The Mists of Brahma

by CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE

  The hours passed as the army worked.

  Finally, Shukra found what he had been looking for.

  He grasped the bunch of ancient manuscripts in his hand and recalled his army. The clones silently merged back into his body.

  Shukra smiled with satisfaction.

  He would finally be able to move ahead with his plan.

  Chapter Seventy

  Return

  The Gurukul

  Panna National Park

  Maya couldn’t bear it any more. Just looking at Adira’s empty bed was upsetting.

  Careful not to waken the other occupants of the dorm, she padded out of the room and down the stairs. Silence and darkness greeted her.

  She opened the door of the cottage and peered outside.

  There was silence and darkness outside as well.

  Deeply disturbed, Maya shut the door and entered the common room. She didn’t bother to switch on the light, but sat in a chair that gave her a clear view of the entrance.

  She would wait for Adira.

  The Assembly Hall

  The group of weary defenders assembled in the hall. ‘Prakshalayati kavach.’ The Kshatriyas intoned the mantra to rid their armour of the signs of battle—the blood of the pisachas and their own sweat.

  Usha and Kanakpratap then led the girls and boys back to their cottages. They would return to join Jignesh, Parth and Satyavachana to discuss and analyse the events of the night.

  Maya’s Dorm

  The door of the cottage opened and Maya rushed towards it, engulfing Adira in a huge, warm embrace.

  ‘I … I was so worried!’ she sobbed, unable to contain her tears.

  Adira hugged her back. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It was a tough battle, but we made it.’ She looked happy.

  ‘No.’ Maya stepped back and looked Adira in the eye. ‘You don’t know the danger you were all in. I was there.’

  ‘You were?’ Adira was puzzled, then she realised what Maya meant. ‘You saw it all then!’

  Maya nodded. ‘Yes. And Shukra was there!’

  Adira’s looked horrified. ‘No. That can’t be.’

  ‘He was. I sensed it. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he was watching it all.’

  ‘And we didn’t even guess.’ A thought struck Adira. ‘Why didn’t he attack us then? He could have put an end to the battle single-handedly. Why did he allow the vikritis to fight us?’

  Maya shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t like Shukra. He is cunning and scheming. He scares me.’ She smiled at Adira. ‘But what is important is that all of you are back.’ She paused. ‘How’s AJ?’

  Adira flushed. ‘Oh, he’s fine. He did well. We were fighting side by side towards the end. For a moment there, I thought we were going to die together, but then Maharishi Satyavachana appeared and I think the vikritis realised they had bitten off more than they could chew.’

  ‘Thank god for that!’ Maya laughed happily. Her friends were safe and they were back home. That was all that mattered.

  For now.

  The Assembly Hall

  ‘What did the vikritis want with the Hall of Archives?’ Jignesh demanded. ‘That’s the question I want an answer to. I don’t think there is any need to speculate on how they got there. Clearly, they used the Akshpatalika in Delhi, and Vishwaraj, to get the information required to locate the entrance to the Hall of Archives. But why? What did they hope to achieve?’ He looked at the others. ‘Any opinions?’

  ‘The knowledge of the Sangha,’ Kanakpratap suggested. ‘Isn’t that what they have always been after? We doubted earlier that the vikritis had the ability to possess Diya’s body, but it was always obvious that they had someone on their side who had the power of the siddhis. After seeing Vishwaraj there tonight, I think we have our answer. And that makes the vikritis more dangerous than ever. For thousands of years, they have had a purpose but not the means. If they finally have the means to achieve their purpose, then the Sangha needs to ensure that it is capable of stopping them.’

  ‘It is meaningless to speculate on what they wanted tonight,’ Satyavachana said calmly. ‘Speculation will get us nowhere. What is important is to stay focused on the tasks ahead. Our defences are better. Our weapons are better. Our armour was tested in battle today. But we still need to find the remaining parts of the prophecy.’

