The Mists of Brahma

by CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE

  ‘So here are the photographs of the murder victim,’ Kapoor said, after giving his men a quick briefing on the facts of the case. ‘A teenager. We don’t know how she died. The autopsies could not pinpoint the cause of her death.’ He decided not to say any more. Vidyarthi had been unnecessarily dramatic, in his opinion, in describing the fate of the girl.

  ‘So here’s what we’re going to do,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to talk to forensics and get more details about the autopsy. There’s more to this than meets the eye. You two will find out more about this girl. Her background, who she knew, who she met, who she spoke to. Get her mobile records from the telco for the last few months and go through them with a fine-tooth comb. See if you can find anything there. Most called numbers, an obsessive boyfriend, anything. Check her apps. Blue whale, black whale, I don’t know, anything could be linked to her death. You know the drill. Got it?’

  Both men nodded.

  ‘Good. Keep me updated.’

  As the two men filed out, Kapoor sat lost in thought. He didn’t like the fact that there was still an unanswered question about the case. The question of the difference between the time the girl was supposed to have died, clinically speaking, and the physiological indications of death.

  He made up his mind and picked up his landline receiver. ‘Get me Suresh,’ he barked, referring to his contact in forensics.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Suresh? Kapoor here.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I heard that you are on the case now. What can I do for you?’

  Kapoor took a deep breath. ‘First explain to me this whole business of the difference between when the victim supposedly died and when she actually died. I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Sir,’ Suresh replied. ‘When the body was first found, the time of death was established to be around forty-eight hours prior to the discovery of the body. The standard procedure for establishing time of death is based on physiological factors like rigor mortis, decomposition, eye condition, skin condition, blood pooling, body temperature and other such indicators.’ He paused.

  ‘Go on,’ Kapoor said. ‘I’m with you so far, though not particularly interested in the technicalities,’ he added, knowing Suresh’s inclination to get into the details.

  ‘During the detailed autopsy, however, the discrepancies began to emerge,’ Suresh continued. ‘Brain decay had occurred two weeks prior to the time of death, a sure sign that blood flow to the brain had ceased. This normally happens at the time of death, when the heart stops beating and circulation is affected. It starts almost immediately after death, beginning with certain areas of the brain that are responsible for our thinking and higher activities. It’s irreversible.’

  ‘Ah! That’s what I want to know. How did you figure she was dead for two weeks?’

  ‘Subcutaneous fat analysis, sir,’ Suresh replied. ‘If a person does not eat for a long time—two weeks is long enough—it affects the subcutaneous fat as the body starts drawing down its energy reserves. Sometimes, as with this victim, the body begins to digest muscle tissue as well.’

  ‘She could have starved for two weeks. She could have had a stroke of some sort that blocked the blood supply to the brain and then starved to death.’

  ‘That is a possible explanation, yes, but for the fact that there was undigested food in her stomach that was around two weeks old. Even with a stroke, part of her brain would have continued to function and her internal organs would have continued to work.’

  Kapoor sat, stunned, trying to reconcile what he was hearing with his understanding of reality.

  ‘This fact,’ Suresh continued, ‘combined with the presence of brain decay, makes it apparent that the girl died two weeks before her body was found.’

  ‘That still seems like a bunch of assumptions.’ Kapoor was sceptical.

  ‘There were other indicators in the case, sir. The girl had symptoms of pneumonia as well as an internal fungal infection. And there were toxins in the tissues that only accumulate when there is a total lack of oxygenated blood supply to those tissues.’

  ‘And that indicates that she died earlier?’

  ‘It’s like she suffered a total systems shutdown two weeks prior to the start of decomposition,’ Suresh replied. ‘Her brain, heart, liver, kidney, stomach and immune system, all shut down at the same time. That is the only conclusion one can reach on the basis of the physiological indicators. Moreover, the stage of progression of the illnesses—pneumonia and the fungal infection—indicated that the infections set in around the same time, or shortly after the brain decay began.’

  ‘Her immune system would have collapsed when she died,’ Kapoor mused. ‘Which was much earlier. That would have allowed the infections to spread without a problem. I get it now. But it doesn’t make sense. And what about the cause of death?’

  ‘Sir,’ Suresh’s voice sounded strained now. ‘I have nothing to add apart from what is in the autopsy report.’

  ‘No, no,’ Kapoor clarified, ‘this question is off the record. How do you think she died?’

  Suresh hesitated. ‘You’re asking my personal opinion?’

  ‘Correct. I know that what you put down in the official report has to stand legal scrutiny. I’m not interested in that. Tell me your gut feel.’

  ‘Well, sir, this case is strange. It will be a problem to establish that she was murdered, though my instinct tells me that she did not die a natural death. We’ll need to wait for the detailed visceral report to come in, but I doubt that it will shed any additional light on the case.’

  ‘So what do you think happened?’ Kapoor pressed Suresh. He needed an answer even if it was a guess. ‘She couldn’t possibly have been murdered twice! And it seems unbelievable that she could have died of natural causes and then suddenly come back to life only to die again.’

  ‘It really looks as if that is exactly what happened.’

  ‘But that’s pretty much impossible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Totally impossible. There’s no scientific explanation for it.’

