Valley of Death

by Vickram E Diwan

  “Gosh! I feel hungry,” said Leena, as she rubbed her wet hair with the towel. She opened the lids of various casseroles; the smoke billowed out of them, bringing with it the flavour of the various hot dishes of mutton and chicken.

  “What will you like to drink my dear; whiskey, rum, beer or breezer?” Asked Rudolf Schönherr.

  “Can I have a Vodka?” Leena inquired.

  “Sure; one vodka coming up!” He said cheerfully and beganto pour Vodka in a wine glass, while Leena took out two plates and served the non-vegetarian delicacies like Chicken Tikka Masala, Sag-mutton, kokri kebabs, with rice and naan. The swimming had increased their hunger and they both pounced on the food with a vengeance. While she enjoyed glassfuls of Vodka, Rudolf Schönherr washed down the food with one of the finest imported Scotch, on the rocks.

  “Rudolf Schönherr!” You have got to get me meaty roles in movies,” said Leena, as she was eating chicken. “I am sick and tired of playing the same roles in television.”

  “Be reasonable my darling; you know that these things take time. The established actress will not play second fiddle to you and the big banners would not gamble with you as their heroine. I know that soap-operas become routine, dull and boring after a while; but hang in there until something better comes your way.”

  “Sometimes I think that you are more focused on your career than mine,” she complained. “You have already choreographed in movies, and are also cutting a new music album if I have heard correctly.”

  “I couldn’t say no; the proposal had come from a major music company and they were offering generous terms and promised to promote my album in a big way, a publicity-blitz, country-wide tour, concerts – the works. But rest assured; I’ll definitely take you in the music-videos of my album.”

  “Sometimes I feel that there is no end to your ambitions or your energy!”

  “It is only the beginning of my cuckoo-bird; wait for a few months to see the mega-expansion of my institute. I have found a Mister money-bags,” Rudolf Schönherr said thinking of his friend Rohit, “that has promised to pump in large funds after he winds up a major deal. With that money, I’ll open the branches of my institute all over the city and will have a presence in every major city of the country.”

  “But how will you handle all that, in addition to your career as a choreographer, dancer, and singer and there is also your work as a coordinator for actors?”

  “My ambitions give me boundless energy,” Rudolf Schönherr said pouring him a refill of his favourite Scotch whiskey with soda. “I’ll, of course, hire talented and capable people to handle the day to day running of my centers. I want to make Schönherr Institute of Performing Arts a recognized brand name and open franchisee outlets all over the country. That will act as a springboard for success abroad, to turn me into an international brand name, at par with the best and most famous singers and dancers abroad. Money, fame, adulation and power, I want it all!” He declared unabashedly.

  “That is what I like the most about you, this confidence and your unshakable self-belief,” Leena said in an admiring voice.

  “You have seen my struggle in this city and see today; I have everything. Would you have thought only three or four years back, that we would both have all this?”

  “Yes; our journey so far has been like a dream,” she admitted.

  “Only I had seen and known that it all was achievable, even before we got started. I have come so far and risen so high in life on the basis of my guts, self-belief and the backing of great powers above. Anyone who thinks that he can arrest my march and stop my flight is an idiot; I am invincible!” he declared bombastically.

  “I also like your style,” Leena said trying to steer the topic of the conversation away from his struggle, achievements or aspirations of grandeur. Though she had never said it, she thought of him as an incurable narcissist and was bored stiff by hearing his oft-repeated story of struggle, achievements and theatrical declarations of his uniqueness. “Only you could have thought of such an interesting way to enjoy dinner, I mean on this boat, in the middle of the lake. I also am quite fond of this estate of yours; it is such an interesting place. When I am here, I feel like I am on a getaway or on a holiday – far from the gruelling and mad routine of work. It is hard to imagine that this oasis is within the maddening metropolis; here you can imagine that you have escaped to a place of dreams.”

  “Shall I row back the boat to the edge, so that we can go back to the bungalow?”

