Sonu had knocked at Vidyut’s door well after midnight.
‘You will not believe this, dada...but they are attacking the matth,’ he whispered, as the devta opened the door.
‘Where is everyone?’ asked Vidyut. ‘And how many of them are attacking?’
Sonu took a deep breath to calm himself down before responding.
‘We cannot say, dada. They are...’
He appeared lost for words. Vidyut looked into his eyes.
‘They are what, Sonu?’
‘I don’t know what to say, Vidyut dada. But they are dressed in black clothes and they move as stealthily as a cobra, vanishing into thin air upon being spotted! Their faces are covered revealing only their eyes, and they carry strange looking weapons. Three of the matth’s night guard have been found dead on the terrace, their throats slit from behind.’
Vidyut now grabbed Sonu’s arm and dashed towards the wing where Damini and Naina were staying. He knew instantly what the Maschera’s attackers were, and it was very bad news.
They were the deadliest warriors and assassins in the history of the world.
Ninjas.
‘By now Sheshnaag would have reached the Lord, so Kalki will be safe at least for the time being,’ said Naina.
They were now huddled inside the large meeting hall in the basement of the matth, all doors bolted with heavy iron paddles and each entrance guarded by a dozen fighters of the monastery. Several warriors of the matth had been killed within a few minutes of the Ninja attack. Dwarka Shastri, Vidyut, Balvanta and Naina had rushed to get all inhabitants and fighters of the matth into the temporary protection of the hall.
The residents, young students and children of the Dev-Raakshasa hermitage were terrified. They were not weaklings by any measure. Nor were they new to the world of warfare and violence. But the battle-tactics of these black ghost-fighters was something none of them had ever seen or heard of before. The stealth attackers were slowly extinguishing and destroying every source of light of the monastery – every bulb, every tube-light, every sodium vapor lamp and even the earthen diyas placed for worship. Gradually the entire matth was engulfed in a blanket of complete darkness. Telephone lines were cut and mobile signals jammed using cutting-edge telecom technology. There was no doubt in Dwarka Shastri’s mind that the all-powerful secret brotherhood would have bought off the local authorities as well, making sure they looked away from the matth for the next few hours, no matter what happened. In other words, the matthadheesh and his devoted followers knew one thing for sure.
Tonight, they were on their own.
‘You are right, Naina bitiya...that is one silver lining,’ replied the grand old man. ‘I am glad that the divine serpent-king is there by the Lord’s side. But now Vidyut and Damini need to be protected with everything we have!’
Everyone nodded in agreement, though not totally sure of what needed to be done next. After a minute’s silence, that felt like a year to the commune gathered in the basement hall, Dwarka Shastri turned to Balvanta and Vidyut, desperately seeking answers. He knew they could not combat an enemy they did not even understand.
‘What are these wicked attackers who kill dishonorably from the back, Vidyut? Who are these sinister assassins, Balvanta? I have never seen such surreptitious methods before!’ exclaimed the grand old man, trying to grope for defense and counter-attack measures.
Vidyut was about to quickly tell his great grandfather and every fighter of the matth present about the lethal Ninjas, when he noticed dark shadows crawl across the ventilator windows of the basement.
‘They are here, Baba...’ whispered Vidyut. ‘We cannot all stay in here. They will eventually break in. They can even be brutally reckless and use some kind of a nerve gas. Their mobile jammers are just a small indicator of their sophisticated methods. The White Mask will not hesitate to murder every man, woman and child of the matth, if that serves his need.’
‘Who are these people, Vidyut?’ asked Damini, her eyes wide with terror.
‘They are Ninjas, Damini. A medieval cult of assassins that originated in Japan. Considered inferior to the Samurai because of their brutality and deceitful methods, the Ninja battle-art travelled to the West during the 19th century. They are the deadliest assassins to have ever existed.’
The chilling silence came back again, as several people broke into cold sweat.
‘So...so what does this mean, Vidyut?’ asked Balvanta.
‘It means that if you thought the mercenaries that came with Romi Pereira were skilled fighters...