  ‘You mean there could be a non-scientific explanation? Come on, Suresh, don’t tell me you are going superstitious on me.’ Kapoor felt a sense of deja vu. He remembered having a similar conversation just a few weeks ago.

  But Suresh’s next words chilled him.

  ‘I’m not superstitious, sir. But there’s no explanation that makes sense. The only way to explain it is that she had her soul sucked out of her.’

  Chapter Six

  Revision

  The Forest

  Maya’s brow furrowed as she concentrated on recalling the lessons that Satyavachana had been giving her the past few days. It had been difficult for her to concentrate when he had been teaching her at the Gurukul, with the mysterious pull on her mind and her senses, but she had tried her best. Even meditation at the Gurukul had been difficult; today was the first day she had been able to meditate effectively and practice the concentration techniques that the Maharishi had taught her, to banish her base emotions and control her mind so that it focused on what was important rather than what was material.

  ‘Start with the concept of a sadh,’ Satyavachana urged her.

  ‘Um, all humans are born equal, without any differentiation,’ Maya began. This was the easy part. Jignesh had taught her this on her very first day. Hearing it from Satyavachana had simply reinforced it. She had no problem explaining the concept.

  ‘We are all sadhs when we are born, with no special powers,’ she went on. ‘None of us is born superior to any other human or inferior to others. It is the attachment to the material world and its distractions, or the lack of it, that sets a person on the path to remaining a sadh or breaking free. Another way of explaining it is that those of us who cannot control the baser aspects of human nature—which we share with animals— remain sadhs, attached to the materialistic world, capable of using only the basic mantras and that too, without much effect. But those of us who can express the nobler aspects of human nature can use t
he higher mantras. Both aspects of our nature are present in all of us at birth. It is the aspects that we stress upon and develop through our lives that determine what and who we become eventually.’

  ‘Very good. It is important to remember that no one is born a Rishi or a Kshatriya. Or, for that matter, a president, a prime minister, an Olympic gold medallist or a successful businessperson. Go on.’

  Maya hesitated. This was the part at which Jignesh had stopped. She remembered that she been bored during that first lesson and least interested in the process by which people acquired yogic powers in Kaliyuga. She had wanted to get on with it and learn the mantras and other techniques that would enable her to acquire those powers.

  If she could.

  Jignesh, with a perspicacity that she had not understood at the time, had sensed her disconnect and had moved on to talk about mantras, which had immediately restored Maya’s interest in the lesson. She realised now that, on that occasion, she had missed out on an important part of her education; something that was critical to her achieving the goal that she had set for herself on entering the Gurukul. Which was becoming a Rishi that her father, a Maharishi himself, would have been proud of.

  Aware that Satyavachana was waiting for her response, she continued hesitantly, hoping that she remembered correctly what he had taught her, even if her understanding was not complete.

  ‘Each one of us has an innate power that we are not aware of. And this power is based on the karma that we accumulate during our past lives.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘While the karma of our past births determines the circumstances of our present lives, what we make of our lives depends on the karma that we earn in our present life. So, even if we remain sadhs, we can become whatever we want to, depending on our decisions and actions in our present lives. Our success, or failure, depends wholly on us.’

  ‘Excellent. See, I knew you were paying attention. Go on—how do you leave the state of being a sadh and become a Rishi? In the earlier yugas, tapasya was the means to acquire the siddhis. In today’s material world, in Kaliyuga, what is the method we use in the Gurukuls?’

  Maya paused to gather her thoughts. This was the difficult part. She thought she had understood the concept, but it had been so difficult to put into practice even after spending almost the entire week meditating on letting go of the old and embracing the new. That old doubt returned to nag her.

  Was she really cut out to be a Rishi?

  She pushed the thought aside almost as soon as it surfaced, and blurted out the answer to the Maharishi’s question.

  ‘First, we must understand that the material universe is a whole and we are all integral parts of it, connected in ways that we do not know and cannot even begin to imagine. Our manifested material world provides the illusion that distinct entities inhabit the universe. But deep down, at the very foundation of all things—living and non-living—there is a state of interconnectedness. It is invisible, and in many ways immaterial, but it is palpable. Not on the surface, in the forms and shapes that we see in each other and around us, but in the way our actions affect other people and other objects.’ She paused, unsure if she had articulated the lesson correctly.

  ‘Hmmm, not bad for a sadh,’ Satyavachana remarked. ‘Continue.’

  ‘Second, it is not sufficient to understand that this remarkable oneness exists. In order to attain the siddhis, it is important to become one with the universe. To fold oneself into the implicate order that is unseen and unfelt. Without this ability to meld with the material universe, we can never move to the third step, to achieve our yogic powers.’

  ‘Very good. Spot on. And what is the third step?’

  ‘To activate the inner power that each one of us is born with—the fruit of the karma earned during our past rebirths.’

  Satyavachana smiled at Maya.

  ‘Full marks, my child. Now, what does that mean in practice? What did you do wrong when you heard the sound that you could not identify?’

  ‘I panicked. I was terrified.’

  ‘And what should you have done?’

