The Mists of Brahma

by CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE

  It was the same now.

  Mirza had begun searching for contacts who were on the WhatsApp groups for the akharas, while simultaneously talking to people at the akharas to find out about Virendra Singh.

  In the meanwhile, Kapoor had sought meetings with the principals of the two schools Mirza had told him about: Boys’ High School and St. Joseph’s College.

  Mirza had been confident of finding someone on the WhatsApp groups, since he had got some leads from people he had spoken to; leads for contacts who would have been active at the akharas fourteen or more years ago, when Singh would have frequented them.

  But his inquiries about Virendra Singh had drawn a blank. No one he met had heard of a Virendra Singh who might have worked out fourteen years ago, at any of these places. A couple of people had said that the photograph looked familiar but had no further information to offer.

  It had taken Kapoor a few days to meet the principals since they were travelling on work. But when he finally met them—they were extremely courteous and cooperative—he discovered he had been walking down a cul-de-sac.

  His hopes had lifted when the principal of St. Joseph’s confirmed that Vishwaraj had, indeed, studied at the school and passed out from there just two years ago. But Naresh Upadhyay was another matter altogether.

  According to both principals, who had taken the trouble of checking their school records, no one by that name had ever taught in their school.

  How was it even possible? Kapoor was stumped.

  Had both the men lied about living in Allahabad?

  Kapoor refused to accept this possibility. If Upadhyay had wanted to lie, there was no reason for him to admit that he had taught Vishwaraj in Allahabad. He could have simply said that he had met Trivedi in Delhi and had no idea about Vishwaraj.

  No, Kapoor decided, Upadhyay had been truthful and sincere when he had spoken about Allahabad.

  The two men had to have lived here all those years ago.

  So why couldn’t he find any trace of them?

  Chapter Forty-two

  Hopeless?

  Allahabad

  ‘Sir,’ Mirza ventured, ‘I have an idea.’

  Kapoor stared at him through bleary eyes. He had not slept well last night. He had already spent too much time in Allahabad, having been away from his post in Delhi for over a week. He had to return today and he was not happy leaving the investigation at a dead end.

  ‘What?’ he barked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mirza suggested tentatively, sensing Kapoor’s black mood, ‘if we can get photographs of both men, or at least one of them, from fourteen years ago, we might be able to make some progress. Their faces could have changed over the years, which is probably why people cannot recognise them from the photographs we have. We can try and connect with the alumni networks for these schools and see if we can get positive identifications. There are WhatsApp groups for the alumni. If we can get them to share these old photographs, we should get a hit.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Kapoor considered this and cursed. Why had he not thought of it before? This was just the kind of thinking that had made his reputation in the force. He looked at Mirza with a newfound respect. Mirza was his kind of man. A younger Raman Kapoor.

  ‘Brilliant idea!’ Kapoor clapped Mirza on his shoulder. ‘I’m going back to Delhi tonight. I’ll work on getting us passport photographs or DL photographs from whenever they came to Delhi from Allahabad. That should get us somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, sir. In fact, we could also check with the stationery shops in the vicinity of both schools once we have the photos. I am sure that one or more of those shops would have been around fourteen years ago and will be able to identify at least Upadhyay, if not Singh.’

  Kapoor’s spirits rose again. All was not bleak. There was always something that you could do, even if the situation seemed absolutely hopeless.

  He would get the fourteen-year-old photographs, one way or another. Whatever it took.

  What was he going to find out then, he wondered.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Maya Makes Progress

  The Forest

  Unknown Location

  ‘Thought control,’ Satyavachana told Maya, as they walked together through the forest that the Maharishi had designated as her practice area, ‘is the most critical step to becoming a Rishi. It helps you to repress thoughts that chain you to your baser emotions. If you can control your thoughts, you can control your emotions and you will achieve peace. It is only then that you can take the first step away from your sadh life, become one with the universe, and discover your powers.’ He looked at her. ‘I do believe you are getting better at it, now that we are away from whatever it was that was disturbing you at the Gurukul. Since we began practising in this forest, one and a half months ago, you have definitely made progress.’

