminated the dark passageways with the flame of his tall wicker-torch. The incantation of mantras and tolling of cymbals continued in the Bhairava mandir precinct, now sounding a little muffled. Vidyut could make out that the dark corridors were slowly spiraling downwards, taking them deeper and deeper into the basement of the raakshasa-khannd. Dwarka Shastri continued the intonation as he walked, while Purohit ji and Govardhan sprinkled the consecrated ash and flowers at every step.

  In the gradually dimming light, Vidyut noticed something. The devta turned to Damini, who was right by his side, and silently pointed to the walls and ceiling of the pathways that were more like tunnels now.