He knew what it was.
He just didn’t know who it was.
As Vidyut tossed his cigarette stub into a dustbin and climbed a couple of stairs leading to a high marble corridor, he could spot the half-open door from which the enchanting music seemed to emanate. He walked quietly towards the door so as to not disturb the artists inside and slowly peeked into the music hall.
What he saw took his breath away.
Naina was dressed in traditional North Indian attire of chudidaar and kurta, all white in color. She was moving gracefully to the beat of the tabla and to the old, silver-haired maestro singing mesmerizing ragas. Vidyut caught on instantly to what this beautiful dance was.
Kathak!
The term Kathak finds its origins in the Vedic Sanskrit word katha, or story. Dating back to earlier than 400 BCE and finding a mention even in the great Mahabharata, Kathak is one of the major traditional dance forms of India. Its popularity is attributed to the ancient bards of Aryavarta who travelled far and wide, narrating the epics in this beautiful art form. Kathak was especially championed during the Bhakti movement, where it became a spectacular theatrical form of telling the story of Lord Krishna. The Banaras gharaana of Kathak is the apex seat for this glorious cultural treasure.
He could not take his eyes off her. She moved like a goddess, disseminating the splendor of her beauty and illimitable elegance all around her. Vidyut noticed the beads of sweat on her luminescent forehead and the strands of hair kissing her beautiful face as she danced. She tangoed on traditional Indian music like a magical being, the exertion of the rigorous dance not once taking away her beaming smile. Her eyes sparkled like the North Star.
Was it so wrong that the devta could, for once, succumb to forbidden love?
He decided to leave.
‘Video!’
Vidyut froze.
This was the first time he had been addressed by this silly yet endearing name since the fateful visit of Trijat Kapaalik. Video! No one besides his closest friends, Bala most of all, had ever called him that. Vidyut was jarred emotionally at hearing this name.
He turned, only to see Naina standing a few paces away from him. She was still panting, breathless from the intense performance till a few moments ago. Vidyut felt he would crumble under the onslaught of this matchless beauty. But more than her physical allure, it was Naina’s selfless care that disarmed Vidyut. He would have expected her to sulk for many more days till he begged her for forgiveness. He had wronged her horribly, unpardonably. But here she was — reading his face, caressing his soul. On one end she looked like an incarnation of goddess Kaali when in battle, but when in her softer avatar, she was more desirable than anyone Vidyut had known before.
He turned to leave. This was all too overwhelming for him. On the one hand, he loved that Naina had dropped her seemingly high-discipline practice to run out and meet him. On the other, he hated her for calling him Video. That name was dead for him. The man who called him that was dead too. Everything that young, carefree Video stood for lay beheaded that day on the bleeding steel table of the matth prison. Ever since he had set foot into Varanasi, Vidyut’s life had changed forever.
‘Stay, Vidyut…’ cried out Naina.
Vidyut stopped in his path. He knew it was time he faced Naina. More than that, he knew it was high time that he confronted his own inexplicable desire for this apsara of a kathak dancer.
She enveloped her soft, artistic fingers around his wrist and forearm, even as they walked on the Tulsi ghaat. It was late morning by this time and it was not totally customary in Banaras for a girl to wrap her hands around a man’s arm in a public place. But Naina was not customary. And Vidyut was not just a man.
Vidyut could not help but feel Naina’s golden skin brush against his wrists. She was on a trip of unstoppable banter, as most strong girls embark upon when nestled in what they consider to be a secure place. Her laughter sounded like ringing bells and the sparkle in her eyes was evident, although visible only when Vidyut dared to turn and look at her.
‘Tum kahaan they ab tak, Vidyut?’ asked Naina with a tilt of her head. ‘Where were you till now, Vidyut?’
Her eyes were fixed upon the devta’s gaze. She spoke like she owned him.
But who can ever own a devta?
Except for the One who had sent him.
‘I’m sorry Naina…’ said Vidyut abruptly.
