by Victor Mahn
Within days of their flight from Kāsi, they had, as agreed, written to each of their families. Siddhanath directed his letter to Niranjana Ma, his mother. It was unheard of, to address a letter to a female member of a household when the family leader – which is most often the husband – is still alive. Siddhanath had imagined the uproar that would most likely take place, especially at his wife's side. To receive a handwritten letter from his daughter would mean the Chief Priest was most likely to denounce her existence. The members of the priesthood clans would carry out this wish unhesitatingly if it is proven true that a daughter had eloped with a man from another propinquity.
But the parents would need to be informed of their children’s continued existence and of the favourable situation (which both Kausalya and Siddhanath felt to be true) they were in. And so, Siddhanath got to writing the letter for her, imitating her style of saying something and of her likeness of emotions. The letter did hold the essence of her bearing, she felt, and it will settle well with her family. The two of them assented to writing another letter to each family in a month’s time, when the initial shock abated, and the parents were awaiting further news from them. They had written a set of four letters now, each to be posted out at some time in the near future.
Siddhanath’s employer had invited the two of them over to his house for a meal, some weeks ago. His wife, Bhupali, had grown fond of Kausalya during that first meeting, and she took it as her life’s duty to outline the taboos during the prenatal phase—including a list of foodstuffs to avoid, and those that would need to be doubled. Since then, she would often come calling on Kausalya at their home, bearing fruits (which weren’t too sweet) and some packages of nuts and doughs of rice flour, which could be flattened and put on a heated pan almost immediately. The young couple was glad to accept the company of the field manager and his wife, and of their seemingly endless stream of gifts and the occasional baksheesh, which greatly reduced their burdens.
Soon, their neighbours and the frequent visitors to the local Ganesh temple, with its small and singular idol, were eager to give them their unsolicited opinions and advice on pregnancy and childbirth. And often, one would contradict with the opinions of another: a notable one was the endless dispute on whether it was fine for Kausalya to sleep lying down on her back. The two aged ladies, who had been in the argument somewhere just outside of the temple entrance, were almost at blows with each other, while their husbands were taking the role of the silent bigots.
But the guidance of Bhupali seemed to be empiric, as she often said to drop the traditional and common ways of doing things, and to experiment with her own body, appraising the types of food and sleeping postures that work best for her. “The traditions are just useful guides, Kausalya. Each of us are made different, unique. We need to respect that,” she said when Kausalya began to fret about the varied views.
Siddhanath told Kausalya a while ago, that Shri Devakar and his wife had no children of their own. This surprised Kausalya, for she felt that Bhupali had a mastery over matters relating to children and the raising of them. Siddhanath said that they did have a child once, but he had died when the village was stricken with an epidemic of chicken pox. He could not ascertain the age of the child when he passed on, but he suspected that he must have been just a toddler. Kausalya wept at that.
And so, the months rolled on, and they were both very contented with life at their hovel. They were still teenagers, and their wants of the world had been nominal. They were teaching each other, of their habits and idiosyncrasies. On another level, they were also learning of themselves, and of what they were able to tolerate and what was out of bounds. Of the two, Kausalya seemed to be more grounded. Siddhanath, on the other hand, had moments of surging temperaments, due to his hormones still being in sporadic flow. He tried to practice meditating again, through the techniques that his yoga instructor had taught him. But he found it to be an immensely tall order now; he couldn’t concentrate on a point of focus after several seconds. Perhaps I am growing tense with the fact that I am to be a father… and here I am climbing trees! I would need to assign myself as a priest at the Ganesh temple; I am adept in the Vedic chants, after all. Worst case, I would accept to be an apprentice to the incumbent there...
One day, Shri Devakar knocked on their door, and said, “You know, Siddhanath, there’s this fellow who came by my place yesterday. At the dead of the night. And he inquired of you. Casually at first, then he went into some detail which was quite astonishing; he seemed to know all about you. Of your background, I mean.”
Siddhanath was on his guard, and he responded, “A man came by your place asking after me?”
“Yes, a rather old fellow. Scrawny and weather-beaten. He spoke our language like a native speaker, if you know what I am saying? His speech was excellent. But he says that he is from the north, like you.”
Siddhanath had a mixed feeling about this. It was a cross-pollination of elation and vigilance, for he knew that the person being referred to would have to be the Rogue. And, to be honest, Siddhanath had not thought about him, nor of Wrath, for several months now, as he was preoccupied with his husbandly duties. And he also needed to step into the shoes of a father soon. What could he want now? He asked his employer, “Did you mention where I was?”
“No, no! I wasn’t sure of the man. I needed to see you first, and to dissect the matter of this person with you, if you’d know him and such... So, do you? Know him?” Shri Devakar said.
“Yes… I think I know the person you are talking about. We go back a while, though not so far back. I owe him something… my loyalty.”
“What? Is he a monk? He does not seem the type. He’s a bit more… peculiar. An outré amongst the population, if you know what I mean,” Shri Devakar said.