  “After a while; let me enjoy this calmness and serenity and savour these moments, they charge my batteries and help me unwind.”

  “I’ll talk to your producers and get you a few days leave; seems like you badly need a vacation.”

  “One more thing Rudolf,” she said remembering a forgotten matter, “I wanted to thank you again for the wonderful super luxury apartment, which you found for me in the D.L.F. city in Gurgaon.”

  “I only made the down-payment; you yourself are paying the monthly instalments of the bank-loan, so no need to be grateful to me. I know that you were quite ready to move in with me at my Vasant Vihar house, but I need my space and am used to living alone.”

  “Sometimes you talk strangely; as if there was a secret side to you that I didn’t know about.”

  A mysterious smile came on Rudolf’s lips, but he did not respond to that comment and after a while, he rowed back the canoe to the edge of the lake. He helped Leena get down and putting an arm around her waist went towards the bungalow, walking on the round pink marble steps that led to it from the lake. He wanted to enjoy the night thoroughly, as his work for the coming days was cut out for him.

  The stage was set for an all-out Occult war between two masters of black magic. The blind sorcerer possessing a magic wand with unkempt hair and beard was a study in contrast to his sauvé, urbane, clean-shaven rival with eyes sharp enough to cut a Titanium plate. It was going to be a no holds barred war and a duel unto death.

  Blissfully unaware of the impending war, Rudolf Schönherr was intent to enjoy his time with his girlfriend in his sprawling estate. With no preparation or defence against the storm that was about to come.

  CHAPTER 2: THE STORY THUS FAR

  (A synopsis of Warlock Book One)

  The ghost of Harinath flew away from the farmhouse. He had no interest in peeping on Rudolf and his girlfriend Leena during their explosive escapade. He reached a thicket of trees where the ghost of a girl was hanging by the sari around her neck. Beneath the Pipal tree sat the ghost of a grumpy old woman, who had been earlier sacrificed by the Warlock.

  “Come Harinath...how are you beta (son)?” asked the old woman.

  “Mai (mother), I am just paying penance for my evil deeds, working like a slave for that evil man,” he said sitting on a rock beside her.

  “Why don’t you leave him and join us?”

  “What difference will it make Mai (mother)? I am Warlock’s shadow. I accompany him wherever he goes. Ever man or being is assigned a shadow – a record keeper of not just his deeds, achievements and failings but also his thoughts and desires. It is a curse for me to be assigned as the shadow of such an evil, ruthless and dirty man. There is no escape for me until the moment of his death when the servants of Yama – the death god come to take his spirit away and his body is reduced to ashes and dust.

  “You only lengthen your own suffering.”

  “Never mind; you and all your companions idle your time here.”

  “Once our time of wandering is up or when someone performs our last rites properly, we can leave this cursed place and go to God’s kingdom. Maybe he will pity us and we will be reborn. But you beta, you are making your list of evil deeds longer and this will delay your Mukti (freedom).”

  “But I don’t participate in his evil deeds; I am merely Warlock’s servant.”

  “You are an accomplice and an equal participant,” said the hanging girl and then began to wobble her head and laugh uncontrollably – the terrifying laughter that coul
d petrify even the bravest men.

  “I’m not! Mai; I tell you of Warlock’s latest episode and you be the judge that I am merely a page in his scheme of things.”

  “Last time you told me that Warlock was arrested by Police and he was facing a court-case...but you did not tell more details,” she said and then started to cough. The asthmatic old woman heaved as a boy holding a piece of cake cam and rubbed her back. She spat yellowish phlegm and then motioned Harinath to speak.

  “Let me start from the beginning... The current episode of his demented life started when he abducted Payal Chatterjee, an aspiring young actress who had come from Shimla to Delhi to make it big in the world of T.V. Serials. Warlock, as we all know, is a double-faced evil man. To the outside world, he portrays himself as a famous and talented choreographer an acting coordinator or Godfather of numerous boys and girls. He teaches them dance and acting in his school and helps them find roles in TV and movies.”

