Damini could not understand what Vidyut was trying to say. She raised her eyebrows, expressing her bafflement.
‘The stones are turning darker with every few steps,’ he murmured.
‘And…?’ Damini whispered back.
‘They are turning black.’
It was a long walk. Several minutes had passed and they were still negotiating the underground stone maze, somewhere deep inside the Dev-Raakshasa matth. Balvanta, Purohit ji and the matthadheesh himself appeared quite surefooted. Vidyut thought to himself.
Looks as if they have travelled this serpentine path several times.
Serpentine.
Vidyut had no idea how close he was to the fantastic reality that awaited them!
‘Baba, all three of them, Romi, Bala and then Trijat said the Order has kept me alive for all these years. If I am such a threat to them, if I am the prophesied devta who is going to stand in the way of their grand design, why did they not kill me much earlier? If they could plant Bala in my company, in my house years ago, if they could eliminate international leaders and military dictators at will, if they could trigger civil wars and fund revolutions – why didn’t they just eliminate me when I was a child? Or even after that?’
‘I was expecting this question from you, Vidyut,’ replied Dwarka Shastri, without turning around. He knew the acoustics of the tunnels would make sure that every word he spoke would reach his brilliant great grandson, along with everyone else in the small delegation that was making its way towards the underbelly of the raakshasa-khannd. Each one of them was a trusted pillar of the matth, and of the war against the sinister Order.
‘The answer is simple, Vidyut – the secret of the Black Temple cannot be unlocked without you. Or to put it in other words, you are the only one who can unearth and unveil the divine secret. All your ancestors, including Kartikeya, were tortured or killed because the Order wanted to track down the location of the Black Temple. But you…you were most precious to them. You still are!’
They walked a few more paces in silence, the distant chanting of the Rudra-Path still tearing through the thick stone walls.
‘Hard as that is to believe, Baba, if that is the case then why did Romi, then Bala and then Trijat try to kill me?’ asked Vidyut.
Naina responded on the matthadheesh’s behalf.
‘None of them were going to kill you, Vidyut. They were going to injure you grievously, capture you…and keep you alive till this moment…till the Rohini Nakshatra. You think Romi, who was the world’s deadliest and most sophisticated assassin, would simply miss his target when you were so close to him? Would Bala, a trained ex-Army commando, have missed a shot from point blank range? Why did Trijat Kapaalik tie you in chains, when he could have easily killed you in your unconscious state? Think about it.’
Before Vidyut could even ponder over what Naina had just explained, the ground shook violently. Damini grabbed Vidyut’s arm, petrified, as clouds of grey dust fell from the low ceiling of the dark alleyway. It was once again the rumble that they had felt a day ago, sitting in the matthadheesh’s verandah.
Only this time, it emanated from somewhere or something much closer.
The Marshes Surrounding the Great Ark, Aryavarta, 1698 BCE
‘THEY ARE COMING…’
The meeting had been going on for two hours now…most of it in cold, heavy silence, disturbed every now and then by the loud clap of thunder. The unavoidable prospect of facing Nara-Munda now loomed menacingly in the room. With no solution in sight.
‘As the guptachar-dal of Harappa had informed all of us members of the city-council, Nara-Munda’s hide cannot be penetrated easily by regular swords, arrows or spears. Even the most well-timed, most speeding arrow gives him only a superficial flesh wound. They say he has so much brute strength that a full-blooded punch from him fractures the skull of a horse! Tearing open the chest bones and rib-cages of his fallen foes with his bare claws, only to eat their hearts while they were still beating, is not infrequent for this savage half-human, half-beast.’
There was pin drop silence in the room as Somdutt uttered these last, menacing words.
For all her valiance and courage, the beautiful Satrupa could not hold her tears back. She burst into a loud sob giving her angst away, as all the men in the room swallowed lumps of fear in their throats.