  ‘And the Ranakarman Parva,’ Jignesh reminded him. ‘We need that. If Shukra opens the gates to the other levels of Pataala-lok, nothing else can help us.’

  Satyavachana nodded. ‘I’m working on it,’ he said with a touch of asperity. ‘It will take time. It will happen when Maya is ready. Not before that. I cannot take the risk of having her enter the Mists without being fully prepared and capable.’

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Shukra’s Cavern

  Shukra’s Cavern

  Vishwaraj beamed as Shukra showered praise and blessings on him. He had been extremely cut up about having to abort what he felt was a successful mission.

  Added to that was his chagrin at not being able to have a go at the One. Shukra had told Vishwaraj that the boy of the prophecy had been one of the defenders of the Hall of Archives. Nothing would have pleased him more than delivering the One on a platter to his glorious ancestor.

  But now, after hearing what Shukra had to say about his performance, Vishwaraj was mollified. And delighted.

  ‘Thank you, Poorvapitamah.’ He bowed, with folded hands when Shukra finished his encomium. ‘I feel blessed that I am able to serve you.’

  ‘And I found what I sought in the archives,’ Shukra told him, presenting him with the ancient manuscripts that he had purloined.

  Vishwaraj could barely contain his excitement as he accepted the texts from Shukra. ‘I will begin the search immediately, Poorvapitamah.’

  ‘Go now,’ Shukra commanded, ‘and be successful.’

  Vishwaraj bowed with folded hands and vanished.

  Shukra sat ruminating. Things were definitely moving, but he was nowhere close to where he should have been. Even his discovery tonight, and the task he had given Vishwaraj, were just temporary diversions, to ensure that he would no longer be distracted from the main task at hand. He was done with attending to petty matters himself. The Sangha was no more than an irritant. But even an irritant cost time.

  Time that he could not afford to waste.

  He had already lost more than two months. He could not afford to lose any more time. And, while he knew that Vishwaraj’s new mission would also take a while, it would free him from the mundane.

  There was one more thing he had to do before he started the search for the mantras once again. He had to free himself from that old, niggling doubt once and for all. Shukra didn’t quite understand what was troubling him. But the appearance of the girl—the atma of Dhruv’s daughter—had brought it back to the surface; a doubt he had suppressed over two months ago.

  But now, he had to be sure.

  And that meant going back to where it had all started, almost fifteen years ago. To the city where he had appeared to the world, 5,000 years after his self-imposed exile.

  Allahabad.

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Graduation Day

  The Assembly Hall

  The Gurukul

  Panna National Park

  Maya looked around, as she sat with Amyra, at the children streaming into the hall, chattering excitedly as they sat down to await the start of the ceremony. Today was a big day, one to which every student in the Gurukul eagerly looked forward.

  In the centre of the raised platform at the far end of the hall were placed eight chairs. Arranged along the side of the dais were a few more, waiting to be occupied.

  Chains of marigolds and rose petals festooned the hall to mark the occasion. Maya had never known it to be as vibrant as it was today. The very atmosphere pulsated with vitality.

  In no time at all, the entire Gurukul had assembled in t
he hall. The chairs at the side of the dais were occupied by Jignesh, Usha and Parth from the Gurukul, Diksha and Anasuya from the Sangha Council, along with Satyavachana and Kanakpratap. Arjun, Agastya, Varun, Gopal, Anisha, Tanveer, Sonali and Adira sat on the eight chairs in the centre, facing the audience.

  A hush descended on the assembly as Jignesh rose and walked to the front of the dais. The moment had come.

  ‘Prapanchayati!’ Jignesh’s intoned and his voice boomed out, amplified many times, over the heads of the children and the Mahamatis seated in the audience. ‘Today is a big day for eight members of our Gurukul. As you all know by now,’ Jignesh looked around with the hint of a smile, no stranger to the speed at which news spread among the children, ‘they acquitted themselves with honour and courage, two nights ago, while defending the entrance to the Hall of Archives from the vikritis.’ He had decided to omit any mention of Vishwaraj. ‘That encounter was their final project to qualify for graduation to the ranks of the Gana. Even with death staring them in the face, these eight warriors of the Sangha did not falter. They did not cower or shrink back in fear. They stood tall and proud, and fought on regardless of the peril they found themselves in.’