  “How does this double face helps him?”

  “It has helped him hide his reality for a long time. No one suspected that a foreigner, a German living in Delhi, who holds charity functions in embassies and is a Page 3 celebrity, can be behind a series of unsolved serial murders in Mehrauli area.”

  “Until the time that girl Payal showed his ugly face to the world.”

  “Yes mai. He tricked her into coming here and then sacrificed a child in the temple of darkness before here. He intended to sacrifice her after raping and torturing her...like Shyama.”

  “That poor girl, who he kept in chains in that room below the farmhouse?”

  Yes; death was a relief for her if you ask me. But after she died; she did not join your group.”

  “I heard that she was lured away by a spirit of a woman who spoke the same Haryanvi dialect as she did. Forget her, tell us about Payal.”

  “That girl is lucky; she is the only person I know who has escaped from this den of evil alive. She was rescued by the cops before Warlock could sacrifice her.”

  “She was a fool to think that cops could punish Warlock,” said the hanging girl.

  “Maybe you are right,” Harry said in agreement. “The society is biased against women and Indians still lick the feet of a white man. The evil man was acquitted of all charges, while Payal was boycotted by the TV & film fraternity.”

  “So Warlock has a free run as always; no one has the guts to stand up against him.”

  “Not quite; you will be surprised to know that a paralysed Colonel and a blind magician challenged Warlock.”

  “What chance two cripples have against the all-powerful Warlock? The ruthless murderer is in direct touch with the most powerful demonic powers.”

  “So he thinks. But I believe that Colonel Narang and Bharoo Shah Bengali have a fair chance to contain and defeat Warlock. In fact, Bharoo came very close to bumping off Warlock with his black magick. His attack was something of a spectacle.”

  “What about Payal?”

  “She is nowhere in the picture. She has married her boyfriend Abhay and settled down.”

  “No one hates his more than I do,” said the hanging girl. But still, I will say this, that girl Payal, that crippled Colonel,

  the blind magician and you all...everyone is underestimating Warlock or his capacity of evil. The game is far from over and Warlock can still spring a nasty surprise on his enemies.

  _________________________________

  + Publisher’s Note: Read Warlock part 1 for the detailed story.

  CHAPTER 3: THE VIPER

  The October-November months have traditionally been associated with festivals in India, Dusherra, Durga Pooja, Deepawali, Bhai dooj and so forth. The festivities start with the onset of Navratras, the 8-9 days considered the most auspicious in the Hindu calendar, during which the pious do not eat any food-grain, they fast and observe strict abstinence from meat, onion and from anything considered impure. Ramlilas are enacted on stages all over North Indian cities and towns, in which life of Lord Rama – the prince of Ayodhya is enacted, culminating inVijaydashmi or Dusherra on the tenth day. When the 20 to 120 feet high effigies of Demon King Ravana, his brother Kumbhkarna and his son Meghnatha are busted with crackers and burned down before large cheering crowds; symbolizing the victory of good over evil.

  The occasion is celebrated a little differently in Bengal – as Durga Puja. The idol of Mother Goddess is installed in pandals, which are thronged by Bengalis each day, until its immersion in river or sea on the 10th day. It is the biggest festival for the people of Bengali origin world over, a time of family reunions, beginning of new ventures, of happiness and celebration.

  Expressed in most simplistic terms, the mother Goddess is the combination of knowledge, activity, and strength. She is pure Shakti or Power that creates, nurtures and destroys the universe in an endless and repetitive cycle.

  While the festivities and celebration are undeniably special in Kolkata, the Bengali community scattered around India and abroad tries its best to make Durga puja a memorable affair. And Delhi, with its sizeable population of Bengalis, is no exception; over the years the scale and gaiety of the puja – celebrated with religious fervour – has increased manifold. From Patparganj in the East to Dwarka in the South, pandals are erected in every locality and area. But Chittaranjan Park, with its high concentration of Bengalis, has traditionally occupied the numero-uno position, with huge pandals, packed with large crowds, a substantial part of which is non-Bengali.

