Satyayoddha Kalki- Eye of Brahma

by Kevin Missal

  Arjan arched his brows, confused. Gathering his strength, he used his body weight and pushed himself from the ground. Rudra staggered. The crowd stopped jeering for a second as Rudra regained his balance, brushing off his left shoulder as if a flea had landed on him.

  “You are good,” Rudra grinned, “but your strength’s lacking. To survive, I have to kill you!”

  Arjan’s feet remained frozen as Rudra rushed towards him like a raging bull. He lurched at the impact, but gained his composure soon. His hands clenched into a fist to counteract Rudra’s mighty punch.

  As of now, this was not wrestling.

  Rudra released a flurry of blows at Arjan, as he felt each bone in his body shattering. His joints splintered to the point where his listless torso was dropped on the ground. Rudra sat on his chest, his heavy, thick thighs upon his badly beaten trunk.

  “Sorry friend. There is no escape for you.”

  And there was no escape surely. When Arjan tried to fidget, Rudra punched him in the face, leaving him with a bloody, broken nose. Arjan thought he had seen the worst in Shambala when he had eaten some poisonous berries, but his battered bones and bloody face had proved him wrong. He choked on his own blood. The pain kept escalating in his ears, the beating of his heart increased to the point that it became difficult for him to see properly.

  Rudra, with his two hands, began to choke him. Arjan, already gasping for breath, tried with all his might to get him off, but it didn’t work. He began to see dark spots, the air in him withering away as darkness welcomed him at last.

  The entirety of Udaiyas was on the far left now. Manasa was sailing through the simmering river, towards the east of Illavarti. She was on a small boat that was being rowed by a Naga. He had blue eyes, of which the left one was glassy. He broke into a banter about how he got into the whole rowing business and how most of the well-to-do princes and princesses would take the route from the central entrance that led to Naagmandal, which was the capital of Naagpuri.

  “Only the merchants and farmers climb aboard my humble abode. But my lady, you are the king’s own sister. You are royalty personified!” the boatman emphasized gleefully as he rowed.

  Manasa rebuffed his praise. She didn’t want to direct too much attention to herself while she travelled to the centre of the city. She expected to be escorted from this boat to a real, lavish one. A transport fit for royalty. But then, that was all valid and agreeable before Lord Vasuki, the King of Nagas, also known as Naagraaj, took an entire army of Nagas and stationed it at Indragarh, the land of Manavs. While Vasuki was away, the ministers had expressed their anger about the whole situation. But Manasa had managed to deal with them single-handedly. They were still under her thumb. Kadru, her cousin, had eventually replaced Manasa during her time in Udaiyas, helping Vasuki accomplish his duty in the foreign lands.

  But given the current situation, with their king dead, she didn’t want to direct any unwanted attention on herself. She knew what she had to do—meet Sambhavi, Vasuki’s wife, console her and her children, and tell them about Vasuki’s fate. She would promise them that no harm would come to them, and then leave for Kadru’s domain where she would assemble her army. She didn’t want the ministers to get involved, nor have the slightest inkling about her intentions.

  Her return was sudden. And everything would have to be done in secret.

  If her appearance was made public, it wouldn’t take long for the ministers to figure out the truth. She would ensure no usurper got his hand on the throne of the Naagraaj.

  The successor was yet to be decided. In mind, Manasa had chosen Shakti, the eldest of Vasuki’s sons. With Kadru’s approval, she could get the influential ministers on her side. And then, she would be able to leave for Indragarh.

  It was a shameful thing to admit, but Kadru, with a much lesser time in the court, had a better rapport with the ministers than Manasa had ever had. But then, Manasa was temperamental and adamant. She believed her word was gospel and the ministers didn’t like that.

