‘Hear me, O Matsya, as I speak on behalf of all the people in this cave.’
Matsya nodded politely at Somdutt, encouraging him to continue.
‘Before I say anything Matsya, please allow me to fold my hands and bow to you. You are not an ordinary man. My old eyes can see it. And if I am right, then please bless me with your grace before I take the liberty of questioning your pronouncement and thereby risk annoying you.’
Matsya was suddenly full of admiration for this fine architect and warrior, who had stood by the side of Vivasvan and Sanjna till the very end. He was convinced he had made the right choice.
The building of the universe’s greatest ship was going to take more than architectural and engineering skills. It was going to take character.
Before Matsya could respond, another hand shot up.
‘I have a question too!’ rang out a confident female voice.
Matsya turned to look around the room but could not place the voice.
‘Who is it please?’ he urged.
‘It is I, Tara,’ said she, slowly standing up.
Matsya noticed she was sitting right at the back of the hall, next to his favorite, his protégé...Satyavrata Manu.
‘Tara...what a beautiful name,’ said Matsya. ‘It is as beautiful as you are, my dear.’
Manu beamed with pride. A compliment for his Tara from none other than Matsya!
‘That is the name we call her by at home, Matsya. Her real name is something else,’ clarified Manu from behind the crowd, feeling strangely shy.
‘Really?’ asked Matsya, as if there was anything he did not know. ‘Then what is her real name?’
Manu turned to look up at Tara. He wanted her to be the one to tell Matsya.
Tara understood Manu. She gave him an almost unnoticeable smile, and turned to Matsya.
‘It is Satarupa.’
Banaras, 2017
RAKTBEEJ ANUSHTTHAN
‘There is a way...a way that might tilt the scale in our favor, gurudev,’ said Prof Tripathi.
It had been decided that Balvanta would lead the armed offensive. There was no discussion needed to agree that Dwarka Shastri ji was going to spearhead the battle of the ethereal creatures and black spells.
With blessings and permission from his great grandfather, Vidyut had taken it upon himself to go straight for the Masaan-raja and his two pishachinis. The blunt sickles which dangled around their waists that day at the matth still haunted Vidyut. He knew what weapon had been used to brutally saw off the head of Bala. Despite being a man who admired and respected women deeply as equals, as incarnations of Shakti, Vidyut had let go of the consideration that these two assassins were girls.
They were not. They were demented killers who had no place in this world. Vidyut was going to punish them the way he would have punished ruthless, murderous men.
Evil and brutality had no gender.
‘What is that way, Tripathi ji?’ enquired Sonu. The young man was rearing to jump into battle. He wanted to pay them back for the serious wounds he had suffered on the Dashashwamedh ghaat. He wanted to enter and plunder their fortress the way they had defiled his matth, his home. But most of all, he wanted to do everything in his power to protect his beloved devta - his Vidyut dada!
Even now they had to look for the best way to pierce through the guard of Trijat’s yajnashaala, to ensure minimal casualties on their side. They were relying on Prof Tripathi, or Brahmanand, to provide them with a breakthrough. He had been an insider for years.
‘It can be done only on the dark, moonless night of Amaavasya said Prof Tripathi, suddenly energetic as if he had just bumped into a Eureka moment.
The others were listening.
Even before Brahmanand could complete what he was going to say, Dwarka Shastri was already shaking his head in silent disagreement.
There was a reason why evil spirits were also called Nishacharas or Walkers of the Night.
The moonless night of Amaavasya was the hour when the dead were indomitable.
‘There is a reason, gurudev. Every amaavasya, Trijat performs a spectacular yajna, where he lights an enormous ritual fire in a massive pit designed especially for this. Freshly exhumed corpses are submitted to this blaze, along with an endless offering of human and animal blood, skulls of powerful taantrics of yore and various other baffling offerings like grave shrouds, rotting meat and the forbidden ketaki flowers. But most inexplicably, every amaavasya Trijat pours a generous offering of his own blood into the ritual fire...’