  ‘Thank you, Mahamati.’ Maya was pleased with the praise. Her mind reached back to when her lessons with Satyavachana had resumed. She had been unsure of how to address the Maharishi, but he had been quick to realise her dilemma and had suggested that she address him as she addressed Jignesh, since she was comfortable with the use of the title that was used for all the teachers in the Gurukul. Maya had been hesitant at first, since she knew that the Maharishi was not at all happy at being associated with the Sangha in any way, but he had appeared to be quite okay with her use of the title, so she had complied.

  In the last month and a half, Maya had tried her best, while practising, to push all kinds of thoughts away. In the beginning, the memories of the carnage at Corbett would suddenly come rushing into her consciousness when she tried to meditate and she had to create a mental vacuum that banished them from her mind. Then, after the ill-fated midnight meeting where she had disagreed with Arjun’s idea of rebelling against the Sangha, she had wrestled with the guilt and wretchedness she had felt afterwards.

  It was only after Arjun had met her and made up with her that she was able to dismiss all thoughts from her mind and concentrate on what she had to do: control her emotions. And she had spent the rest of the last forty days after that working diligently on Satyavachana’s instructions.

  ‘We fear things that we do not understand,’ Satyavachana had explained. ‘Usually these are things that are different from us in some way—appearance, habits, speech. And emotions like fear, anger, apprehension or frustration take away our ability to become one with the universe. Look at the sadhs. They spend their entire lives trying to be different from one another, emphasising and highlighting their differences. What does that engender?’

  ‘A lack of ability to understand other people, especially those who are perceived to be different,’ Maya had replied.

  ‘Correct. And that gives rise to suspicion, apprehension and fear. So, instead of becoming one with the universe and embracing their differences, sadhs move away from each other, weakening the forces of the universe that can help them accomplish so much. If you want to become a Rishi, you will need to let go of the differences in your mind between you and everything around you.’

  Maya had nodded. ‘I understand, Mahamati. But understanding and doing are two different things. When I meditate, I am able to control my thoughts. As long as I am focusing on the trees around us, the birds, the small animals scurrying through the undergrowth in the forest, I have no trouble. But I don’t know what I will do if I see the pisacha again.’

  ‘You won’t,’ Satyavachana had assured her. ‘Not for a while. I revealed the creature to you only to see how you would react. So I would know what to focus on while teaching you. We’ll get back to the pisacha once you have gained a certain level of control and are able to control your fear and revulsion on seeing the creature.’

  Maya had nodded again. She resolved to work hard on her meditation to ensure that she reached this level as quickly as possible.

  Satyavachana’s voice intruded on her reverie.

  ‘Now that you have begun making progress in thought control,’ he said, ‘it is time to start work on th
e next step.’

  Chapter Forty-four

  Maya Understands

  The Forest

  Maya waited, curious.

  ‘Once your thoughts and emotions are under control, you must use your mind to move closer to oneness with the object that you decide to focus on, whether it is a person, a tree or a pisacha. That will lead you to oneness with the universe.’

  ‘How is that possible, Mahamati?’ Maya could not fathom how it was possible to overcome her revulsion for the pisacha she had encountered the last time, leave alone moving closer to oneness with the creature.

  ‘Suspend your judgement,’ Satyavachana said, wagging his finger. ‘All of us humans are born with an innate capacity to make spontaneous and instinctive judgements about everything around us. We look at something and judge it as good or bad. And very often, we do this without even knowing much about whatever we are judging. Isn’t that true?’

  ‘Yes, Mahamati.’ Maya remembered the time she had seen Ratan Tiwari for the first time. With a twinge of guilt and regret, she recalled how she had dismissed the possibility of his being her benefactor simply because of his appearance. Yet, he had been the one who had rescued her from the Metro station and delivered her safely to the Gurukul.