Manu was no less afraid than anyone else present there. He was no less terrified even at the thought of coming face to face with this living legend of a monster. But it is in times of starkest adversity that a true leader of men stands tall - rising above material greed, above individual preservation, and even above the fears of grave personal loss. It was not for nothing that the magnificent Matsya had chosen Satyavrata Manu to be the future king and guardian of the human race.
‘I will face him, O great architect of Harappa,’ announced Manu.
‘No, you will not!’ screamed Tara instantly, as she paced across the room towards Manu.
For a very brief moment Manu was more afraid of the beauty charging at him than he was of even Nara-Munda.
‘What is the matter with you, O son of Surya??’ she questioned Satyavrata, now standing inches away from him, staring into his eyes imploringly. She breathed heavily, filled with anger and dread.
‘Satrupa is right, Satyavrata,’ intervened Somdutt. ‘We all know of and admire your valiance. We saw you overpower not just Ranga but hundreds of bestial adversaries in the months that followed. But this time it is different. Nara-Munda is equal to ten Ranga’s taken together. There is no prudence in attempting the impossible, O son of Surya.’
Manu turned to the chief architect of the Ark.
‘The impossible…? What do you mean, Somdutt ji? Are you declaring the result of the duel even before it is fought? Do you remember similar predictions being made when I battled the dreaded bandit warlord Kankoli in his own stronghold? Did I not quash the bestial Senapati of Dholavira when he attempted to sabotage the eviction of the city? I was unarmed when I fought and defeated the daitya attack on our caravan…’
Satyavrata Manu was not talking to Somdutt or to anyone else present in the room. He was speaking to himself…strengthening his will from the inside, drowning his mortal fear in words of self-praise – only so he could garner the courage he needed to face the demon Nara-Munda.
But that is not how his words came across to the people in the room.
Somdutt sighed. For the first time in about a year that he had known and worked with Manu closely, he noticed a hint of conceit in the young priest-king.
‘Look Manu, it is not valor to jump into a battle that one is fated to lose. Let us think of some other…’
‘Why are you mincing words, Somdutt ji? Just say what you want to say clearly!’ snapped Manu.
Somdutt lost his cool as well. As far as he was concerned, Manu was behaving like a petulant child, unwilling to see the reality as it was. The great architect treated Manu like a son, and could not let his beloved child walk into the jaws of certain death. He decided to abandon all tact and make this young man face the truth.
The architect of Harappa glared into Manu’s eyes and spoke with an uncharacteristically high pitch.
‘If you fight the giant cannibal one to one, he will slaughter you and consume your flesh while it is still warm!’
Satyavrata Manu rested sunk into a camp chair made of wood and leather. He sat bending forward, his forehead buried into his hands, his fingers pushing back his long hair from falling over his face.
He was not afraid. Neither was he upset with Somdutt for his plain-speak moments ago. He was simply, deeply worried. If he could not combat and defeat Nara-Munda, who else would? This one factor could change the course of history. Was the human race going to welcome the new dawn beyond pralay as a free, liberated and civilized people? Or as slaves and fodder for a savage, barbaric cult?
Somdutt felt miserable. He felt he had irreparably demoralized the only man who stood between mankind and extinction. Tara’s heart
cringed at seeing her man in this broken state. But she was relieved. Maybe this last outburst from Somdutt ji would make Manu change his mind and keep him away from the suicidal duel he was planning to embark upon.
It was only Dhruv who understood what Manu was really going through. As a childhood friend and as someone who had studied Manu’s mind and heart to the remotest depths, the splendid archer stepped forward and put his hand on Satyavrata’s shoulder.
‘We can overpower him, Manu. We can kill him. But you are not going to like what I am about to suggest,’ said Dhruv.
Everyone in the cold, windy chamber was listening intently. What Dhruv was going to recommend could mean the difference between victory and death.
‘Go on...’ replied Manu, without looking up.
