The Weapon of the Devas

by Nanda Gopal Guruswamy

  “And what, do you want me to stand aside and watch?”

  He didn’t reply, he knew I was right. “Fine. All the best. Try not to scare them to death” He said finally.

  “Thanks.” I hung up.

  Getting ready was a long process for me. I mean, I have to arm myself to the hilt. I have been the victim of many surprise attacks and after some time you learn a lot of neat tricks to defend yourself without expending too much energy. After getting ready, I stepped out. However I was tired and my body was begging me to go back to sleep. So I had to knock back a couple of red bulls before getting on my bike and heading towards Kalasiplaya which some consider to be the centre of crime in Bangalore.

  Traffic was slow but I managed to get ahead by jumping a couple of signals, using footpaths and even dodged a couple of cops by going in one direction and then abruptly changing direction. I reached the entrance of the area and parked my bike a little far away so no one could take note of my bike number and track me down.

  They say that information is confidential but you can bribe it out of any guy working in the automotive office. As I walked towards the place, I considered my approach. I was headed towards the headquarters of a local crime lord Manja. I really don’t care about human affairs, that’s the matter for the police. But this particular one had political connections and the police left him alone to run his operations. Recently, just about the time I started tracking Bloodbeard, the ugly vamp, I noticed the savage and brutal activities of Manja. They were shocking, even for me . And I am the type of guy who considered a week boring if I don’t see a dead body or hear the darkest rumours that appear to be a walk in the park. Stuff that I don’t ever want to tell you. He had wrenched control of the underground in a bloody gang war and had decided to cash in fast. In deadly game he was playing, he had caused enough suffering to the defenceless, who would probably carry that pain to their next birth. I was angry. I was angrier with these monsters than with Bloodbeard, atleast Bloodbeard had no choice. He was forced to feed. But these people purposely chose to do cruel things. Humans find morbid ways to harm themselves than any monster I’ve ever met. So after a very long time, I decided to poke my nose in local crime. I’m proactive that way.

  So I was thinking of the approach I should take, the subtle and polite approach where I warn them in a scary way or should I create some chaos and confusion to show them I’m serious. I decided on ‘knock their socks off’ approach and considering what they had been doing I was letting them off easy. I put the hood of my jacket on. I had put a small handy spell on it that made sure that the hood didn’t come off. My jacket was like a small tank. Over time, I had put enough spells on it to make it bulletproof and also protect me from magical attacks. I had even extended that protection to cover the entire body of the wearer. It wouldn’t completely block everything, just take the edge off. But most of all it looked cool. The hood was for effect, it would ensure that my face remained hidden and I would not be recognized. The unknown is scarier than the known. The known can be measured and hence is finite, the unknown is infinity. Let their fear be infinite.

  I walked straight towards a hotel, a small squarish grey-coloured building. A few thugs were standing near the entrance trying but failing to look casual. However they were good enough to spot me from several yards away. They all grouped as I got closer.

  One of them was chewing tobacco. Looked like the leader, typical thug look. I don’t mean to stereotype but that’s what you’re going to find here. He and his buddies stopped me at the entrance and the leader chewing the tobacco spat it out and said “Hey, who are you then? Remove the hood.” He said making a motion with the first two fingers of this right hand as if ordering me. I didn’t answer. I just stared at him. Guess a dark empty hood staring at him unnerved him. Oh, I should have added a smiling skull effect in the hood or something, would’ve been cool, I would have to do that later. He plucked up his courage and shoved me.

  He spit the rest of the tobacco in my hood. “I told you to remove that stupid monkey cap, you moron.” He actually said something else but I am filtering it out. “Agni.” I whispered to my favourite element and it answered my call. I set the tobacco-chewing leader’s dirty hair on fire. The burning smell was thick in the air as I drew my head back and laughed like a maniac. The other thugs looked shocked. They were suddenly uneasy. They did not even help their leader. Then I stood back and chanted some nonsense like I was casting a spell on them. That’s all it took, they all took to their heels.

