True Rising: Mark of the Defenders

by Tanishq Sheikh

  “Thank you,” I manage a modest mumble. I can’t decide what to call him anymore. I glance at Ajaz who is still sitting tense. I can tell he’s assessing the similarities between me and Partho.

  I look at the clock on the wall behind Partho and remember my deal with Ajaz. One hour forty five minutes. That’s all I have to ask questions and hopefully get answers.

  “How did you know I was looking for you?” I ask, feeling almost hesitant. It’s strange that this man intimidates me.

  His eyes are intense. He doesn’t intend to lie. “I heard some foreigners were looking for someone in a nearby village. I knew at once it was you but I had to be sure so I sent the boy to establish your identity.” He opens a drawer, removes my wallet and pushes it across the desk towards me. “Here. It told me I was right. You finally found me.”

  “You knew I was looking for you?”

  “But of course. I always knew you’d come. Sooner or later. You had to come.” He sits back, looking disconcerted. “But I didn’t want you to find me. I thought I had covered all bases.”

  His casual mention of his intent to remain undiscovered can be construed as his sign of his guilt. Had he really murdered his wife?

  His eyes are intense as he looks at me. “I didn’t kill her. You know that right?”

  My breath hitches. Can he read my thoughts? Yes, I know he didn’t kill her. My head is beginning its slow dance of processing facts. “What happened?”

  He seems to weigh his thoughts. They must be dark, they must trouble him. A sad smile graces his lips. “I’ll get to it. But before that, join me for dinner, I’m sure you both are tired and hungry.”

  Ajaz clears his throat. Time’s running out. “We can’t stay long,” I venture feeling like an ungracious guest. He’s a murderer. He’s my father.

  Partho’s dark eyes bear me down. “I’m not your enemy, Poppy. And I’m certainly not a killer.” He shifts his focus to Ajaz. “I give you my word, you both are safe here.”

  Ajaz leans forward in his chair. I can tell he’s torn. We spent almost the entire day on the road and we both haven’t eaten a thing besides some snacks in the car. He knows even if he can hold out, I need to eat. He gives me a go-ahead nod.

  We exit the library and walk further into the house, following a path of a continuous stone flooring that seems common to the house. Although we’re wearing sneakers, our shoes manage to make a flat sound as they brush over the rough, uneven flooring. A grand dining room awaits us in one corner of the ground floor. Like the rest of the house, it is in desperate need of an upgrade. It has a huge oak table that can seat more than twenty people. An ancient stained glass chandelier hangs above the table making an attempt to throw dull, yellow light. It fails miserably to illuminate the room but does a great job of hiding the unpolished surfaces of the wooden furniture in the room.

  Partho sits at the head of the table while Ajaz and I sit next to him at the side. The food is served by the boy who had stolen my wallet. He’s probably Partho’s man-Friday or boy-Friday. His name is Manu and he’s lost his earlier fright of Ajaz and is plying his plate with food. I almost have to kick Ajaz to stop eating. I’m surprised he dug into the vegetarian meal as he usually prefers non-vegetarian. Partho informs us that our guide, Mahesh and the driver, Suraj, were also given dinner and a comfortable room to relax in.

  I eat my food with a gusto that surprises me. I thought I was too tired to eat but I’m famished and manage to reach for seconds. I find Ajaz watching me with an indulgent smile as I wipe my lips on a napkin. It’s one of those smiles that tells me, he thinks I’m way too cute.

  We retire back to the library choosing to lounge on the sofa this time. Partho takes a seat on one of the armchairs and lights up a pipe after taking permission from us. I had Ajaz quit when I conceived and I’m aware it’s not good for the baby but I need Partho to focus and tell me everything that can help me.

  The smoke rises slowly around the dimly lit room. The image is almost surreal. I feel we have been transported back in time.

  Partho seems casual yet I can sense a storm raging behind his façade. What is he hiding from me? How can he help us? Why did I seek him out?

  “Mr.Sangram..” I begin on a hesitant note.

  “Please call me Partho, Poppy. I hate the formality.” He crosses legs to shift in his seat. “What I’m about to tell you, Prisha, is not going to be easy. But you need to know everything. Are you ready?”

  Am I? Ajaz is running absent circles on my upper arm where his hand comes to rest with his arm around my shoulder. Despite my fatigue over the day’s adventures, my senses are alert. I nod at Partho, I’m ready.

  Partho blows a small cloud of smoke over his head. “I grew up in a village in Eastern Nepal called Sangrumba. I grew up in the lap of luxury and at the same time I was fortunate enough to be close to nature. I would often find escape in the dipping mountain ranges, its valleys, waterfalls and gushing rivers. I spent days away from my home, meditating in the wilderness whenever I could. I almost became an ascetic.” His lips smile recalling a fond memory. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to become one. I was the oldest son of the powerful Sangram family. I have three brothers. I was born into this world for a reason.”

  Partho points his pipe to a large portrait hanging over a fireplace that I had failed to notice at the back of the large room. “That’s my family.”