‘The only way we can slay the beast is if twenty of our best warriors surround him simultaneously. I will lead the assault myself.’
Manu looked up in a start. He could not believe his trusted, most reliable friend had just suggested the route of cowardice.
‘You disappoint me, Dhruv. An extraordinary warrior like you proposing such a…’
Even before Manu could complete his sentence, a soldier of the fish-tribe darted into the war-room, slamming the door open, let alone knocking.
The soldier was panting heavily, both due to the long sprint up to the meeting chamber, as well as from near-panic at what he had beheld from the watch tower of the Ark.
He could utter just a few words, but they conveyed the message.
‘They are coming, Satyavrata…a sea of them.’
Banaras, 2017
IT IS TIME I MET THE DEVTA…
The Maschera Bianca looked up from his breakfast plate of fresh fruit and Greek yoghurt as Aslam Biker walked into his presidential suite’s posh dining room.
‘Good morning, Maschera,’ mumbled a nervous Aslam.
The White Mask smiled politely. He looked nothing like the petrifying ghost he had appeared to be the previous night at the hotel’s health club. His slick expression was back. His expensive cologne filled the room. His gelled blonde hair and his disarming smile both beamed across the long table.
The cruelest man in the world asked in the most endearing manner.
‘What news of the devta’s movement, Aslam, my friend? Have they left for the mountains yet?’
The Mumbai don was relieved to see the mask in his usual, civil and stylish self.
‘No, Maschera. They are all still there. Still in the Dev-Raakshasa matth.’
The Mask’s face turned pensive.
‘This is very strange. They should have left for Kedarnath by now. Something is not right…’
The big screens came to life.
Secured by the most sophisticated encryption technology money could buy, this video call connected the three most powerful men in the world.
Each time they conferred digitally or in person, something changed dramatically in the course of world history. A civil war, a lethal epidemic, a series of assassinations, a major terrorist attack, a nuclear power-plant leak, a passenger aircraft lost mid-air…
These three men were the supreme Overlords of the New World Order.
One of them was something more than that.
‘They are still here, your holiness,’ said the Maschera. He sat at the far end of a long conference table facing the two screens.
The Big Man from Rome was not pleased. He had expected better news.
Frank Stonefellar felt like he was hit by an express train. The implication of failure now meant a horrible end for the Order and everything it stood for. On the other hand, victory meant absolute global control and unquestioned sovereignty over the entire human race. The stakes were never higher.
‘But…but they should have left by now. The dangerous constellation will light up the night sky in a few hours. How will they make sure the devvtuh reaches that mountain shrine in time??’ demanded the Big Man.
‘Something is not adding up here, Maschera,’ said the Stonefellar scion from the other LED screen, his voice cold as ice. ‘Kedarnath is the last Black Temple. The devta must enter it tonight. It is a millennia old prophecy…’
‘Unless…’ hissed the White Mask.
After a moment’s pause, Frank Stonefellar asked matter-of-factly, ‘Unless what, Maschera?’ He knew what was at stake, but his tone was unwavering. He was not a supreme Overlord of the world’s most powerful secret brotherhood just like that.
‘Unless…Kedarnath is not the last Black Temple after all!’ said the White Mask, his green eyes staring into the screens across his long table.
The possibility of the shrewd Dwarka Shastri having outwitted them was not too remote. The old fox had done it several times before. But this time the Order was confident they had zeroed down on the last Black Temple. For years the secret lay buried in the Kedarnath shrine in Uttarakhand. The prophecy was to be fulfilled in the heart of this holy sanctum.
Their plan was simple. They were going to wait till the Rohini Nakshatra appeared and the foretold hour arrived. As preordained for millennia, the devta would be taken there. The brotherhood would wait for Vidyut to unfurl the secret of the Black Temple. After which they would eliminate the last devta of planet earth and acquire the secret they had been hunting for over centuries.