  So I cleared the first level and went on to the second level. The interior of the hotel was plush and the reception area was lovely. Another thug was sitting at the reception, wearing glasses and pretending to read a magazine. Cute. There were another six of them watching a cricket match on the huge LED TV.

  As I entered, they all looked up and the receptionist stood up and said, “Stop, stop right there”. He signalled to his lackeys and they all stood in front of me blocking my path. Bad move. I stretched my right hand like I was blessing them. My palm was facing them. There was a packet of powder under my wrist in the jacket sleeve in a secret pocket. It was pointing right at their faces. “Yadis,” I said. And the packet exploded spraying the faces of the dumb thugs with the powder. The powder was something close to pepper spray that I had cooked up but was way stronger. I used chilli powder, scorpion toxin and a powder made from the flower of the parthenium weed. The parthenium plant has been declared noxious by several countries and it is one of the world’s most devastating and hazardous weeds. The concoction causes severe burning, itching, allergies and lasts a few hours besides leaving your face a mess of red blotches. They were all clutching their faces in agony; some of them doubled up, puking. The powder had created a huge red cloud because of the chilli powder. I stepped aside and saw two more come in from a corridor and enter the cloud and scream like little girls holding their faces.

  But I stepped into the cloud and effortlessly crossed to the other side. The jacket protected me. I picked the receptionist from the floor. His glasses were askew. My voice sounded deep and scary as I asked “Where’s your boss?” “Fifth floor. Last room on the right.” He said.

  I dropped him and started down that corridor. As I was walking down to the elevator, I opened several doors. One of the rooms was filled with smoke and people playing cards. Another one was filled with drugs but most of them were filled with money in huge brown sacks, those that are used to transport rice. Just huge amounts of money strewn across the floor as the people were counting it.

  A few more thugs tried to get in my way. I used the other hand which had another packet of my should-be-patented burning powder right in their faces. To them, the cloud of burning powder appeared out of nowhere and they were scared of that. After that they learned to keep their distance. I got in the elevator and waited, humming tonelessly. The elevator dinged and opened, there were a lot of men with longs. A long is a long farmer’s sickle, it is straight with a wicket little curve at the end. It is a preferred weapon of choice for gangsters, as it makes chopping up a guy real easy. And it is used widely by farmers and so cheap. “Hast agni.” I rumbled in a deep voice. A flame covered my wrist and hand without burning it. I showed it to them. They didn’t need a second demonstration, they scattered. Sometimes intimidation works better than actual violence. I stepped out and continued down the corridor.

  I made it to the end of the corridor when three guys in safari suits stepped forward with guns. Professional bodyguards. They didn’t hesitate, pointed the guns at me and started firing, till they emptied their clips.

  That took a minute, I let them. Mainly because I wanted to see how powerless they were against me. Then I called the wind to assist me. “Vayis.” A gust of wind swept the bodyguards right off their feet and threw them into a wall. They didn’t move after that. There was only one room and it was locked. I kicked the door open so hard, the hinges flew right off and the wooden door completely separated from the frame and fell halfway across the room.


  The room was rich but tasteless. Sure, it had beautiful carpets, paintings, soft lighting. But the entire thing was a mess. There was big desk, and a main pointing a .32 revolver at me. He was dressed in complete white, white shirt and dhoti. Bad hair, face full of warts and lot of gold on him. Huge chain around the neck and bracelets on his wrists. He looked a proper villain raised in the slums in a life of crime from his childhood.

  “Who are you?” He asked calmly, chewing something.

  Well, you just don’t hand me an open line like that. I was thinking of all the movie responses I could give. But settled on a more sinister one.

  “Don’t you recognize me? I have come back from the grave for you, worm.”

  I assumed that in his life, he must have killed a few enemies and his imagination would pick the worst one. It worked. His face was shocked.

  “You! You’re dead. I killed you.”

  “Yes, you did. But I have come back for you. I am going to destroy everything you have and drink your blood.”