She did not seem to even notice what he had said. She continued walking into the sunny steps of the ghaat, talking nonstop in her chirpy self.
‘I’m sorry, yaar, Naina…I really am. I was an idiot to have suspected you like I did. I hate myself for it!’
Now she stopped. She sighed deeply and turned to the devta. She raised her eyebrows as if reminding her man of the most fundamental gesture he owed her.
She succeeded.
‘I’m sorry, Nainu…’
East of Harappa, 1700 BCE
THE DEBT
Manu was woken up by the crash of thunder, which was worsening with every passing hour. He had ridden back from the Black Temple the previous night and had decided to rest with the soldiers in black robes, as one among them. Just like they did, Manu had unrolled his straw mattress on the ground.
As he got up from his rugged bed, he noticed that his comrades were up too. No one could continue sleeping when the skies were all but tearing themselves down. It took them some time to realize that the Sun should have risen by now. But it was only a dark and menacing night all around which enveloped them.
The omens of Pralay were imminent. Monstrous clouds had summarily swallowed the morning Sun.
Aryavarta was going to spend the remainder of its numbered days in total darkness.
Matsya rode in with a hundred or so of his band. As Manu saw him approach from a distance in the poor visibility of the downpour that had now become a permanent phenomenon, he noticed something peculiar. Matsya and his men rode in an identical fashion, at the same speed and moving like they were one organism. They looked fearsome, formidable. Some of them carried massive round battle-shields made of some kind of outlandish alloy. The shields glimmered like the eyes of a dragon when lightning reflected off them. Matsya rode at the head of his force, visible only intermittently as the thunder-flash lit up the night into a momentary, frightening blue.
As they came close, Matsya and his men dismounted in one single choreographed action. Their right legs swung high above their horses’ heads and they climbed off their saddles in perfect harmony.
They would have trained for years to achieve this level of synchronized precision!
‘Pranaam, Matsya,’ greeted Manu.
‘Pranaam, O king,’ replied Matsya, throwing his long wet hair back from his strikingly handsome face. ‘Can you please arrange for some warm water for my men and the horses?
They have all travelled through a cold and wet night.’
‘Of course, Matsya,’ replied Manu, eager as ever to serve Matsya in every way possible.
However, something unusual did occur to him. Every time he had met Matsya, he had provided him with water. A few drops the first time, a canteen-full on the next occasion, a bucket-full after that and now probably several large containers full. Each time they had met, Matsya had requested Manu for larger quantities of water.
Manu smiled to himself and shrugged off the silly thought as a strange coincidence.
It was not coincidence. It was a debt that Matsya was going to repay one day.
After Matsya and his men had washed themselves with the comforting tepid water Manu and the black-robed guardians had offered, they sat down around a glowing bonfire for a hot breakfast.
As usual, Matsya took Manu by surprise. Only this time, it was a very pleasant one.
‘You will need Somdutt by your side,’ said Matsya, as he took a mouthful of the spiced poha.
Manu stopped chewing and looked up in astonishment. ‘
Sorry…did you say Somdutt, Matsya? Is Somdutt ji alive??’
&nbs
p; Matsya looked up for a second, smiled and nodded, before going back into his delicious bowl.
Manu kept his plate aside and folded his hands in a short prayer. Soon after he erupted into a joyous laugh.
‘The Gods be praised! The Gods be praised! Thank you, Matsya, for bringing this wonderful news! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
Matsya did not answer the question. It was he who kept the breakfast bowl aside this time.
‘And you will need one more ally, O son of Surya,’ he said. He was grinning with mischief. But he knew what he was about to share with Manu was going to change his life forever.
‘Which other ally, Matsya?’ asked Manu intently. His heart was pounding with anticipation and hope. He knew who was with Somdutt that fateful night. If Somdutt ji made it out of there alive, maybe she did too.
‘She did, Manu,’ said Matsya lovingly. ‘Tara made it out too…’
Manu froze. He shut his eyes and let tears of joy trickle down his youthful face.