Vidyut was pacing up and down the verandah. He had been a dedicated student of the Atharva Veda, the Garuda Puraana and other ancient scriptures on occult and tantra. But he had never heard of the ghastly ritual Prof Tripathi was describing.
What was Trijat going after?
He turned to his great grandfather. He knew his Baba would know about even this bizarre, cadaverous ceremony.
‘Baba, what is this man doing? I have never heard of a taantric ritual such as this one. Please educate us...’
‘Raktbeej Anushtthan,’ said the grandmaster grimly, even before Vidyut could finish his sentence.
Vidyut knew who Raktbeej was. He stiffened as he heard the next words Dwarka Shastri spoke.
‘He is trying to summon an army of raakshasas to Earth.’
‘Raktbeej was a mighty demon who was eventually slayed by Maa Durga and Maa Kaali during their fierce battle against the demon-king Mahishasura. Raktbeej was one of Mahishasura’s war Generals. The former was the bearer of a unique boon that miraculously spawned thousands of his clones from every drop of his blood that fell to the ground. When any of the clones was slain, his drops would further create more Raktbeejs. It was an endless battle – and Raktbeej could not be defeated!’ explained Naina to Sonu, who was the only one who was not aware of the mythical tale of the near-immortal demon.
‘Then what happened, Naina di?’ asked Sonu. ‘From what you are narrating, it would have been impossible to slay the demon. In fact, any attempt at killing him would have procreated thousands more of him!’
‘Precisely. Which is why Maa Durga summoned Kaali, a fearsome form of the Goddess Herself. They fought Raktbeej as a team, where Durga beheaded the demon and his clones, while Kaali slurped up all the blood before it fell to the ground. So you see why Maa Kaali is always depicted with her tongue outstretched, stained with blood? Slowly all clones were killed by Durga and Raktbeej was left alone, only to be slain himself.’
Sonu smiled in amazement and awe.
‘I always wondered why Maa Kaali was shown with a red tongue. Now I know!’ he said elatedly.
Vidyut was quiet as Naina completed her narration. He was seriously worried.
‘Baba, what is this Raktbeej Anushtthan? It does not sound good.’
‘The Raktbeej Anushtthan is a rarest of rare penance that promises to bestow the successful practitioner with unparalleled control over the dark forces, especially over the wandering spirits of primordial raakshasas. Forbidden strictly by all the ancient rishis like Bhrigu, Bharadwaj, Agastya, Durvaasa and even by the first writer of the sacred Shastras, Satyavrata Manu, this treacherous siddhi was abandoned centuries ago for a very simple reason.’
Purohit ji, Naina, Sonu, Balvanta, Prof Tripathi and Vidyut were glued to every word Dwarka Shastri was saying.
‘What reason...Baba?’ asked Naina softly, nervously.
Dwarka Shastri was in no mood to waste time.
‘No taantric, however accomplished, ever survived this Anushtthan. Every single one of them not only died, but also died so horribly that this practice was buried forever into the depths of the prohibited arts.
If Trijat is trying to bring this forbidden ritual back to life, there is something he knows that we don’t.’
Vidyut felt a chill travel down his spine. If his great grandfather did not know something, how would they ever fight it? How could they win over it?
‘I cannot explain the Raktbeej Anushtthan in more detail here and now
, Vidyut. All we need to know is that if this is what Trijat is hoping to unleash, we must stop him...at all cost! If that means we need to go in even on an amaavasya, so be it.’
Ever since Vidyut had met the great matthadheesh, he had seen him panic like this only once. That was when the grandmaster had sensed the presence of the lethal zippo lighter given by Romi on Vidyut’s presence. That had meant sure death for Vidyut. If his Baba was panicking again, there was reason to be worried.