  As she entered from the back entrance, she took a long look at the lush greenery around the soapstone, granite complexes. They looked more beautiful than before. The smell of fruits and vegetables engulfed her, the sound of birds and the blacksmiths shaping their weapons made her recognize her home once again. She saw the silhouettes of the farmers weeding out their fields, standing upon thick foams of mud. Her gaze moved towards the clear lake as she gaped at the entire Naagmandal being drenched in water. No one could travel on foot to come here. To travel to the inward city, one would have to travel via the waterways for far distances. They would have to take a boat ride, big or small, depending one one’s class. There were no long roads and winded paths. There were no rocky platforms. All of it was lush green grass and fields, trimmed, looking exactly like mini-islands huddled around each other. The main complex was made of pure granite and stood with inscriptions written in Nubian—their native language carved on their rock structures, some towering and the others tiny, like a conical hat on top.

  As she entered the royal courtside, many people noticed her. Some even gasped. She hid her face under a shawl as she reached the north side entrance, finally looking at the pur . The pur was the official name given to the city’s complex soapstone houses.

  Manasa stepped off. She tried to pay the boatsman but he retreated his hand. “I don’t want any money, my lady. It was a pleasure to be your travel companion. I will cherish this for my whole life.”

  But Manasa urged him to take the fare, to which the boatman said he would give it away in Lord Sheesha’s temple. Manasa nodded. The apparent loss of a royal guardian had humbled her. It was a new experience for her.

  She began to look for Sambhavi’s pur, but was unable to find it. She stepped on the mush ground, walking several steps at a rapid pace as the Naga guards looked at her. They came to her at a moment’s notice.

  “My lady,” they said, bowing to her.

  Things had already started to go wrong. That’s exactly what she was trying to avoid. But then the central entrance would have been worse for a silent approach. The ministers lolled around right in the open.

  Then, everyone in the country would have known of her return.

  “Where is Lady Sambhavi’s pur?” she hissed.

  The guards, dumbfounded, looked at each other. “My lady, don’t you know?”

  Manasa shook her head. The guards lowered their heads in unison. They took her where Sambhavi’s pur was supposed to be. What lay in front of her was a half broken complex, shattered ruins from the top, and the door crumbling under a huge basilisk of a burden, too narrow to move through. The workers were trying to make sense of the wreckage, while the guards had sealed the area shut.

  “What happened here?” She didn’t want to know, but she couldn’t turn away without an answer.

  She was gradually falling into hopelessness. As if a boulder had smashed her heart and it had escaped into nothingness, deep in a void.

  “My lady,” one of them began in the Nubian language, thick and coarse in its accent, “Lady Sambhavi’s house was, um . . . raided by a few Suparns who . . .”

  She didn’t want to hear it. Suparns? That’s odd . Suparns never visited Naagmandal.

  She knew the only person who had the answer to this predicament.

  Situated in the biggest pur in Naagmandal was Vasuki’s domain, which was close to Lord Sheesha’s temple, where the auspicious Naagmani was. It was a sacred place where most meetings, decisions which would impact the nation, were taken.

  Manasa barged inside. As she came near the golden-fleeced pur, she was stopped by the front guards. She removed the shawl covering her face and the rushing guards faltered.

  “Our apologies, my lady,” they said.

  With wide, kohl-smeared, raging eyes, Manasa made her way inside. Large statues, portraits of the earlier Naagraj had been built parallel to each other. Takshak, the first Naagraj’s sculpture could be seen right at the beginning. The statue of another Vasuki,
not the previous king, had been put up as well. In the culture of the Nagas, Manasa was well-aware that they prided themselves on their legacies. Similar names were passed down through multiple generations. The fabled Manasa, the one who predated her, was now a myth in their city.

  The entire corridor was lined with jewels, rubies, coppers, and the high ceiling had been built with gold and platinum, glimmering and reflecting in her clouded, rage-filled eyes. She reached the council room as every guard backed out of her way. They didn’t even dare to obstruct her path. They were shocked, even horrified, to see her. Some frowned at her sight for she had forsaken them for a foreign alliance. Her bold move was widely loathed by the citizens. The Tribal Truce, though supported by Vasuki and aided by Kali, had met with apprehension from the people of Naagpuri. They didn’t want any truce, they just wanted self-sustenance which they were still vying for. With their king effectively removed, they were devoid of proper leadership. Well, except to look up to an injured woman who was a distant relative of the previous king.