  Maya found herself brimming with pride for her friends, and tearing up a little as well. After all, she had been there and had watched them fight, surrounded by the vikritis, with little hope of surviving the battle. Jignesh’s words were true. Her friends had not flinched even when they knew they were outnumbered. She knew they deserved every bit of his panegyric.

  ‘Today,’ Jignesh continued, ‘they have demonstrated that age is no consideration for membership of the Gana. They have earned their way through hard work, discipline and commitment to their life’s purpose. In accordance with the rules of the Sangha and the powers bestowed upon me as Mahamatra by the Saptarishis, I formally welcome them into the Sangha as full members of the Gana!’

  He turned to face the eight children and bowed to them, his hands folded, as the hall burst into thunderous applause.

  Maya knew the significance of that bow. Satyavachana had explained it to her during their lessons together. In that moment, Jignesh was no longer Mahamatra. He was bowing to show his respect for the abilities of the children, for the powers they possessed and had honed, that made them eligible for the membership of the Gana. In the world of sadhs, what gained you respect was who you were: your title, your material possessions, your material power. The Sangha was founded on principles far older than those of Kaliyuga; in a time when you were respected not for who you were but what you were. A Rishi with mastery of the siddhis or a Kshatriya with mastery of the arts of war … Essentially someone who had voluntarily and deliberately renounced the sadh world and dedicated themselves to the service of humanity, to the development of powers that would protect those whom they served.

  That, after all, was what the Sangha was all about.

  Maya clapped until her hands hurt, beaming broadly as she shared in the happiness of her friends who now stood and acknowledged the rapturous applause with folded hands, bowing low multiple times to show their gratitude. They were now ready to take up their roles in the Gana.

  She smiled at Amyra, who was clapping hard as well, and the novice smiled back at her, clearly delighted at the achievements of their friends.

  Jignesh held up his hand and silence rushed to fill the vacuum as the applause died out.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘for the hardest moment.’ He looked around at the assembly. ‘Parting ways.’

  With a jolt Maya realised what he meant. The eight children would no longer be part of the Gurukul. Once they graduated, they belonged to the Gana and their place was in the outside world, among the sadhs. Not here, among the students.

  ‘Varun and Adira will return to their home base in Mumbai,’ Jignesh announced. ‘Tanveer will return to Kolkata, Gopal to Chennai, Sonali to Jaipur and Anisha to Chandigarh. Admissions have been secured and they will leave within the next few days to start their new roles as their schools re-open after the winter break. Arjun and Agastya will not go back to Delhi just yet; they will stay at the Gurukul for a few more months. They have work to complete before they can join the Gana in their home locations.’

  Maya’s heart sank. It dawned on her that the Saptas, as the seven children had come to regard themselves, were being split up. They were all going in different directions. How would they fulfil the prophecy?

  Or had they been wrong to think of themselves as the Saptas?

  Suddenly she felt low, more depressed than she had ever felt in the last two months. It all seemed unreal.

  Satyavachana’s voice floated through Maya’s mind, intruding on her thoughts. He was speaking to her telepathically. She almost jumped. She hadn’t got used to this medium of communication yet, not having mastered it herself.

  ‘You will be up there soon, my child,’ Satyavachana said, ‘with Jignesh praising you and your accomplishments.’

  Maya looked at Satyavachana, who gave her a broad grin and an almost imperceptible nod.

  A deep sigh escaped Maya even as she was filled with joy by the thought that her guru had such immense confidence in her.

  Amyra looked at her, concerned. ‘Are you okay, Maya?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, Amyra.’ Maya smiled back at the novice. Deep down, the conflict continued to rage.

  Was she really good enough for the Gana?