  The portrait is huge and the dull lamps are not able to light it in a uniform manner. Aged over time, it’s darkened at the edges but I can see the artist has done an exceptional job. In the center on an embellished, regal twin sofa, sit two people. A middle aged man with a proud, long moustache curled up at the ends and an elegant middle aged woman adorned in a ruby red saree and loads of fascinating jewellery. I presume these are Partho’s parents. My grandparents. Behind them stand five proud young men, the oldest, Partho, seems around twenty and the youngest around fourteen. All are wearing similar attire of a closed neck Nehru jacket with sherwani. Strings of pearls adorn their necks and brocade turbans sit on their heads. Without having met them, I can tell they’re a close knit family.

  At Partho’s feet lays a huge, black dog with an open mouth showcasing its pointed teeth. It has shiny fur and strange yellow eyes, narrowed and calculating as they pose for the artist. They have a familiarity in them that sends a shiver down my spine. Why did the artist paint them yellow, almost feline like rather than dog-like? Do dogs have yellow eyes?

  “My brothers are still alive, they live in different countries.” Partho’s statement distracts me from the painting. “My parents have unfortunately passed on.” It takes him time to recover from the last statement. He draws in another puff before lending me a soft smile. “They would’ve loved meeting you.”

  The thought warms me. Instinct tells me I would’ve loved meeting them too.

  “Prisha, what I’m about to tell you, might not make sense to you. But I need you to have faith.”

  I nod, that’s why I’m here. Because I have faith in him.

  Partho goes silent, drawing on his pipe, lost deep in memories. Then he begins.

  “I was born into an ancient legacy. The first born son of the sworn defenders of the Triad. Legend has it, after the evolution of mankind, it was the duty of the Triad to guide them through the trials and tribulations of common life. To understand this further, you need to know the basis of all life.

  “All humans, men and women, are composed of five basic elements: space/ether, fire, water, air and earth. These elements combine to form three types of metabolisms in humans, which are also called Doshas.

  “One or two dominant Doshas usually determine physical, mental and emotional characteristics in a human. When a human is in harmony with all the five elements, these Doshas remain calm but the slightest imbalance and they make their presence felt in a variety of ways. This imbalance of the Doshas is known as the Kleshas. Kleshas are those mental states that cloud the mind and inspire unpleasant decisions and actions. They includ
e states of mind such as anxiety, fear, anger, jealousy, desire, depression, greed and more.

  “Ancient texts have recorded these imbalances of the body and mind; the plague, tuberculosis, small pox, syphilis, anger, rage, grief, sorrow, suspicion, greed, violence, evil. Anger and rage turned mankind to commit cruel and violent crimes. Lust, desire and infidelity suppressed love and fidelity, causing a rise in adultery, promiscuity and prostitution.

  “Religious texts from different civilisations have recorded that time and again the Kleshas raised their ugly heads with the aim to create chaos and doubt. With an increase in population, mankind began feeling the effects of hunger, injustice and poverty. Over time this became a battle of the Good over Evil.

  “The Kleshas are kept in check by the Triad. But when the Kleshas join hands, they have the strength to manipulate the Triad and edge the creations towards self-destruction. This is seen throughout the history of mankind that has suffered innumerable plagues, destructions of civilisations, wars, hunger and poverty.

  “The Triad commissioned several loyal clans across the world to defend their secrets from the Kleshas and save the world from anarchy. In this part of the world, the Triad chose the Dharmaadhikaris of the Himalayas who were one of the Defenders of the Triad.

  “The Dharmaadhikaris were unlike any other rulers of ancient times. They lived among their people, ate off their lands and swore to protect it against the influx of the Kleshas. To ensure continuous protection, the Dharmaadhikaris wrote down the secrets of the Triad on scrolls that were passed down through their descendants.

  “As time changed, the Dharmaadhikaris came under attack from the Destructors of the North-West of the world who were already under the spell of the Kleshas. Their aim was complete submission. The aim of the Kleshas was to find the scrolls that could destroy the Triad.

  “The Dharmaadhikaris were not well-versed with battle and their fall was eminent. They entrusted a right-arm wing of their clan, called the Sangrams, with the precious scrolls that held secrets of the Triad and entreated them to spend their lives protecting the secrets. “Eventually, the Dharmaadhikaris were destroyed but no one could hunt out the Sangrams. Over centuries they studied the scriptures and learnt to master the elements like none other. They were the Defenders of the Triad.

  “The family was supposed to always keep their whereabouts a secret but legend has it one day, a boy, lost his favourite buffalo. The buffalo had slipped and fallen into a flowing river where it drowned. The child jumped in after the buffalo but he too was swept away. His lifeless body was found half a kilometre downstream.

  “His family members came and took him away to perform the last rites. But his mother was distraught. She wailed for six days and seven nights by his body till a wondrous incident occurred. A beam of light shone through the sky and lifted the mortal remains of the boy. The next day a miracle happened and he was found alive in a nearby cave by a shepherd. The boy was a Sangram. Several people were a witness to this incident and began worshipping the boy as a saint. The village was renamed, Sangrumba, meaning the buffalo who drowned, and the Sangrams worshipped as demi-gods.