  Not drawing attention to herself was not an option anymore. As she opened the ornate gates and stormed inside, she found the long-drawn table coiled with snake images. The robed councilmen were sitting on their long, arched chairs talking, and in the far end, at the top seat was Kadru.

  She had long braided onyx hair, green eyes instead of blue, because of which some people thought she wasn’t a Naga. But Manasa didn’t care. Kadru was her childhood friend, and a loving cousin whom she had unhestitatingly promoted through the ranks. Just because she didn’t have her colours right, doesn’t mean she would be discounted of her rights. Manasa could understand that because she herself was physically lacking.

  All the ministers stared at Manasa and Kadru. She was in her battle armour with linings of inked snake designs reaching out to her arms. A heavy, awkward silence began to seep in as a wide-eyed Manasa stared at Kadru, as if she wanted her to come forward and say something, or even the ministers to stand up at her presence, but no one did.

  “The meeting is adjourned, we will discuss the strategy later.” Kadru banged on the table, a customary practice, before walking towards Manasa as the ministers quickly exited through the other door, like thieves, whilst passing quick, concerned glances at Manasa.

  As they left, Manasa noticed a minister who was ogling at her—Jamun the vile. A fat, reckless, rich brat of a pseudo-ruler who controlled much of the territories in Naagpuri.

  Kadru came forward, her eyes cold. “What are you doing here?”

  Narrowing her gaze, Manasa couldn’t believe the words that had come out of her cousin. “What’s wrong with me being here? This is my kingdom.”

  Kadru shook her head. “You were supposed to be at Indragarh, were you not?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  “Let me ask you again. Why are you here?”

  There was an unsettling feeling that jolted Manasa. She didn’t want to tell Kadru what had happened, how the truce they had sought for so long had backfired, and that she, no, both of them, had to escape.

  She remained speechless.

  “We heard about Vasuki.” Kadru’s brows furrowed. She was looking straight at Manasa.

  Manasa was dumbfounded. “You did?”

  “Yes.” Kadru sighed. “You could have sent a note informing me that you were coming. Why didn’t—”

  “WHY didn’t you send me a note about Sambhavi?”

  There was a flash of anger in Kadru’s eyes for a second. She just took a deep breath and gestured towards the chair in front of her as she sat back down. She had a troubled expression on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m just very exhausted.”

  “Vasuki died protecting us. Now, his family has suffered the same fate.”

  “You don’t understand,” Kadru looked at Manasa, “we are at war.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of VASUKI!” she yelled. Manasa’s eyes widened in shock. No matter how much she loved Kadru, she was young and she wouldn’t dare raise her voice against Manasa.

  “I am sorry, di ,” she reverted to the honorific she always used for addressing Manasa, “I should have told you about Aunt Sambhavi. But I was afraid of telling you the truth. It scared me. The Truce, well it was a horrible idea. Not only it did it create a hole within the city, but it also ended up opening an unmonitored gateway to the Suparns.”

  “Maruda,” Manasa whispered.

  “Yes, Maruda.” Kadru was referring to the Suparn Chief of Command, Maruda, the descendant of Garuda. They had been embroiled in a cold war with the Nagas. Suparns had not been involved in the Truce as they were considered ‘uncontrollable’ by Kali.

  “Maruda found an opportunity to attack us since we had no king. He went straight for Vasuki’s family. He slaughtered them. His rage knows no limit. His attacks have been vicious and constant. We have been trying to deflect his attacks, rebuild our defences, but now, we are out of resources and men. Most of our army has been sent to Udaiyas by Vasuki.”

  Kadru began to weep, covering her face with her hands. Like the big sister she was, Manasa came forward, grabbed her head, and hugged her tight. Her jewel-studded clothes were wet, but it didn’t matter to her, for she realized how horrible Vasuki’s decision had been. At that time, vanity had played a part. Joining a cause against Manavs had been fun and respectful, but now it had destroyed Vasuki’s family and his empire.

  “The ministers have decided to drop you off from the council,” Kadru said.