But now it was evident that something had changed last minute. If Vidyut was still inside the Dev-Raakshasa matth, only hours away from the sacred constellation – how would he reach Kedarnath in time for the prophecy to be realized?
‘Ha…Ha…Ha…!’
The White Mask burst out laughing, getting up from his chair and throwing his head back.
The two men on the screen just watched quietly. They knew the Mask had bumped into something unexpected. They had seen such a reaction from him before. It also told them that the Mask already had the next step planned.
The Maschera Bianca kept guffawing, shaking his head in self-admonishment. After a minute, he started to calm down, wiping the water in his eyes with a neat handkerchief.
He then turned to the screens and spoke with the finesse of a corporate CEO.
‘Gentlemen, I don’t know how, but the secret has been removed from Kedarnath, from under our very noses. It has now reached where it was destined to reach – the last Black Temple.’
This was an update that the Overlords were not going to take lightly. The Big Man’s face twitched with fury. Frank Stonefellar swallowed a lump of extreme rage. But none of them could express their anger to the Maschera’s face.
Finally, the Stonefellar scion spoke with calculated irritation.
‘You assured us that your man in India would not let us down, Maschera.’
‘Yes, I did…yes, I did…’ replied the Mask, as he abruptly switched off the screens with the remote control in front of him and ended the call.
He sat in silence for a few minutes, assessing the situation. This was the final hour.
It is time I met the devta…
The Marshes Surrounding the Great Ark, Aryavarta, 1698 BCE
ANTIM YUDDHA – PART I
It was a sight that could freeze the blood of even the most fearless of men.
An army so vast had never marched on planet earth before. And would never tread on it again. It was a militia of a size that was beyond the imagination of even writers and poets of the greatest wars. This congregation of fighters was several times larger in number than the armies that had gathered for Dasarajna, the great ancient battle of the Ten Kings. That men could gather and walk together in such vast numbers was unthinkable for anyone alive in Aryavarta.
With dry mouths and pounding hearts, the Generals of the Ark watched their enemy approach like a lumbering serpent strangling them slowly from all ten directions. They were awestruck with the sight. Millions of torches glowed like a river of light from a radius of a few miles away. The frontal legions of daitya and brigand forces were now perhaps just an hour’s ride away from the great Ark. But the final waves of this approachin
g colossus of an army were not visible. The enemy military was so massive, that it stretched beyond what the naked eye could behold.
The messenger who had darted into the war-room was right.
This was truly a sea, a typhoon charging at the Ark. To drown it.
In blood.
‘How…how many do you think they are, Satyavrata?’ blurted Prachanda, not believing what he was seeing.
Manu stood like a statue at the highest deck of the Ark, rain drenching him and his fellowship from head to toe. In the darkness of the night, the torches of the daitya legions spread out in front of his eyes like a blanket of light covering the entire earth. They were indeed immeasurable.
‘Looks like all the bandit tribes from here to the Vindhyas have joined forces with Nara-Munda. The scouts say that the great flood will strike the final swathes of bhoomi in a matter of days. Every last man, woman and child left on this part of the planet knows one thing for sure now,’ said Dhruv, not taking his eyes away from the crawling ocean of cannibals even for a second.
‘And what is that, Dhruv?’ asked Somdutt.
Dhruv paused for a moment, drew out a glistening arrow from his quiver and placed it on his mighty bow.
‘That the Ark is the last hope for survival. And that it must be stolen.
Be prepared, O defenders of the Ark. The enemy is going to fight till death.’
With these words Dhruv lit the head of the specially crafted arrow from the flame of a burning torch nearby, and shot the blazing arrow far high into the sky, as a signal to his troops.
He had declared the war open.
The battle-cry of the bandit mobs was bloodcurdling.
They had now approached close enough to be heard by the fighters and residents of the great boat. They shouted themselves hoarse in unison, tens of thousands of them, and sounded more menacing than the screams of burning hell.
Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series) Page 16