  “This was an unfortunate turn of events. Defenders could not use the secrets of the Triad for their own benefit. This indiscretion by the Sangram family led the Kleshas to them.

  “They began hunting for the family bent of their destruction. But the Sangrams managed to go under hiding using the power of the secrets within the scrolls. Centuries passed, the Kleshas couldn’t find the Sangrams and turned their attention elsewhere across the world, afflicting mankind as best as they could.

  The pause is long, the silence in the room heavy. Partho’s pipe has long extinguished but he holds it against his lips, lost in thought.

  “Partho,” My soft voice brings him out of his reverie.

  “Yes, my dear?” It’s as if he’s forgotten what he was telling us.

  “What happened to you?” I want to know if he blames himself for Uma’s death.

  His head drops to his chin as he tries to hide his despair. “Being the first born son, it was up to me to carry on the legacy of the Sangrams. But I couldn’t grasp its importance. I didn’t pay heed to my traditional studies, I often skipped class and then I insisted on going to India for higher education. My father was against it but my mother begged him to allow me to go. She could see how restless I was. She was confident I’d come back when I was ready. In the meantime, they trained my brothers. They were not first-borns but they could master most of the scrolls except one. That one was meant only for the eyes of the first-born. No one else could see it. It was called the Apeksha.”

  “I left home, went to New Delhi and lived the life I dreamt of. Uma’s cousin was my friend and when they were looking for a groom for her, he suggested my proposal. I had seen Uma once before and found her really attractive. Uma’s parents agreed because they were very poor and I was educated with a good job. I didn’t tell them about my parents or background. They assumed I was an orphan.”

  “At that moment I had no idea that out in the world I was slowly falling prey to the Kleshas. I chose to hide my marriage to Uma from my parents too. I knew they would never approve of her. I was completely enamoured by Uma and for many years we led a blissful life.”

  I try to gulp. My mouth has gone completely dry. I know where his story is headed and I’m not sure I want to hear it. I reach for Ajaz, who immediately draws me closer to him.

  The lights in the room seem duller than before. They throw dark shadows on Partho’s face and hide the misery that haunts him. “We came to Mumbai and I met your mother. She was exquisite. Her features were the most attractive and sensuous I had ever seen in a woman. The attraction was instant and I could tell over time it was mutual. We couldn’t do anything about it and somehow I didn’t push it. It was almost as if something was holding me back. But it kept building to the extent that I felt I would go mad.”

  To my horror, a slow tear drops from his eye. “That night when she came to me, I wasn’t in my senses. It was pure lust that I felt for her. A craving I had to extinguish. I took her with ruthless force unable to stop myself. When I came to the next day, I immediately realised what had happened. I had been tricked. Tricked by a Klesha.”

  Twenty - five

  Wise men don’t lie.

  Memories – Partho.

  I come to know about the baby from Prakash. He is feeling proud and I’m happy for him, for them. It wasn’t until one day when I saw Sudha that I realise the truth about the baby. One look at her face and I know the child is mine. She looks at me with such misery and hatred in her eyes that I’m shattered.

  There’s nothing I can do about it. As days go by, I’m almost excited by the thought of becoming a father. Uma hasn’t been able to conceive in the years that we have been married. It never bothered me but now that I know Sudha is carrying my child, I’m filled with a sense of ownership.

  The baby decides to come one late night in October. The city is experiencing freak weather with a cyclone building over the Arabian Sea. It has rained sporadically for almost a three days now and the weather is only getting worse.

  Prakash knocks desperately on my door at almost eleven in the night. His car won’t start and he needs to get Sudha to the hospital. I immediately grab my keys asking Uma to go wait with Saumya while I drive Sudha and Prakash to the hospital. It is an opportunity I couldn’t miss and one I was waiting for.

  The wipers work overtime trying to rid the windshield of the pouring streams of rainwater. It’s a pretty dramatic sight. Abandoned roads, flickering streetlights, wailing winds and a storm that’s building up. At the hospital, I drop them off at the entrance, park the car and then go in.

  Prakash is at the reception looking panicked. He’s forgotten some important reports at home and needs to go get it. He takes my car with a promise to be back as soon as possible beseeching me to look after his wife.

  I walk into the pre-operation room where Sudha is lying on a bed. She is in
labour but when she sees me, her face loses its colour. I sense she hates me more than she ever loved or desired me. She hates me because of this child that’s about to come into the world. I know in that moment she will always hate this child; a living proof of her infidelity.

  The midwife shoos me out of the room almost immediately. I’m not her husband and there’s no reason for me to be around her. My impatient pacing threatens to run down the tiles of the waiting room. Prakash isn’t back yet and with a doctor rushing in, I can deduce the baby is almost out.

  The wait is long. Too long. I see more hospital staff rush in. Something isn't right. I catch hold of a nurse who happens to step out and demand answers.

  "The patient is in distress." That's all I get out of her.

  Half an hour later, I hear the most precious cry of a new-born child. My heart almost stops as my ears strain to hear those faint cries. My child! My child has been born!