Vidyut went quiet for a minute or two. His mind was working at the speed of a fighter jet. Naina noticed his head was resting lightly on a wall; his eyes were shut, his fists clenched and his jaw tightened. She did not know how to hold herself back from falling in love over and over again with this dashing, grounded and supremely accomplished man. She shook away the intense attraction.
The hour was far too dark for her personal desires to matter.
‘Tripathi ji, you were going to share something about why amaavasya is the suited time for us to attack. Please shed some light on why you think so,’ asked Vidyut as he took his seat again.
‘Simply because after the Anushtthan is complete, Trijat is temporarily drained of his otherworldly might until Sunrise. While being the giver of limitless power in the long term, this ritual sucks out the spiritual energy of the practitioner for a few hours. And that is not all. As prasaad from the morbid ceremony, a strong concoction of marijuana is consumed by all his aghori comrades.’
Stopping to see if his audience had grasped what he had explained, Prof Tripathi concluded.
‘On the dark night of amaavasya, Trijat Kapaalik is at his weakest.’
Harappa, 1700 BCE
EMPEROR OF THE BADLANDS
The last devta of Harappa appeared to have gone completely insane. He wept and laughed simultaneously. He slammed his fists on the ground and yelled to the heavens...all at once. It was as if the devta and the raakshasa within him were in a fierce, final battle.
The proclamation by the sixth rishi that his son Manu lived even now changed everything for Vivasvan Pujari. In the last few bleeding days he had been forcibly suppressing his divine conscience as he committed the killings, connived with the demons and unleashed horrible violence – all starkly against the beliefs and principles of his own righteous self. He was purposefully strangling the devta within himself and feeding the vengeful pishacha. If only he knew his beloved son Manu was alive!
If only he knew!
Even this the Gods hid from me!
Vivasvan Pujari could take it no more. His thirst for vengeance had led to the killing of hundreds of Harappan soldiers. Many of them the devta had personally trained in the better days of the cursed metropolis. But during the battle for his rescue and in their nocturnal raid on the mountains of mayhem, innumerable people had perished. He had lost Sanjna, his beloved wife and timeless soul mate of his karmic journey. His handsome, obedient and valiant son Manu was destined for greatness from the moment he opened his eyes in this world. But instead he had endured his mother’s death and the disgracing of his father, before himself becoming a victim to painful machete gashes and poison arrows at the peak of his beautiful youth. The unearthly blue fire had consumed six of his much-loved Saptarishi. Sara Maa, the loving Saraswati, the River of the Wise, had morphed into a merciless raktdhaara, and had herself descended and cursed all of mankind to eternal infighting and suffering.
There was nothing left to avenge.
Pralay is going to swallow everything, everyone...
The ancient engravings on the Ratna-Maru gleamed to life in the blue darkness. The devta had unsheathed his dreaded blade and now stood between Sura and the haunting flames. He rested his entire muscular and skinned frame on one knee, with the other knee raised and both his hands resting on the handle of the legendary super-sword. His head was bowed, his semi-bald scalp reflecting the fire. He looked like a blue ghost.
The commander of this select asura regiment was by now intoxicated with brutality and the unbridled, one-sided killing. In an attempt to please his king, he decided to intervene.
Small men often make big mistakes when fooled by the illusion of power.
‘You heard the demon-king Sura, O Avivasv...’
Before he could complete his sentence, the Ratna-Maru beheaded him. His head flew into the darkness of the night and the rest of his body crashed to his knees, his neck spraying blood into the blue fire – as if submitting a repentant offering.
It had not taken Vivasvan more than a split second to tender this sacrifice. And this was the veteran, the manic commander! It was clear to the rest of the asuras what their fate would be if the devta chose to expand the canvas of his death sentence.