Siddhanath had been glancing at the groves of coconut and palm, impervious to the presence of his employer. “Yes, I do know what you mean, Sir. He is an odd type, I’d grant you that. But he had assisted me in such a way where a repayment in a single lifetime will not suffice.”
“Oh… That’s saying something! He must be quite a great monk, then. If only I had known of his magnificence, I would have entrusted him with something that had been ailing me for some time now. Alas! It is too late, I am sure! He is probably back at his spiritual province up in the mountains.”
“Maybe… quite probable. He is a being of some ability,” Siddhanath said.
“Well, you are lucky then. One so young, and you already have a master who could guide you through life. It is no wonder that he has come looking for you – you did not tell him of your flight away from your home with your darling now, did you?” Shri Devakar asked. When Siddhanath did not appear to be able to respond, he thought to himself Well... these youngsters, they are all the same! Thinking that they know the ways of the world. Wanting to fool the elders, that’ll be their basis of existence…
CHAPTER NINE
How does one commit a killing, without leaving a trace? Or, better yet, make it seem like it was due to a set of circumstances that is natural, linked to a part of nature’s way?
This was what the Rogue had been pondering over for the past two days and two nights. Though Siddhanath and his wife had been living now at a place close to the agrarian colonies, they seemed to be constantly surrounded by people. It would not be as easy as I had first thought… But time was moving rather quickly, and he needed to act. A plan was needed, and the devising of it to be made swiftly, and to be executed just as so. And so, the Rogue directed all his energies to his mental enginery, shutting off the functions of all other organs that were of no use to him then – such as his digestive system – for those two days and two nights. It was another boon that was presented as part of his allegiance to Wrath, but he came to suspect that it benefitted the master more than it did the drudge.
In addition, there was the apparent shielding that was around the two, for they were both from families of strong religious ties; the years of prayers and chanting of mantras
had enveloped them with a protective screen, impalpable and not visible to the naked eye. But its existence was apparent to the Rogue. And they were both from the Holy City, and they were younger than anyone whom he had dealt with. All of these made them substantially formidable quarries, almost impossible to beat. But if they could be defeated, their energies would provide Wrath with unimaginable strength. And it will most definitely trickle down to him, the essence of the energies drawn from these two. It was both an exciting and a gruelling task to undertake, he knew. But the prospects of such power… Ahh... yes, such power requires such risk-taking…
On the second night, when the moon sent forth a sliver through a cloudy sky, a thought had hit him. He had been sitting on a stony mound, and the conception spawning from that thought had caused him to be dizzy with an eagerness to get started on his task. His mind raced on with the carving of his scheme, from point to point to point, and between ploys and tacks and scenarios. The picture was being painted, and he could see the grand strokes and the finer grains of it. He knew how he would tackle the challenge. I need a guise.
Thus, he spent the next few nights in the fabrication of a semblance that would have many advantages. One of the focal points would be that people would be stricken with fear at the mere sight of it, and they would all clear out of the way. Another point was that the physical attributes of it would present him with the tools necessary for the killing, and so, he didn’t really need to carry on his person any additional equipment. And it seemed imperative to being able to possess the speed and dexterity in carrying out the task, for he was, after all, advanced in age and had lost most of his muscular functions. A temporary shift in his physical dimensions would solve that problem, along with the other distinctions he had mentally outlined. Yes… this will work. I will take the form of another…
The Rogue knew that the process will take a while, and the longer it took, the better the result. The initial stages would require the recital of the dark spells he had learnt over the years, invoking the spirits of the dead to pull his life energies away from his body—not too far away, just enough for his body to be in suspended animation. And that would also mean he would need to lay down on his mat for the entire duration of the process of transfiguration; which he figured could be as long as twelve days. And during this phase, he would be totally vulnerable to the perils of the outside world. I would need to amplify the Spell of Seclusion, and it will help if I could get to a more concealed space…
The next few nights, he was akin to a wandering vagabond. He felt that he was only idle for a full half-hour each night during his business of probing for a safe zone and, of course, during each day. But he felt energetic and had been tireless in his enterprise. He finally came across a cave, quite shallow but suitable. The Rogue felt that he would need to perform a penance, for he would need not be able to report to Wrath for the next fortnight. That’ll anger him, some. But He will understand the need for it. And the result will be the gratifying bit for Him.
He started a fire, sat across it, and pierced his thumb with the blade that he had been carrying with him… the one that he had won in a prize-fight, all those years ago. He let a few droplets of his blood fall into the flame and smear the crackling and bursting wood. There seemed to be sparks flying off from the spots of blood – Wrath’s assent to the endeavour! The Rogue felt revived at last, and he commenced his transfiguration procedure as soon as he had the area scouted and had deemed it fit for his purpose. And for some time, his consciousness had been driven into the abyss of nothingness.
