Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series)

by Vineet Bajpai

  And with that, all of known earth would drown in the great deluge.

  The daityas were now getting desperate. They had to take the Ark, or it was clear that every single one of them would perish. It was now a battle of survival for the barbarians, and no act of cruelty was beyond them.

  The daityas were back. Once again in fearsome numbers. From a distance, it was not visible as to who led the attack, but the ghastly battle cries made it clear that it was the daityas themselves leading the frontal assault.

  They were positioned a mile away, not moving. Then something strange happened. One rider galloped out from the multitudes of daityas and rode alone towards the Ark. Tara looked enquiringly at Manu, asking if the rider should be stopped by her archers.

  Manu shook his head.

  ‘Let him come. He might be a messenger.’

  As the rider came closer, everyone atop the Ark noticed something odd. Clearly an expert horseman, the daitya warrior galloped with the reins held between his teeth. He held big, smoking torches in both his hands.

  Satyavrata Manu and Tara were on high decks and could not see the rider clearly. He now came within a few paces of the Ark and stopped. As if displaying himself and inviting an arrow, he strode along the Ark staring into the eyes of the archers on the lowest deck. No arrow was fired.

  He then turned and waved his torches at his daitya forces. Twenty more riders broke ranks and began galloping towards the Ark.

  Manu and Tara could not understand what was happening.

  ‘He is not a messenger. Why is Dhruv not shooting down the daityas who are riding towards us?’ said Manu, unable to grasp what the cannibals were up to.

  He did not have to wait long.

  Dhruv came running towards Manu. He had climbed several levels to bring this bizarre news himself.

  ‘They have made armors, Manu. But not what we had expected.’

  ‘What do you mean, Dhruv?’

  ‘All these daityas have living, crying infants strapped on to them.’

  ‘They are children of the thousands of bandits who fell yesterday,’ explained Dhruv. ‘The daitya fighters have each strapped on a child in front of their torsos, thus fashioning the most shameless form of a human shield. They were testing us. First, with one rider. Then with twenty. Now they know we will not fire our volleys. This has an ominous implication for us, Manu.’

  ‘The scoundrels!’ yelled Manu, slamming his fist into the wooden railing he stood against. ‘The stinking cowards!’

  ‘This renders our entire Damini-Sena dormant, Manu. We cannot shoot a single arrow now, lest we should hit a child.’

  ‘What about your archers, Dhruv? They are all supremely trained and are three thousand in number. Can they not take out the enemy one by one, without hurting any of the infants?’

  ‘That would be a bad idea, Satyavrata. They are moving targets. Taking headshots from such a distance, that too in this rainy environment would be impossible.’

  That things would change so dramatically overnight was something Manu had never expected. But then, even in his wildest thought he could never stoop to the level that the daityas had so readily, blatantly fallen to.

  ‘There is one saving grace in all this, Manu,’ said Tara, who had been quietly observing the enemy troops.

  ‘And what is that?’ asked Manu, hoping to hear something that could save the day.

  He was not disappointed.

  ‘Do you notice there are no bandit banners in the armies that surround us?’ asked Tara.

  Manu turned his gaze to the enemy. Tara was right.

  ‘But Tara, the visibility is poor and the bandit forces may have been rested after the massive numbers that succumbed yesterday,’ said Manu.

  ‘I do not think so, Manu. No matter how savage the brigands from the badlands are, none of them would permit the daityas to use the children of their dead fellowmen in this manner.’

  Everyone listening to Tara pondered over what she was saying. She continued.

  ‘With a large section of their ablest warriors dead, the bandit tribes are of little use to Nara-Munda. The daityas have probably slaughtered all the remaining bandits in the darkness of the night. And that means we have a significantly lesser number of enemies to combat.’

  If what Tara was saying turned out to be true, the scale would tilt back somewhat in favor of the defenders of the Ark.

  Manu did not want to depend on it, but he nodded vigorously at what Tara had said, hoping for the best. He turned to Dhruv.

  ‘It is up to us then, Dhruv. You, me and king Prachanda need to lead our infantry out to the battlefield and face the man-eaters head on.

  Before they begin to climb the Ark, we must climb down.’