...then the Ninjas are virtually unbeatable.’
The Great Deluge, 1698 BCE
‘MA...AATTSYA!’
‘They are all going to die…’ mumbled Manu to himself. ‘And I will die with them.’
These desperate souls, these young men and women, the infants, the old and the destitute, this entire collective I promised to protect forever, will be crushed like ants.
Manu now realized the ghastly reality of his daring enterprise fully for the first time. Till this horrifying moment of truth, he had been way too immersed in carrying out the bizarre yet fateful commandment of the mystical Master of the ocean-tribe.
The fiery young leader of this nearly deranged, ragtag architectural force froze as he saw the gigantic vessel tilt beyond the endurance of the twenty thousand jute chords and tree-vines holding it aloft. The violent, monstrous waves of the river-sea were pounding on the biggest ship mankind had ever built. And the vicious flood was going to sink it.
Does the murderous deluge know what irreplaceable cargo this last boat carries?
That the final, universally destructive flood was incoming was not hard to tell. The dark, reddish-purple clouds, that appeared like some insane celestial painter had dyed the skies with the color of stale blood, enveloped all of known earth. The maddening roar of Indra’s thunder and the unnatural tempest of violently lashing rain had now announced the apocalypse, or the final end. Droplets the size of tiger fangs were falling from the skies, transforming into a piercing shower of agonizing water-arrows as they struck Manu and his devoted followers. Every drop hitting the skin of the Manu-Shishyas or Manushyas was like an invisible spear penetrating through. What this militia of valiant men and women was trying to tug and balance on the furious waters was not a regular boat anyway.
It was the last boat. Not the last boat from a harbor. Not the last boat of a fleet. Not the last vessel to leave a port for the season or a sailor rowing away for the night.
It was the last boat for creation itself. It was the Nauka where Prithvi herself was going to take refuge. Along with the seeds of all her flock.
It was the great warrior, priest, ascetic, philosopher and king Manu’s ultimate deliverance.
It was his ark.
Manu’s Ark.
The fearless struggle of over one hundred thousand men and women against a vessel, the expanse of which even the Gods could not imagine, was a spectacle that had never been seen before on the planet. And would never be seen after, even till the end of time. Manu’s gigantic ark was the size of a glorious city. But its purpose was the noblest that mankind could ever fathom.
It was a doorway. The only bridge of continuity. From the decaying, ancient world…to the new dawn of resurrection. It embodied a fierce contest between Armageddon at the behest of nature and the survival instinct of man. Humanity was not going to perish without a fight that even the heavens would remember. But despite this heroic endeavor, a lot was going to be lost. Eons of precious and irreplaceable wisdom acquired by the human race was not going to pass through this portal of sorts between different universes, even though it was all going to unfold on the same planet. Ancient alchemy, medicine, aviation, occult, architecture, weaponry and spirituality were all going to disappear forever, drowning in the aftermath of the great deluge, to the bottom of the mighty oceans in spate.
And yet the Ark was the last ray of hope for life, as Aryavarta knew it. Much as we are dumbfounded by God�
�s profound conceptions like the stars, the galaxies and the constellations being the symbols of his divine workmanship, the greatest of the Lord’s creations is undoubtedly – life. The magnificent, the resilient…life. Beings that feel pain, give birth, weep tears and love boundlessly. Beings that mirror the image of the Gods themselves. And it was this creation that needed to be saved.
Above all.
The thick, twisted and drenched ropes and vines were now cutting into the arms, necks and flesh of Manu’s militia. The tearing force exerted by the ropes harnessing the toppling boat as big as a floating city, was breaking their fingers, dislocating their shoulders and ripping into their forearms and biceps. Men, women and children fought on alike against the formidable onslaught of the unimaginable weight of their adversary. They were all made of destructible blood and bones, whereas the Nauka was made of heavy wood, reinforced copper and rock-stone – so enormous that the people pulling the ropes in the water could not even get a glimpse of the mast of this massive vessel, even if they looked straight up at the grotesque skies.
The Nauka was taller than Mount Sumeru and wider than the gory field that had hosted the Dasarajna or the decisive ancient Battle of the Ten Kings.