The abyss is a strange place, he felt. It is neither a place where the traversing is those of the living, nor of the dead. It is neither of the light, nor of the dark. In some respects, it is a neutral zone. Neutral in the moral sense, not in the energy sense. Energies do not actually possess morality, no… They do not. And in the abyss… time… time does not exist. A day of the Earth, or the span of the age of the universe, who’d know how much time had passed when one is roaming here? It is an ocean, with differing intensity of waves.
But the colours here are always the same. Most people say that it is greyish-white, but they are mistaken, or they are liars! It is actually mauve, and there are a thousand shades of mauve here. These are the shades that burst forth when the cosmos was first created. And in the abyss, it rains, ceaselessly. That adds to the beauty of the place, which is an anomaly, for the abyss is a place that one comes to under trying circumstances, and once here, one assumes a sangfroid bearing. The reins that had guided them to this place could no longer conduct their function.
Therein is the trap: one would grow fond of this place, and then refuse to leave. In fact, many have done so, and they have all become transient beings who could not move on in any direction, until the time came for the destruction of the universe and for the new cycle to begin. In that time, one will be dropped into a trench that is so dark and very deep. But the energies here… they do not warrant emotions, for they are another form of energy, and they charge on the extrinsic orbits of morality. Thus, fear does not exist in the abyss. Only a sense of wonderment and placidness. That is the trap…
But I know… the truth of this place. It has a false door, a trap within a trap. It feeds on the energies of one who bides in it, funnelling out the life’s potencies out to the firmaments, the seas, the soil. The abyss plays the role of a mesmeric mantis, who hypnotises the prey, calming it to a point of fearlessness. With the prey’s alertness considerably subdued, the mantis sinks its mandibles onto it...
The Rogue awoke. He gasped for air, aware that his tongue had now popped out onto his lower jaw. He was uncertain of where he was, or how he got there. And he felt that he could not move. He seemed to be gazing at… the ceiling of a cave. He blinked several times in rapid succession, trying to focus on the image. The smell of the mustiness of the cave came into his nostrils in a nauseating manner. He thought it was best to leave things be, to settle himself more fully, before attempting to move. He was calm, the tranquillity of the abyss had followed him here. But the effect did not last for long, and the Rogue soon became cognisant of his sense of self and of the task he had been dictated to carry out. He groaned at that, but the sound that came from him was resonant, a deep rumbling.
The Rogue got up and stretched himself. Nightfall is almost here…
CHAPTER TEN
When the news of the presence of a Bengal tiger was first brought to Siddhanath’s ears, he was atop one of the sandalwood trees. The supervisor of this estate had been making his rounds with his flunkey, and the two had been in quite an animated discussion. They hailed him from below, and Siddhanath made the hurried climb down. “Yes? What is this about, then?”
“Well, well… You must be the last person in the entire village to know! There is a Bengal tiger on the loose! No one knows from where it came, and what is its intent. But everyone does know that they do not want to end up in its jaws, and neither would you! That is why we came out here… to warn you of it. Who knows where it might be lurking…” the supervisor said.
Siddhanath rubbed his forehead and dabbed the towel he had wrapped around his neck to it. He looked at the supervisor when he said, “A tiger? That is unheard of in this part of the world. Who claims to have seen it? Not the cobbler out at the market square, who’s constantly engaging in some form of peccadillo?”
The supervisor snorted. “Well! I hope that the tiger gets rid of him first, along with a whole bunch of people on my list… if only the tiger could read.” The three of them snickered. He continued, “No, there have been several people who have seen it. Of most importance are the members of the night-watch family out at the village’s outer limits. In fact, all of them have seen it. And they say that the tiger is white.”
Siddhanath’s eyes went wide. “A white tiger? That is even less probable—”
“Yes, they say that it is a white tiger. They claim to have seen it. And I, for one, believe them,” the supervisor said. The manservant looked indifferent to t
he conversation, and so he was satisfied with the staring at a lone buzzard up in the sky. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, trying to draw its attention, for whatever reason, I could not fathom, Siddhanath thought.
“The manager says that we ought to secure the perimeter of the fields, especially those at the first and second sectors. If the tiger should roam in those areas… you know, make it as its home, for God knows how long, then… we’d have to close off the area, bring in the game-hunters until they can… Well, until then, we could not work there,” the supervisor said. Siddhanath knew, of course, that those sectors were right next to the tributaries. Thus, the lands there were fertile, and the trees grew tall and strong.
“Yes, that’ll be disastrous for most of us,” he concurred.
“Well, let’s get to it, then!” the smiling supervisor led the way, with his manservant dragging his feet behind. The sun was almost at its zenith, and the heat was doubling in its intensity. But they all knew that this would need to be done, at any rate that was priced, for the stake was too great. Losing a day’s income is itself a…well!
Within several minutes, they reached the border of the first sector, which was fenced with wooden panels about five feet in height. At some length away, it seemed that the panels were six feet high, but then they lowered to match the previous height beyond that point. They looked at both directions of the wood-panelled fence: the distance from where it came, to the expanse to which it was vanishing off. But it was Siddhanath who asked the question, “Do you suppose that the tiger could jump over this fence?”