After a few moments he looked at Matsya and broke into a laugh once again. Matsya responded with a beaming grin. In a jiffy Manu sprung up, jumped towards Matsya and took his hand. He kissed it repeatedly.
‘Tara is alive! Tara is alive! My Tara is alive, Matsya!’ was all he kept saying.
‘Oh I see…your Tara, huh?’ said Matsya naughtily. ‘This I did not know!’
There was nothing in this world that Matsya did not know.
Manu blushed.
Matsya winked at him and they both shared a brotherly moment of boundless joy.
Banaras, 2017
THE DARK BROTHERHOODS- PART II
The group was a little bigger now. The great Dwarka Shastri wanted to step out of his room and get some fresh air. Vidyut and Naina were back from their pleasant walk at the famous Tulsi ghaat, near which the revered poet-saint Tulsidas lived in the 16th century when he wrote the profound Ramacharitamanas – the epic story of Lord Rama.
Naina had forgiven Vidyut. How could she not? She was deeply in love with him, and understood the trying circumstances under which Vidyut had reacted the way he did. Trapped in that mayhem of bullets and blood, anyone could have made a mistake. Both of them felt like a mountain had been lifted off their chests.
On the previous day, the matth elders had also undertaken the last rites of Bala. He was given a proper cremation as per Sanatana rituals at the Harishchandra ghaat. It was tacitly understood by everyone that no police reports about the killing were to be filed. The Dev-Raakshasa matth always fought its own battles. Always delivered justice.
And now they had the prophesied, the awaited protector on their side.
They had Vidyut.
Chairs were set-up in one sunlit corner of the vast lawns and tea was served. Vidyut sat directly opposite his grand old man, while Balvanta, Purohit ji and Naina sat with their chairs forming a small circle.
The conversation continued. Vidyut could figure that the three new entrants to the discussion were not actually new. They were listening like they were well versed already with what Dwarka Shastri was narrating. It was Vidyut who was new.
Why did Pa, the great Kartikeya Shastri, and then Baba keep me away from Kashi for so many years?
‘The Knights Templar were no doubt a fighting force. But not everyone in the Order was a warrior. In fact, the proportion of non-combatants was much higher in the Templars. As the Order grew rapidly in power and membership, it became the most preferred charity across entire Christendom.
Each knight of the Order took a vow to never build any property or wealth for himself, and devoted his life completely to the cause. The initial insignia of the Templars showed two knights riding on a single horse, in order to depict the poverty of the Order.
However, soon the fortunes of the Templars began to witness a meteoric rise. Shortly after Jerusalem was conquered in the First Crusade in 1099 AD, the Order made itself responsible for the safety and protection of the Christian pilgrims who travelled to the Holy Land to visit the various sacred sites in the city, including the Holy Sepulchre. These hapless pilgrims were often looted and butchered by dacoits and bandits on the way from the coast of Jaffa to the interiors of Jerusalem. And this was where the Knights Templar began their spectacular ascent.’
Vidyut was spellbound by every word coming his way. Constantine, the New World Order, his mysterious hooded ancestor Advait Shastri, Theodosius II and the Knights Templar…
Where is this going?
‘It will all make sense soon, Vidyut,’ said Dwarka Shastri, as if he were reading Vidyut’s mind.
He probably was.
‘Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, a powerful Church leader and a French abbot, decided to lend unprecedented support to the Knights Templar. He wrote extensively in their favour and was soon able to get official support for them as the protectors of the Christian pilgrims. That was the windfall.
The Order was flooded with donations, gold, estates and even manpower from high families. The wealth of the Order burgeoned so radically that they began managing Christian finance and issuing money transaction notes to pilgrims. Unlike what most people believe, the non-combatant or accounting staff of the Order far outnumbered the warring Knights.’
Vidyut was now a bit confused.
‘Baba this is all vital and eye-opening information about the Knights Templar. But I am unable to understand how all this is connected to the New World Order…’ asked a slightly exasperated Vidyut.
Before Dwarka Shastri could respond, Naina spoke up.