  Ah, thus the coldness. But it was to be expected.

  “Who will be the Naagraj then?”

  “They tell me I should lead them, but I can’t. I can’t take this burden up anymore.” She looked up, teary-eyed. “Challenge them, di. Try to swing a handful of the ministers towards your side . . . get us help. Save us.” She cried, “I-I can’t handle this, di. It’s too much. I cannot lead my people to their downfall.”

  Manasa had to think fast. She knew she didn’t have a lot of say in the present government right now. Any move on her part would be frowned upon. Her voice had no audience. With Vasuki’s death, Manasa knew the ministers wouldn’t follow her anymore. Also, Manasa couldn’t topple their leadership by hiring assassins, for they were the heads of some of the greatest purs in the Naagmandal, providing food, fresh water, and soldiers. They were sponsors to the crown. And the crown was on the head of a poor child.

  “We will find a way, darling.” She patted her cousin’s head, trying to comfort her as she began to plan a few things for the future.

  She was wrong. She had thought she would come in, get an army, and attack Kali. But no, she would have to solve the civil issues that were brewing in her own city first.

  And she had to solve them without letting anyone know her true objective.

  There was another war waiting for all of them, once this was over.

  But before she could exact her revenge, Maruda must die.

  Arjan was alive.

  Lord Kali wouldn’t let Arjan die in an easy, cheap fashion. He would ensure Arjan suffered enough, till the point where he would beg him for death. He still wouldn’t kill him. His death was inevitable. But it had to be painful. He had to inflict more hurt. This was clearly a personal grudge, for the scum had broken in and destroyed the one thing that had kept him alive. If Arjan was let out, he would surely become a major threat to him.

  There was something about torturing people on the brink of death—it was not giving them the satisfaction of letting go, of being released from their material bodies. Lord Kali ensured they wouldn’t die under his watch. Taking their last breath was not an option. Lord Kali had tortured his prisoners and had slowly started to develop a taste for it. He had started to enjoy the act of killing.

  Without giving much thought to the unconscious Arjan who was now being hauled to the infirmary, Lord Kali made way to his fort over his chariot. Koko and Vikoko stood next to him, with their hands clasped strongly on their swords’ handles, waiting for any suspicious movement around s
o they could attack in an instant.

  Koko and Vikoko weren’t originally pledged to Lord Kali. They were supposed to protect another king—Parikshit, the last king of the Kuru dynasty, and the last great king of Udaiyas—before it had been divided into smaller kingdoms like Indragarh. They were meant to protect him until he met an unforeseen end.

  Lord Kali had vague memories of Parikshit. He didn’t think about his friend a lot. It made him wonder how the death of close ones impacted one so much. He faintly recalled when he had taken an entire expedition to settle a score with a man he had hated at the time. It wasn’t just the fact that his barn had been burnt with his siblings inside, Parikshit’s death also churned strong feelings inside him. Grief choked him. He tried to stay strong. Friendship was always an opportunity to be your better self and in time, Lord Kali had become someone more than he used to be—from a simpleton who had no knowledge of royal affairs to the man who had ascended the throne. But deep down, he knew he still missed his family terribly.

  He tried to focus on his present objective. In his daily affairs, he had learnt to please his officials. It was important to busy them with trivial matters like wrestling and gambling for them to enjoy and support their lord without any opposition. They were all Vedanta’s men. The only way to sway them from the honourable but pompous Vedanta to his side, was by bringing them to the ground and giving them what they want in full fervour.

  Vedanta didn’t like the vices in the city. In fact, why would he? He was a religious person. But Lord Kali didn’t care about morality anymore, especially in the current times. He understood that this demeanour would ensure his survival in the political intrigue that was soon to come. He knew the hunger for the throne rested inside these bloodthirsty courts.

  The chariot was met by the glares of people who had initially sided with Vedanta. They looked up at him. Some grimaced, while others folded their hands in fear and begged for mercy. Lord Kali witnessed the poverty and the horror that had struck the city. Surely, the inclusion of Tribals to his knowledge had crippled the city administration.