  Banaras, 2017

  SHESHNAAG

  Vidyut sat in a daze in front of the Shiva statue.

  He had fallen to his knees upon the magnificent sight he had just beheld. He had folded his hands and bowed his head, unable to lock eyes with the ethereal, the supernatural radiance of the primordial serpent’s yellow and black eyeballs – ten pairs of them!

  It was as if the divine naag wanted Vidyut to see his true form only momentarily. Seconds later the gigantic, ten-hooded reptile had slowly, magically begun to shrink in size, his blue-green aura slowly subsiding. When finally Vidyut had raised his head to look at him, Sheshnaag had transformed into an old sadhu, sitting in deep penance. He looked hundreds of years of age, his crumpled skin still resembling that of a snake. Even from his sitting posture the devta could tell that the serpent-king was unusually tall and powerfully built.

  ‘Your darshana for today is complete, Vidyut. The mighty Sheshnaag will summon you again soon,’ Dwarka Shastri had whispered into the devta’s ears, before they touched the serpent-king’s feet and took leave of him.

  As Vidyut trudged back to the central sanctum of the Black Temple, he was speechless. He had experienced the most transcendental spiritual elation of his life.

  Little did he know that it was just the beginning.

  ‘Some sadhus from the Himalayas claim that Sheshnaag has been consistently spotted by sages practicing penance in the highest peaks of the mountains. They say he has been seen from a distance by several hermits ever since the Mahaparinirvaan of the Buddha. He has most commonly been sighted in the area surrounding the Sheshnaag Lake, that falls on the way to the holy Amarnath temple of Lord Shiva, about thirty-two kilometers from Pahalgam.’

  Vidyut was listening to every word, but he looked as if he was still in a trance.

  The others sitting around were in a shocked state of their own. They could not believe they were actually listening to a discussion around Sheshnaag, the eternal companion of Lord Vishnu Himself! They knew that in the era of Lord Rama, his brother Lakshman was believed to be an incarnation of the immortal serpent. When Vishnu had arrived as the Krishna avatar, his older brother Balram was none other than an avatar of Sheshnaag.

  And here they were, being told by the great matthadheesh that the divine serpent from the mythical tales now resided in the Dev-Raakshasa matth...just a few paces away from where they sat.

  ‘So, this is the secret of the Black Temple!’ deduced Damini suddenly. ‘This is what the Order has been after for centuries? Sheshnaag! They want to kill him because someone as indescribably powerful and indestructible as him can stand in the way of their nefarious ambitions?!’

  The others turned to the grand old man, their eyes wide in anticipation. Damini had to be right. Sheshnaag had to be the secret of the Black Temple.

  ‘Speak please, Baba...is Sheshnaag the secret of the Black Temple?’ urged Naina.

  Dwarka Shastri gave an amused look to all of them.

  ‘Of course not.’

  Purohit ji sat with a maha-panchanng or the Sanatana astrological calendar spread out in front of him.

  After studying it for a couple of minutes, he looked up at Dwarka Shastri.

  ‘It has started, gurudev...the Rohini Nakshatra has begun.’

/>   Just as he completed this sentence, the muffled sound of hundreds of shankha or conches could be heard by everyone in the Black Temple. Even though they were deep down in the underbelly of the earth, surrounded by walls made of black stone, the potent and melodious hoot from conches being blown into by hundreds of priests across the city of Kashi could not be stopped.

  ‘What is this, Baba? Where is this shankha-naad coming from?’ asked Vidyut.

  Dwarka Shastri, Purohit ji and several other of the matth priests now produced conches of their own. The other sadhus picked up the cymbals and the worship-bells.

  ‘The holy hour has arrived, O devta! Remember your ancestors! Fold your hands in veneration of all your forefathers – Vivasvan Pujari, Satyavrata Manu, Advait Shastri, Durgadas Shastri, Bhairava Shastri, Markandeya Shastri and your father, Kartikeya Shastri!

  They all fought and bled so that you could stand here on this holiest of days – and do what the universe has sent you to do!’