‘Don’t you see what was happening, Vidyut? First, the dominance of one religion was widely propagated as the accepted goal. Then that malicious design was backed-up by heavy militarization. Thereafter the plight of pilgrims was used to plug-in the last missing peace – that of controlling the wealth of the Church, the king as well as the populace at large.’
Vidyut was listening carefully, but did not show signs of full comprehension.
‘Don’t you get it, Vidyut…one religion, one army, one bank…one government! The Knights Templar were knowingly or unknowingly the greatest weapon of the New World Order!’ exclaimed Naina
‘What is important to understand about the dangerous men and women behind the New World Order is that they do not plan in months or years. They have an unsettlingly long-term world-vision where they forge strategies that will be executed over centuries, led by generations of this brotherhood. So the Knights Templar were only the first phase of the secret Order,’ explained Purohit ji this time.
‘Wait a minute please, Purohit ji. With due respect, all this is sounding like too much of a conspiracy theory. The history of the Knights Templar is well recorded. If they were supposed to be working for a clandestine brotherhood, why would they be known all over the world?’
There was a brief silence. Vidyut was looking at the four people around him, who were all looking like they had an ocean of information pent up. Finally, the matthadheesh decided to speak.
‘Ever since Constantine commissioned it, the New World Order comprised some of the world’s most powerful people – business barons, billionaire entrepreneurs, presidents of states, dictators, bankers, drug-lords, scientists and more. Besides their social, financial and political standing, most of these are individuals gifted with extraordinary intellect, bordering on genius. That is one of the criteria for their initiation into the brotherhood. Do you expect this set of exceptionally powerful and ruthless people to come out in the open? They always use strong, unsuspecting men against weak, helpless men. You don’t know who is a part of this brotherhood. It could be the next President of a big country! It could be an Internet tycoon from Silicon Valley. It could be a scientist doing human genome and cloning research in a hidden laboratory in the Swiss Alps. They are everywhere, Vidyut. And yet they are invisible.’
Giving Vidyut a minute to assimilate the information, and taking a sip of soothing herbal tea, the matthadheesh continued.
‘If the Knights Templar was such a straightfor
ward unit of warrior monks, why was their initiation ceremony both secret as well as something that fuelled wide speculation and fear? And why were they eventually hunted down and burnt at the stake in full public view?’
Vidyut was not aware of this disturbing detail.
‘They were burnt…alive?’ he asked.
Dwarka Shastri paused for a moment and spoke calmly.
‘Yes they were. On Friday the 13th.’
Harappa, 1700 BCE
CURSE OF THE BLOOD RIVER
The voices were now not the gentle speech of the Saptarishi that Vivasvan Pujari was familiar with for years. Two horrifying voices now roared from the heart of the blue fire. The devta stood staring into the sapphire flames like a lifeless figure, his single eye wide with horror and anticipation. If anyone really knew what catastrophe the wrath of the Saptarishi could unleash, it was the Surya of Harappa.
The terrifying roar of the voices now reverberated with the distant rumble in the high rocky hills, and seemed to have been amplified by the mourning mountains. Vivasvan Pujari was convinced that what the incandescing sages were now uttering would be audible to every living creature for a hundred miles.
“Hear this you fallen devta…your sins shall not be forgiven! You…and all those who partner you in this dark sacrilege…shall soon suffer the fate your black hearts conjure for others! Before the next rise of the moon, you shall all turn to dust!
YOU WILL ALL DIE!”
Hail splattered the face and body of Vivasvan Pujari, as if the heavens had chosen to stone his decrepit soul. The fear of death had never bothered the devta even from a long distance. He couldn’t care less if he lived or died. Without Sanjna and Manu, his life meant nothing anyway. He stood there, facing the onslaught of the white rocks smashing against him, staring into nothingness. He knew in the afterlife his soul would be lost in the dark realms of the spirit world, shackled into an endless cycle of birth and death. It would take him a thousand lives to wash away the karma of this final hour.
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 13