  ‘I should have focussed on repressing my fear, my emotions. Instead of freaking out, I should have tried to become one with the forest around me, the animals in the forest, the source of the sound.’

  ‘Correct. That is exactly the point. You cannot fear something that you are connected to, that you are a part of.’

  Maya nodded. ‘I get it. But in the heat of the moment, it’s so difficult to remember and put into practice.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Satyavachana assured her. ‘As I said, I don’t expect you to be able to respond spontaneously so soon, let alone master the suppression of your emotions and the process of becoming one with the universe. Especially when something has been troubling you these last few days. We will keep trying until you become adept at it. Shall we give it one more shot now, and then call it a day? It’s getting late and we really should head back to the Gurukul soon.’

  Chapter Seven

  The Creature

  The Forest

  Maya nodded. She knew she had to keep trying, however disheartening it seemed at times.

  ‘Good.’ Satyavachana smiled at her and the ball of light winked out, the darkness swallowing the form of the Maharishi and enveloping Maya once more.

  To her surprise, this time the darkness faded slowly, as if the sun was rising above the horizon. She could make out the trees around her, within a radius of around ten feet or so. But Satyavachana was nowhere to be seen. She was alone.

  She fought back the rising panic. This was just an exercise, she told herself. Nothing was going to happen.

  Without warning, she heard a loud plop and ragged breathing, accompanied by a fetid stench that assailed her nostrils.

  Maya froze, her blood running cold. A sense of terror filled her as she fought to control the urge to run, and slowly turned around instead.

  The sight that met her eyes was out of her wildest nightmares. In the gloom, the creature stood not more than three feet away from her.

  It was around five feet tall, misshapen, withered and ugly. Its hairless head had one eye and its jaw was elongated, with fierce, pointed teeth that were black with decay. Where its nose should have been were two holes which produced the breathing she had heard, as air passed through them. Its skin was like dry parchment, stretched tight against the bones of its face—so they stood out in stark relief—and its hard, wiry muscles. Although it looked thin and emaciated, it emanated an aura of immense strength.

  She realised that it was the same creature she had encountered just a short while ago in the darkness of the forest. It had only one leg and one wing, a leathery cape stitched onto thin bones that ended in hooked claws. Its wing dragged across the ground as it walked, creating the horrible scraping, dragging sound she had heard.

  She knew what it was. Her father had read stories of these mythical creatures to her when she was a child.

  Only, this one wasn’t in a story.

  A pisacha. More specifically, a vartika.

  The vartika stared balefully at Maya with its bloodshot eye and snarled at her. As its mouth opened, something red and viscous trickled out of one corner, along with a thick yellow fluid.

  Blood? And was the yellow stuff digestive fluid? Bile?

  Yuck.

  One thing was for sure. The pisacha didn’t have good intentions. If it liked blood, then Maya had plenty to offer. And if it ate flesh, it was in for a treat.

  Maya backed up a couple of steps and the creature hobbled forward on its single leg and wing, once again producing the sound that made Maya’s hair stand on end. She tried hard to focus, to remember Satyavachana’s words, but how could anybody feel as one with this thing?

  Nope, it just wasn’t working. It was all very well to pontificate about being one with the universe, but that universe didn’t include creatures like this.

  She desperately looked for a way to quell her fear, reminding herself that the cr
eature had been conjured up by Satyavachana; that it wasn’t real.

  Suddenly, the vartika let out a piercing screech and launched itself at her.

  Maya screamed, unable to keep her terror in check any more. She felt the hot, fetid breath of the pisacha on her face, and then suddenly it was gone.

  The ball of light winked on again and Satyavachana reappeared.

  ‘How did I do?’ Maya asked shakily. She had not yet recovered from the shock of the final moment before the pisacha disappeared, but tried to put up a brave front.

  ‘Better. Now let’s return to the Gurukul. They must be wondering where we are.’

  Chapter Eight

  In the Dorm

  The Gurukul

  Panna National Park

  ‘A pisacha!’ Adira could barely contain her excitement. ‘I’ve never encountered one in any of my projects. I’ve heard they are horrible creatures. Ags had a run-in with a couple last year. He found them quite disgusting.’

  The two girls were sitting in the common room. Maya was telling Adira about the day’s lessons.

  ‘Disgusting? That’s an understatement.’ Maya made a face. ‘I freaked out. When it came for me, I thought I was done for.’

  Adira laughed. ‘We all go through this phase,’ she told Maya. ‘Only, your experience is different from mine because I’m training to be a Kshatriya and you’re training to be a Rishi.’

  ‘To find out if I can be a Rishi,’ Maya corrected her. ‘They still have the option of sending me back.’ A hint of bitterness crept into her voice.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Adira took Maya’s hand in hers to comfort her. ‘You’re the daughter of a powerful Maharishi. The genes do get passed on, you know.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ Maya said, ‘that it isn’t just the genes. It’s also the ability to break free from the state of being a sadh. I keep doubting if I will ever be able to do what it takes to rise above the state in which I have spent my life so far, and tap into the power that I was born with.’ She sighed. ‘You Kshatriyas have it so easy. For you, the genes are more important. Strength, speed, agility, and training to hone it all.’