  The Marshes Surrounding the Great Ark, Aryavarta, 1698 BCE

  ANTIM YUDDHA – PART III

  The decks of the Ark were now clanging heavily with the rustle of armor and weapons. Tens of thousands of defenders of the great Ark were preparing to launch a frontal counterattack against the daitya aggressors. Each one of them knew that even after the perishing of the bandit legions, they were still outnumbered three to one.

  ‘The Damini Sena can be of great service even now, Tara,’ said Manu, as a helper fastened the hooks of his heavy armor behind his waist.

  ‘We are ready to fight, Manu,’ replied Tara. ‘My warriors are second to none.’

  ‘Yes, Tara, I know. Which is why they need to be held back as reserves, as the Ark’s last line of defense. If we fall to the daitya swords, they will storm the Ark. That is when the Damini Sena will fight to protect the innocent residents of the great boat. But until then, there is something they can do.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘The daityas that get slain or wounded by our soldiers, will still have infants tied to them. The little ones, if not rescued in time, will get trampled under the hooves of the cavalry from both sides. As we make our way into the heart of the daitya army, fighters from the Damini Sena should rescue all the infants and bring them to the safety of the boat.’

  ‘You really are the chosen one, Satyavrata,’ said Somdutt, who was also tightening his armor just a few paces away and could hear what Manu had just advised Tara.

  ‘Only you can think of the safety of even your enemy’s children, that too in the face of such extreme adversity. Matsya made no mistake, O son of Surya. Someone like you shall always have the blessings of Lord Pashupati!’

  ‘No way am I letting you descend into that bloodbath, Somdutt ji.’

  It was only when Somdutt spoke the kind words to Manu that the young priest-king noticed the great architect putting on armor. He was determined not to let his late father’s loyal friend face the heat of the daitya attack. While Somdutt was also an accomplished warrior, somewhere deep-down Manu knew the aging architect was no match for the ferocity of the cannibals.

  The daityas were more vicious and more skilled than any enemy he had seen before.

  ‘That is no place for you, Somdutt ji. We need you. The Ark needs you! Heaven forbid if something were to happen to you, we would be all but orphaned!’ insisted Satyavrata.

  ‘Yes, Somdutt ji, please do not climb down into the hellfire that awaits us. As you have seen, these beasts are unpredictable. They can stoop to any level. Do not endanger yourself,’ added Dhruv, who was equally concerned looking at Somdutt prepare for battle.

  The wise architect raised his hand, gesturing to his man-at-arms to stop working on his armor. He turned to the two handsome men, the two men he knew were the future of mankind.

  ‘Look, Manu, I sincerely appreciate your concern for my well-being. But when I saw your father last, when I witnessed you riding away from the battlefield with Sanjna in your arms, I promised myself that I will protect you till my last breath. If you think I am going to let you jump into that madness alone, you are mistaken.’

  ‘But, Somdutt ji...’

  ‘That is all, Satyavrata. We are wasting precious time. The enemy is at the gates. Their soldiers are already beginning to climb to the first deck. We must leave now. Just remember this, Manu...I love you like a son.’

  The wise old man was not willing to listen. Manu did not say anything more.

  That is the problem, Somdutt ji. I too love you like a father.

  The scale and fierceness of the counter-strike by the defenders of the Ark was unexpected even for the mighty daityas. They were awestruck as they saw thousands of Harappan soldiers sliding down innumerable ropes from the highest decks of the colossus of a boat. The upper echelons of the Ark were not even visible beyond the black clouds. The fighters of the Ark seemed to be flying down straight from the heavens!

  The clash of metal was heart-wrenching, as without waiting for their feet to hit the ground, hundreds of Harappan soldiers launched themselves from the high walls of the Ark directly into the multitudes of the daitya warriors, swords drawn.

  It was brutal combat right from the first instant. The daityas used everything as weapons. Swords, spears, machetes, daggers, animal claws, poison darts, their own nails, limbs and teeth. For the Harappan soldiers it was like fighting a pack of rabid wolves rather than human beings.

  The next to reinforce the Ark fighters was the asura contingent led by Prachanda. They used ladders made of rope and vine to climb down the vessel and join the blood-fight below.