Manu was getting increasingly desperate. He pulled out the crooked seashell blow-horn that had been given to him as signaling gear, only to be used when caught in the midst of the worst calamity. And that time had come. Nothing could be darker than the imminent and painful demise of his devoted people. Manu wiped his face with his leather wrist-guard, took a deep breath and blew into the horn, which shrieked out in its horrendous and maddening call, nearly splitting open the stormy skies.
Standing atop a lone and eerie cliff that looked black as coal against the bleeding red sky, Manu covered his eyes against the whipping rain with his open palms, looking far into the misty horizon. He saw nothing. With every passing moment, his despair was growing. He tried hard to hold back his tears of defeat, and once again blew into the twisted horn with all his might. The scream of the blow-horn was like the cry of an angry dragon, and the tens of thousands of Manu’s subjects felt needles piercing through their eardrums.
Manu squinted his eyes to ward off the vicious sky-arrows and tried to look far beyond the mountainous waves. He hoped to see the faint silhouette of the One he believed was the true savior.
He saw nothing.
‘MA…AATTSYA!’ yelled Manu, now darting feverishly on the edge of the protruding cliff that was his observation and control station for the gargantuan undertaking he was overseeing. His tired, afraid and hopeful eyes kept gazing at the far horizon of the devastating deluge. Raindrops lashed on his handsome yet battle-torn face. He was probably crying at the horror he could see enveloping his ambitious enterprise. A sinking realization was making it impossible for him to continue battling this unnatural typhoon.
Had the only person he had ever trusted after his own beloved father, the great Vivasvan Pujari, betrayed him? Had his friend, mentor, counsel, healer…betrayed him?
Had his beloved Matsya betrayed him?
‘MAAATTTTSSSYAAAA…ARRGHH!’ screamed Manu, looking up at the punishing firmament, his arms outstretched and his lungs ready to explode, as if he wanted the heavens to hear his desperate plea!
And then he saw it. In the endgame flood, riding the oceans’ merciless surfs, he saw it.
Lok-naas, the biggest sea-monster that even the mighty creator Brahma could have envisaged, raised what looked like its enormous head in the distant waves. It was the first time Manu was witness to the faint outline of the fabled giant-beast.
And there he was, standing fearlessly between the hydra’s gleaming eyes.
Matsya.
Banaras, 2017
‘EVEN DEATH IS AFRAID OF THE WHITE MASK!’
It was decided. Vidyut, Balvanta and Naina would lead the counter-strike. They were the only ones who stood a chance against the formidable Ninjas. Thirty select fighters from the matth were to follow them from closely behind, armed to the teeth with swords, spears and shotguns. Sonu was entrusted with guarding Damini, Dwarka Shastri, Purohit ji and the rest of the matth’s residents, who were to continue taking refuge in the basement. Twenty more warriors of the Dev-Raakshasa monastery stayed behind with Sonu.
‘Keep this, Vidyut,’ said Balvanta, handing out a gleaming black Beretta 92 semiautomatic pistol to the devta. ‘I know you do not approve of my ways of warfare, but this will help you when nothing else works.’
Vidyut shook his head politely, turning down the offer.
‘If your blessings are with me, I won’t be needing this, Balvanta dada. Baba would never let me step out unarmed and vulnerable now, would he? Besides, I always have you to fall back on.’
With this Vidyut kept his hand on the old warrior’s shoulder and smiled. Balvanta felt as if a mountain had been lifted off his chest. His beloved Vidyut had finally forgiven him!
‘Come back to me safe and sound, baby,’ whispered Damini, as she bid farewell to her devta, her voice heavy with emotion. ‘We need to crossover to the other side together, remember?’
‘Together,’ replied Vidyut, as he touched his forehead to hers lovingly, looking deep into her eyes.
The devta knew he was going to embark upon the toughest battle of his life, one that could mean that he never came back. And what he was worried about most was not the deadly Ninjas. He was gravely concerned about who would arrive after them.
The Maschera Bianca. The Messenger of the Devil.