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Kapoor Takes Stock

  Allahabad

  ‘Turn up the bloody heater and bring it closer,’ Kapoor instructed Mishra, suppressing a shiver.

  This was his third trip to Allahabad. After Mirza had made a breakthrough in identifying Upadhyay at the stationery shop, Kapoor had flown back to Delhi and left Mirza to carry on the investigations with the help of the fourteen-year-old photographs. He had returned to Allahabad only today, after nine days.

  It was cold—colder than Delhi, Kapoor thought—and it was also the last day of the calendar year. Some part of him was resentful that he would have to spend New Year’s Eve alone in a strange city while his colleagues had warm homes and families to go back to.

  Not that Kapoor would have spent his day any differently had he been in Delhi. His passion and commitment to his work had not only resulted in a separation from his wife and two children, but had also whittled down his social life over the years. And, quite frankly, he didn’t care. He was quite happy by himself.

  The perfect cop. The lone wolf. The solo player. That was him.

  It was the slow progress in this case that was getting to Kapoor, not the prospect of spending 31 December alone. He had stocked up on rum and coke for his own little welcome for the New Year. It was one of the rare occasions when he allowed himself the indulgence of alcohol.

  He was also conscious that he was keeping the other two men from their families.

  Kapoor was not an insensitive man. Not that he had displayed much sensitivity towards his own family. But when it came to others, especially his fellow policemen in the rank and file, he was one of the more thoughtful senior police officers around.

  ‘Thank you, Mishra,’ he nodded to the STF driver. Kapoor had very quickly realised that the man was sharp and could go far beyond his prescribed duty. And he had put that intelligence to good use.

  Yes, progress had been slow since he had first arrived in Allahabad, almost one month back.

  But they were making progress nevertheless.

  Finally.

  In the past nine days, two breakthroughs had been achieved.

  The first had come rather swiftly, to Kapoor’s delight.

  As soon as the stationery shop owner had identified Upadhyay’s photograph and associated it with St. Joseph’s College, Mirza had sought a meeting with the principal of the school. He had requested the principal to check with the teachers to see if anyone recognised the man in the photograph.

  The principal had asked for some time, and then called back two days later. He had not only checked
with the teachers but had also had someone go through old school magazines to see if there was a match between Upadhyay’s photograph and faculty photographs in the school magazine.

  Both initiatives had paid off handsomely.

  In his second meeting with Mirza, the principal showed him photographs from the magazines where Upadhyay was clearly identifiable. A couple of teachers who had taught there fourteen years ago had also positively identified the passport photograph. They said it was of a history teacher who had taught the senior classes.

  But the names didn’t match.

  The teacher whose photograph had appeared in the school magazine was Dhruv Srivastava. And that was also the name provided by the teachers who had identified Upadhyay’s photograph when it was shown to them.

  The realisation struck Kapoor like a flash of lightning. The man had changed his name upon leaving Allahabad and assumed a new identity in Delhi.

  This only reinforced Kapoor’s earlier suspicion that Singh and Upadhyay had been embroiled in something that had compelled them to leave Allahabad.

  Upadhyay’s—or rather Srivastava’s—identification raised a second possibility: that Virendra Singh had also assumed a new identity. But they still needed someone to identify him so they could learn what his original name was.

  And then, just yesterday, Mirza had found someone who recognised Singh’s photograph, via the WhatsApp groups for the akharas he had been making the rounds of, for the last two–and-a-half weeks.

  As Kapoor had expected, the names didn’t match. The man said that the photograph was of someone called Kanakpratap Singh. Same surname, but a different first name.

  According to him, Kanakpratap Singh was one of the strongest men in the akhara, second only to his brother, Rudrapratap Singh. Both men were well-respected and had the reputation of being decent folk.

  On hearing the news, Kapoor had dashed to Allahabad once again, to take stock of the situation and plan ahead. It wasn’t such a bad way to end the year, but he chafed at the fact that it had taken him so long to get to Allahabad, something he’d wanted to do almost two months ago.