  That did it. His face fell and the arm holding the gun shook. But he fired anyways to no effect. He threw the gun and tried to run past me, but I made a motion with my hands sending a small wave of force towards his legs, tripping him. I threw him up against the wall and looked into his face. I saw the he wasn’t chewing gum, he was chewing razor blades. I had seen it before, but never up close. He had been chewing them into little pieces of sharp metal. He spit them in my face. I recoiled just before he spit them and already sent a wave of air right back at him. It blew the little pieces of blade right back in his face. That should leave a few scars. He was clutching his face when I pushed him and banged his head on his rich desk.

  He fainted. I dragged him to the elevator and then downstairs. The building had emptied after the gunshots and people had milled around outside.

  Once I stepped out, they cleared out fast. I shook Manja awake and dragged him up with one hand. His body was still limp but his eyes were filled with fear. With the other hand, I called out “Agni”, pouring some power into the call. Fire blossomed in waves. I directed it at the building and kept it up until it was well and truly on fire. I looked into his face and said “You’re next”. He shook himself free of my grip and fell down on the ground. He got up with incredible agility and started running. Within seconds he was out of sight. I had to burn the building to destroy his powerbase and capital. No one would support him now. He should be leaving this city now.

  The streets were empty as I slowly walked back to where I parked my bike, I found a dark corner and slipped off my jacket. I could hear the sirens of the fire trucks as I got on to my bike to leave. Funny how they called them fire trucks when they carried water.

  That took most of the morning. I decided to start for Suryaprakash’s home straightaway. His place was in Mysore and that would take me three to four hours.

  Chapter 5: Mysore

  Mysore, the cultural capital of the state, has a long and illustrious history ruled by great kings such as Tipu Sultan and Hyder Ali. More relevant to me is the city’s name, Mysore. It is a corrupted version of Mahishasura. Way back it was ruled by a buffalo-headed monster Asura called Mahishasura. He was beheaded by the god Chamundi in the hills nearby which are very creatively named ‘Chamundi Hills’. The ride to Mysore took three hours. I hit eleven butterflies on the highway. The trip was spent wondering how many butterflies get hit every day along the whole highway.

  Mysore is one of the best planned cities with famous palaces, elegant architecture, wide streets and real estate, which means that the houses are not built like matchboxes stacked one on top of the other like Bangalore. Riding through the city gives a taste of older times—times of prosperity. I reached Suryaprakash’s home. The house was lovely with a wide garden in front. Colourful plants and trees were allowed to grow unchecked.

  I stopped my bike out front, took a picture and set it as the wallpaper on my phone. I opened the small wooden gate and stepped in. There was small path laid with cobblestones leading to the house. There were tall grasses growing on both sides with colourful flowers among them. The single-storied house was old fashioned. The huge wooden door had carvings on it. It was the scene with Krishna riding a chariot and Arjuna shooting arrows, the same one as Prajwal’s study.

  I knocked. There was no response. Suryaprakash did not have family or any relatives. There was a police seal on the door. It was nothing but a small lock wrapped in white bandage, it wasn’t any real protection except to find out if anyone had broken in. I broke it and entered. The hall was huge; in the centre were wicker furniture and a glass coffee table. There was a huge tapestry on the wall with matching carpet. Everything looked normal, nothing was disturbed. I left the hall and looked around, nothing amiss. Then I found the study. It looked like somebody had filled a huge water gun with blood and sprayed it on the walls. The blood had dried, however the patterns looked exactly like Prajwal’s study. Looks like whoever attacked Prajwal had attacked Suryaprakash first.

  I tried to ignore the blood and looked around. No pictures or anything to indicate family or any sort of social life. He must have been totally dedicated to research, as evidenced by the huge bookcase and all the papers lying scattered all around the room. The books were all old leather-bound books in all sorts of languages and arcane books on the theory of magic. I even found a couple that interested me. Then I noticed a bottle of whisky on the bookcase. There was something like smoke in it that was moving around. I looked at it carefully and made sure that there were no spells on the bottle before touching it. I lifted it and brought it close to my face and peered in. I got a sudden start as a face formed inside the bottle and mouthed something.