  ‘Judgement emphasises differences. You need to find the similarities. And replace the tendency to judge with an ability to understand, to empathise. That will bring you closer to the object of your focus.’

  ‘But how do I do that with a pisacha?’ Maya couldn’t repress an involuntary shudder as she thought about understanding or empathising with the vile-looking creature.

  Satyavachana stopped and looked at her. ‘Compassion, my child. That is the answer. If you are one with the pishacha, you will feel compassion for it. You will feel its pain and suffering. Remember, the pisacha is a soul trapped in a body that it hates. It takes birth as a pisacha not out of choice but as a result of the karma in its previous birth, which dooms it to suffer as a revolting creature that is destined to cause suffering to others. Would you like to be reborn as a pisacha?’

  ‘No, Mahamati.’

  ‘Then why hate the poor soul who has been reborn as one? Why feel disgust and revulsion for it when it cannot control what it looks like and what it does? If you understand this, then you will feel compassion for it. And that will make you one, even with a pisacha.’

  ‘Then why do we kill pisachas, Mahamati?’ Maya wanted to know. She didn’t understand. If she had to be compassionate towards the creature, shouldn’t it be allowed to live?

  ‘Great question, Maya. The reason we kill pisachas is because of the compassion we feel for them.’ He smiled as he saw Maya’s puzzled expression. ‘Let me explain. The pisacha is a creature that causes suffering to other living beings. There’s no doubt about that. So it must be killed. Second point: the soul that is reborn as a pisacha is also suffering, living a life of misery. By killing the creature, we are putting that soul out of its misery and hastening its rebirth in another body. You must destroy the pisacha, but not in anger or hate. You should destroy it so that you can liberate the suffering soul locked up inside that body and move it forward in its cycle of rebirths. That is why we use a team consisting of a Rishi and a Kshatriya, especially when we encounter creatures like this. While the consecrated weapons of the Kshatriyas can destroy them, the mantras of the Rishi will speed the liberated souls of the creatures on their way to the next birth. It is the same thing with pretas and bhutas. They are both spirits, atmas of people who have not yet been assigned a new body in their next rebirth, but are being made to wait as a result of their karma in their previous birth. That is the reason pretas and bhutas try to possess living bodies. They remember the pleasures of having a physical body and want to experience these again, but cannot do so.’

  ‘But we cannot kill pretas or bhutas.’

  Satyavachana shook his head. ‘No we cannot. They are atmas. They cannot be killed. That is where we Rishis come in. We use mantras to put their souls at peace so that they may hasten towards their next birth. And that is why compassion becomes so important. Compassion and empathy.’

  Maya’s face lit up with understanding. ‘I get it now. I’m going to work on it.’

  ‘Very good. Now let me show you something new. Something that you are going to love. Something that is going to leave you amazed.’

  Chapter Forty-five

  Maya Gets a Gift

  The Forest

  ‘I think it is time I introduced you to something that all Maharishis use,’ Satyavachana told Maya with a smile. ‘While you have a long way to go before becoming even a Rishi, I am curious to see how you will handle this. And it will be useful practice for your thought control.’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Just don’t tell anyone in the Sangha. They will be very upset.’ He chuckled. It didn’t seem to matter to him that the Sangha would be upset.

  Maya waited and wondered what the Maharishi was going to reveal to her.

  Satyavachana stood with his hands outstretched and closed his eyes.

  Maya jumped as something appeared in the palm of his right hand.

  It was a long wooden staff of irregular width, crooked and bent in places, narrow for most of its length and widening near the top. Almost like a club, except the head was not bulbous. More like a walking stick, except this one was covered with obscure symbols and letters that were carved into the wood in some unknown script.

  Satyavachana opened his eyes and rested the narrow end of the staff on the ground.

  Maya stared at it, bewildered.