  And then, like meteors screaming down the sky, two fierce warriors struck the daitya formation. While the trained Harappan soldiers had dived off the Ark walls ten or fifteen arms high up from the ground, these two magnificent men seemed to have hurled themselves into the enemy troops from over forty arms in the air.

  Both held tall and broad battle shields, using the cover of which they crashed into the spears, armors and swords of the daityas from above, crushing several of them upon their landing. Both warriors rolled forward to use the momentum to tear further deep into the cannibals’ battle lines.

  One of them held a splendid bow. He had four quivers full of arrows strapped to himself, one each on his two thighs and two across his back. He was the known world’s most feared archer.

  He was Dhruv.

  The other warrior was clad in a shining armor made from bronze and leather. His long hair was matted and tied in a single braid. He held a shield and a long-sword in his hands, while two menacing short-swords hung from both sides of his waist. He was the man who had never lost a battle. He was the fighter every daitya wanted to avoid. He was the man Nara-Munda was waiting for.

  He was Manu.

  Two lions had pounced upon a cackle of hyenas.

  Banaras, 2017

  THE STATUE OF RUDRA

  ‘All of Kashi is rejoicing, Baba!’

  Sonu came clambering down the tricky stairway. He had been sent all the way out to the matth terrace by his father, the wise Purohit ji, to observe the night sky. But he came back with much more.

  He came closer, panting, but very pleased.

  ‘The Nakshatra sparkles in the sky just as you had told me. But there is more. The entire city joins us in this holy hour, Baba! Thousands of temples are performing the aarti of Lord Vishnu. Holy yajna pits billow sacred smoke from hundreds of monasteries. Hundreds of priests have gathered at the ghaat of the holy Ganga to perform a late-night worship. The whole of Kashi is welcoming the Rohini Nakshatra, Baba!’

  Dwarka Shastri closed his eyes and thanked the Lord.

  ‘They are not welcoming the Nakshatra. They are welcoming He who is going to arrive.’

  ‘But, Baba, how can so many people know about this Nakshatra? I was under the impression that it would have been kept under wraps. Do they all know about the secret, Baba?’

  ‘No, Vidyut. But a message had been sent out to them from the Dev-Raakshasa matth.
These are the same holy men who had assisted me in the battle of exorcism with the Big Man from Rome, when he had attempted to possess your soul. I sent them the word. They know something divine is about to occur. But only Sheshnaag, Purohit and I know what it is exactly. And in moments from now, you will know too, my son.’

  With this the matthadheesh raised his shankha to his lips and blew into it with great force. The other sadhus joined him with conches, cymbals and bells. Incense sticks were lit, camphor lamps decorated around the Shiva statue and once again a powerful chanting of mantras began.

  This time Vidyut noticed it was not the Rudra-Path. He focused again on the words of the chanting -

  ||Shantakaram Bhujagashayanam

  Padmanabham Suresham;

  Vishvadharam Gaganasadrisham

  Meghavarnam Shubhangam...||

  Vidyut recognized the powerful mantra immediately.

  The Vishnu Shantakaram Mantra! The mantra that drives away fear, granting the reciter valor, courage and victory.

  Damini came and stood next to her devta. The atmosphere of the Black Temple was now pulsating with spiritual energy. The resounding echo of the multiple shankha, the roaring chanting of the Vishnu Shantakaram Mantra, the clanging cymbals and chiming bells, the fragrance of marigold and camphor...the Black Temple reverberated with infectious, dizzying, captivating energy!

  While the other priests continued their intonations, Dwarka Shastri walked up to Vidyut. He had to come close to the devta’s ear and shout at the top of his voice, to be audible above the mesmerizing din of the cave-temple.

  ‘Come, Vidyut...it is time!’ he said, and held his great grandson’s wrist.

  Dwarka Shastri led the way, taking Vidyut by his arm right to the marvelous stone sculpture of Lord Shiva that stood in the center of the sanctum. The statue was now surrounded by bright lamps of camphor and glowed in a pious light.

  The matthadheesh offered a short prayer to Rudra. Almost instantly with one swoop he pulled out the heavy copper trishul or trident of Shiva, that stood planted into the stony ground.