It was now the Ninjas’ turn to get hurt. Splitting into three different directions, Vidyut, Naina and Balvanta had spread out around the Dev-khannd. Trained martial artists as they were, it did not take the trio much time to get accustomed to fighting in the darkness. As their eyes got more and more tuned to the black shadows moving against the dark corners, they began hitting back. And hitting back hard.
Vidyut dodged a Japanese sword that brushed against his ear and glittered a millimeter away from his eyes. Almost instantly, judging the direction and distance of the attacker, Vidyut smashed his fist into the throat of the Ninja – a perfect Israeli Krav Maga move. The assailant in the well-fitting black robes stopped breathing for several seconds, grabbed his neck with his hands and rolled down a flight of stairs in extreme pain.
Engaging two more Ninja aggressors with equally punishing outcomes, Vidyut came to an open corridor that offered an expansive view of the entire Dev-khannda lawns. What he saw sent a chill down his spine.
Baba!
Dwarka Shastri stood surrounded by seven Ninjas, their swords drawn, their fists raised up to their ears, their elbows raised up to their shoulders - in a typical Ninja offence stance. The old grandmaster looked like an aging lion surrounded by a pack of wild dogs. The matthadheesh could not keep himself hidden when his beloved great grandson was out there, facing a lethal enemy. The great and fearless Dwarka Shastri had decided to step out and offer whatever little assistance his glistening trident and he could offer.
Unfortunately, the 108-year-old mahataantric was up against some of the world’s most skilled professional killers.
Their trained swords were going to cut him to pieces in the bat of an eyelid.
The devta crashed into them like an avalanche. The Ninjas did not know what had hit them from above until they saw the devta rolling forward on the grassy ground, only to stop and turn around like a cheetah stalking its prey. Vidyut had leapt straight from the first-floor corridor and pounced on the enemy with debilitating force. His honest eyes were now gleaming with rage and abhorrence. Anyone trying to harm Vidyut’s beloved great grandfather became an instant and most hated enemy for him.
And anyone who made the big mistake of being at the receiving end of the devta’s wrath - was very unfortunate.
Horribly unfortunate.
Six of the Ninjas charged at Vidyut, while the seventh slashed his sword at the matthadheesh. Even at his ripe old age the great Dwarka Shastri had the dexterity to block the blade with the steel
of his trident, as the two weapons clashed with a loud ring. As Vidyut readied himself to take on the half-dozen assassins charging at him, a blinding light, accompanied by the roar of helicopter rotors, washed the entire Dev-khannd in a golden yellow glow.
From the great silver bird that now hung over the Dev-Raakshasa matth, gliding down a metallic chord like an elite commando, descended the black demon with a white face.
His green eyes nearly burning through everything they surveyed, the Maschera Bianca landed on the hallowed ground of the God-Demon clan.
The Mask raised his hand and commanded his black knights to stay put. He walked to the center of the garden-atrium and stood about ten meters away from Vidyut. Naina and Balvanta also came running out as they heard the deafening roar of the chopper.
‘You are indeed extraordinary, Vidyut...the Big Man was right!’ shouted the Mask, as his Sikorsky bird slowly lifted away from the matth and flew away into the night-sky of Kashi.
The Mask continued.
‘I had heard how you had singlehandedly crushed ten trained Russian mercenaries, but I did not expect you to beat even Nin...’
‘They were twelve.’
The Maschera was confused.
‘Sorry, what?’
‘They were twelve of them, the mercenaries...not ten,’ said Vidyut defiantly, once again glaring into the green-eyed monster fearlessly.
The Mask laughed, as more Ninjas arrived in the garden area. Almost at the same time several of the matth’s warrior-priests also reached the epicenter of the fight.
‘You still have time, Vidyut. Tell me where I will find your omnipotent Kalki. As simple as that, my friend. Even now, I will let you go. I will let the tall old man go. I will let your beautiful woman go. But if you continue being as stubborn as you have been, I will burn down this entire priory, and I will skin every living soul in this monastery alive tonight.’
Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series) Page 23