  ‘This,’ Satyavachana told her, ‘is the instrument that Maharishi Vashishta used to confound Vishwamitra.’

  Maya knew at once what it was. Of course! She had read about it in the Ramayana. The story of the battle between Vashishta and Vishwamitra where the latter had hurled all kinds of weapons including mighty celestial missiles at the Maharishi; Vashishta had nullified every one of them using his brahmadanda.

  Her head was spinning. Was Satyavachana going to teach her how to use this device? A part of her felt apprehensive. Did she have the ability to use the brahmadanda to do all the wondrous things it was reputed to do? Her father had told her that the brahmadanda was even more powerful than the Vajra—Indra’s thunderbolt. This was because the Vajra could blast only those objects or beings that lay within its immediate range. But the brahmadanda was able to smite whole countries and entire races across generations.

  ‘This is for you,’ Satyavachana told her, answering her unasked question. ‘My gift to you.’

  Maya was beside herself with delight. To be gifted an essential part of a Maharishi’s armoury while she was still coming to grips with thought control and mantras was beyond her wildest expectations. She had no idea why Satyavachana was giving a weapon as powerful as this to a novice like her, but it didn’t matter. If the Maharishi felt it was appropriate, she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.

  A thought struck her, dampening her excitement. ‘But how will I take it back to the Gurukul?’ she asked. ‘Everyone will see it and they will know. Won’t they take it away from me then?’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ Satyavachana said, his eyes twinkling. ‘You see, the brahmadanda has a curious but interesting property.’

  ‘It is collapsible?’ Maya ventured, her excitement getting the better of her.

  Satyavachana frowned. ‘No, child. Wherever do you get your ideas from?’

  ‘It’s the kind of thing that you see in the movies,’ Maya said. ‘I’m sure there is a superhero somewhere who has a weapon like this and it is collapsible, so it becomes a small stick which can be hidden away inside a haversack.’

  ‘A superhero.’

  Maya nodded.

  ‘And where would you find this superhero, child?’

  ‘Hollywood movies,’ Maya replied, oblivious to the disapproving look the Maharishi was giving her.

  ‘Western movies,’ Satyavachana snorted violently, making Maya jump. ‘Th
e brahmadanda is thousands of years old—going back to the time of the Ramayana and even earlier. The stories from the Western world take place in the blink of an eye in comparison to the antiquity of the Maharishis. Next you’ll be telling me that mantras were invented by the Western world.’

  ‘No,’ Maya replied. ‘But they have magic spells.’

  ‘Well,’ Satyavachana said firmly, ‘there is no such thing as magic or spells. Have you ever come across anyone who used magic spells in their everyday lives? No. But there are millions of people who use mantras every day of their lives. Mantras are real. They have power. Everything I have taught you, and will teach you, is about something much deeper, much more ancient than the stories of sorcerers and magic spells that you have come across so far.’

  Maya nodded, chastened.

  ‘Now, what was I saying?’ Satyavachana frowned. ‘Oh, yes, I was going to tell you about something curious about the brahmadanda.’

  Chapter Forty-six

  A Decision

  The Gurukul

  Panna National Park

  Adira was in the dorm when Maya appeared suddenly, making her jump and drop the book she was reading.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Adira grumbled. ‘I can never get used to you disappearing and reappearing like the Cheshire cat.’

  Maya laughed. ‘Dude, you’re no Alice in Wonderland.’

  Her smile abruptly disappeared as a sudden giddiness took hold of her.

  ‘What’s the matter, Maya?’ Adira jumped off the bed with concern as Maya bent over double. There was no pain. Just a sudden surge of the now familiar call, so strong today that the world around her had spun.

  ‘I … I’m fine,’ Maya lied. She didn’t know how to explain it.

  ‘Just lie down, okay?’ Adira made sure that Maya was comfortably in bed before she switched off the lights and left. ‘I’ll be in the common room if you need anything.’

  ‘Thanks, Adira.’