But Sura had not become the emperor of the badlands just like that. He drew his sword slowly without saying a word. Fifty other swords were unsheathed instantaneously. The savages of Sura were a suicide squad. In their ferocious tribe they were granted the glorious status of martyrdom when any of them died in suicide operations. They were fooled into believing that they would find heaven posthumously once they laid their lives for the tribe. Fooled by none other than the demon-king Sura, who did not spare a moment before getting these boys and men butchered as sacrifices on his blood-spattered journey to the throne of Aryavarta.
Led by Sura, the savage fighters began closing in on Vivasvan Pujari. The devta did not flinch, and kept sitting in the stance he was in. It was the poised posture that a panther goes into before pouncing like a supreme predator.
As Sura came into striking distance, someone yelled out to him.
‘We must stop, my king!’
It was Prachanda.
Prachanda was no less a demon than Sura. He was no less cruel and had fought all the wars shoulder to shoulder with his king. He was feared by his foes far and wide. He burnt and plundered villages without any hesitation or remorse. He conspired and he killed. He was a true asura at heart.
But something had changed today. He was witness to the unspeakable trials of a devta. He had felt a needle piercing his heart when he saw the eyes and the inexplicably hastened aging of the sages. The raging blue fire had nearly hypnotized him and he had heard the curses of Sara and the sixth Saptarishi. He could clearly see that the thunder, the screaming wind, the wild hailstorm...were all unseasonal, unnatural.
Something unheard of, something uncontrollably destructive...was indeed coming. For all of them.
Sura once again turned slowly to look at Prachanda, his eyes burning with fury.
‘Are you out of your mind, Prachanda? You attempt to hold back the wrath of Sura’s sword?!’
‘Forgive me, my lord. But haven’t we done enough? We turned six of these mayaavi a-rishis into ashes. But none of them burned like a human. And that...that blue fire is not a trick of any wizard. We heard those voices that were loud as an exploding Sun. No black magician or mayaavi of the world can conjure up something like that...something beyond human imagination!’
‘Shut your mouth, Prachanda!’ screamed Sura, now trembling with rage.
Prachanda did not relent.
‘Let us leave, O king. We have everything west of Aryavarta. Why stay in this land that looks like it is going to be ravaged by both man and nature?. Let us ride back! We don’t need this! We are undisputed rulers of the West of Hindukush...’
‘We? We...are undisputed rulers, Prachanda?’
‘Pardon me, O great Sura. You are the undisputed ruler.’
‘Stand back, Prachanda, before I kill you first,’ said the demon-king.
It is written in the scriptures. When the Almighty pledges to destroy someone, it is by simply taking away the power of good judgment.
Banaras, 2017
THE GREAT DWARKA SHASTRI
Vidyut saw his great grandfather immersed in books that appeared to be older than the 800-year-old dwaar of the Dev-Raakshasa matth. He flipped pages frantically, moving from one text to another. Most books were written in Sanskrit, while some were in what looked like ancient Egyptia
n, Awadhi, Latin, English and Hindi.
‘What are you looking for, Baba?’ asked Vidyut politely. ‘May I help you?’
‘I am looking for references to the Raktbeej Anushtthan, Vidyut. Cannot seem to find its mention anywhere.’
‘But Baba, you already know everything about it, don’t you?’
The matthadheesh looked up, took off his heavy-rimmed reading glasses and rested back in the chair.
‘No I don’t, Vidyut. Once the Anushtthan was prohibited, all available texts related to it were carefully pulled out and expunged by the rishis. Whatever knowledge about this ritual exists with me or a few others today, was passed down verbally.’
‘But what is it that you want to study about it, Baba?’ Dwarka Shastri heaved a deep sigh.
‘Nothing in specific. Just that I am not happy going in on amaavasya, without complete knowledge of this ancient, abandoned cult ritual. No doubt if Brahmanand is recommending this, he must be right. He is very thorough with his knowledge of the ancient scriptures, including the dark sciences.’
This gave Vidyut an idea.
‘Baba, why don’t we request Prof Tripathi to come with us as we raid the Masaan-raja’s den? His knowledge and inside information will only help.’
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 17