  Being the first Durga puja after her marriage, the occasion was special for Payal, who remained at heart a traditional Bengali, immensely proud of her culture and background. She was an exceptionally beautiful young woman, whose extremely fair face was filled with zeal for life. She had long black hair that went past her shoulders; well-kept eyebrows, almond shape ‘catty’ eyes, beautifully shaped lips and a determined chin. Her pointed fingers-nails were painted red, and her hands looked like cat’s paw, as remarked by one of her friends. She was about 5.3 inches tall and had a firm buxom.

  The child that she was carrying in her womb was a boon from the mother goddess Durga – she had told her husband, and she, therefore, wanted to go and seek the blessings of Ma for the baby and for themselves. Her obstinacy made Abhay overcome his initial reluctance to take his seven months pregnant wife to the crowded pandal.

  They visited a large pandal in C.R. Park area accompanied by their friends Shalini and Naresh. After praying before the idol of the mother goddess and seeking her blessings, it was time to enjoy the festive occasion to the fullest. Numerous stalls had been put up on the large ground where the Puja was being celebrated. There were stalls of saris, bangles, bindi, and sindoor, as also of Bangla books, music C.D.s, of games, various eatables and rides like the giant wheel, merry-go-round and so forth.

  Payal was dressed in a new silk sari and had put on makeup, with a large round bindi on her forehead; there was vermilion between her hairline, mangal-sutra round her neck and bangles in her wrists. The kajal (eyeliner) made her almond shape and typically Bengali eyes look even more beautiful. With the arm of the most beautiful woman in that large gathering around his arm, Abhay couldn’t help but walk with pride. Fully aware that they were in the gaze of dozens of people, being stared upon because of Payal, who was as beautiful as a movie star and on that particular day, appeared absolutely dazzling. He was a man in his early thirties, slightly on the heavier side, prematurely balding.

  There was a heavy rush at the food stalls; they ate mouth-watering delicacies like Illish macherpatory, Macher Jhol (traditional fish curry), Kosha mangsho (gravy less meat preparation in lots of spice) and ended with Rosogalla (sweet meat) without which no Bengali meal is complete. After they had eaten to their heart’s content, Payal did a lot of shopping. She bought saris, sindoor, bangles, traditional Bengali Kurta-dhoti for Abhay, handbags, books, Rabindra Sangeet compact discs and numerous other items that had been especially brought from Kolkata. All the while, the band invited from Kolkata – the bastion of Art
and Culture in India – played Bangla music on stage, as revelled shoppers and eaters had a great time.

  The fun Abhay had on that evening made him visit the various pandals with his wife on all Pooja days. These were the carefree days – of happiness, hope and expectations from the future and Payal were as far removed from the evil Warlock and his menacing presence that she ever had been, since the traumatic episode of the previous winter.

  Like teenagers in love, the husband-wife professed their love for each other repeatedly and Payal felt light in spirits. Her happiness soared even higher when Ma and her father arrived on a surprise visit to celebrate the Puja with their daughter and son-in-law. She felt she could never thank the Goddess enough for her blessings. It was one of the most memorable Pujas of her entire life; and she looked forward to the birth of her child, unaware what the fates had in store for her.

  Abhay was driving his car slowly in the heavy evening traffic in Connaught Place. Though dressed in an expensive suit with a matching tie, he was hardly in the mood for partying. And if it were not the wedding of a colleague of his, then he would have definitely skipped it. The reason being the first major fight he had with his wife Payal, barely less than two months since their marriage.

  He had become weary of the manner she kept calling her parents in Shimla and talk for hours at a stretch. Every single detail, her mood, what she had cooked, and weather, gossip - her conversation was endless. In between, she also found time to call her friends from school, college, an aspiring actress like her and God knew whom else. It was little wonder then that the phone bill ran into a few thousand rupees, which angered Abhay, who saw it as a needless waste of money.