  I held it at arm’s length and looked at it. It looked like a Yaksa. Suryaprakash must have been pretty powerful to control something like this. A yaksa is a Guardian spirit normally used to protect temples, palaces and other important places. This was the first time I had ever seen a yaksa protecting a home. Yaksas are powerful beings of nature, mostly good. But the bad ones are very hard to kill. Yaksas that go bad are usually known as Rakshasas. This one’s face was fair, young with dreadlocks and it was mouthing something that I couldn’t make out. I wasn’t going to open the bottle immediately. That would invite trouble. The yaksa must be pretty mad at losing its master and if it had witnessed the murder then I could get information from it. I just had to be careful.

  I went to the garden at the back handling the bottle carefully. I looked around for a place where I wouldn’t be visible to the neighbours. The tall trees and plants offered plenty of cover. I cleared a small area and placed the bottle in the middle and drew a circle around it. I drew another pentacle inside the circle making sure that the bottle was in the middle. A few more symbols of protection and I was done. Now the yaksa inside the bottle was bound within the circle and couldn’t harm me once I let it out.

  I popped the bottle cap and out came brownish smoke that tried to move out of the circle but couldn’t. It then formed into a shape. The yaksa in the shape of a homunculus, an exact replica of a miniature human, only it was two feet in height. It was dressed in brown. It sat cross legged in a meditative pose in the middle of the circle. It swayed as it sat mumbling something with its eyes half closed. Closer inspection revealed that it was singing a bawdy drinking song. It was completely drunk.

  “Greetings Wizard, hic. I am the great knowledge yaksa, Kalamajur Lekhaayur Jeevi, hic. My eternal thanks, hic, for releasing from that nasha -filled prison, hic,” he said.

  His hiccups shook his entire upper body. I was staring at him in shock. A drunk yaksa, I didn’t think it was possible. The guys aren’t going to believe this. A knowledge yaksa too. They were very rare—more intellectual than the usual warrior type. Knowledge yaksas had extraordinary knowledge of the inner workings of magic, of virtually anything and almost always had contacts in every shady corner of the nether worlds.

  “That’s too long. I think I’ll call you Kajur. I am Shiva.” H
e was staring at me beadily. But there wasn’t anything he could do, bound as he was.

  “That is not my name hic. You will not address me like that, hic,” he said

  “Sure, Kajur. Whatever. So care to explain what happened? Who imprisoned you?”

  “I shall reduce your bones to ash, hic, and boil the water in your eyes, if you call me that again, Wizard, hic. Release me now.”

  “Hmm, maybe I should put you back in the bottle and bury you somewhere deep where you won’t be found for another hundred years” I said

  His face blanched. “No, please, hic. Don’t do that. A week of that disgusting smell made me forget ten years of knowledge, hic.”

  “So Kajur, tell me what happened. Answer all my questions and I will release you.”

  He glared at me, but continued “My master and I had just finished composing, hic, an incredibly complex yagna to summon things most powerful. That night we were attacked, hic, by two men. They imprisoned me and tortured my master. He gave the spell to them. After which they, hic, killed him. It was horrible.”

  The pain was apparent in his eyes. Yaksas are spirits of nature, usually playful and happy. This one had just seen its master murdered brutally. I could empathize. I waited for it to stop hiccupping. It looked unhappy and annoyed at the hiccupping.

  “What did they look like? And why did they spare you?”

  “One was very tall, and looked like a, hic, Kshatriya warrior. He was the one who beat up my master. The other one was the one who tortured him, he used magic most foul. He was wearing a coat, hic, similar to the one my master wore, a black one with some kind of cloth, hic, rope around his neck.”

  “You mean a suit? And I asked for what he looked like, not what they were wearing.”

  “I don’t know what it is called. I can’t explain, hic, what they looked like because all you humans look the same to me. Like sheep, hic.”