The grandmaster nodded, his eyes narrowing a bit as he considered the suggestion.
‘Yes, that might help. But why will he come into such hellfire with us? And while he is no less than a maha-taantric himself, he is too meek and distant from all this now. This is not his battle anyway,’ said Dwarka Shastri.
After half a minute of silence, the matthadheesh’s narrow eyes suddenly opened up.
‘Or maybe it is,’ he mumbled.
‘What is it that you said, Baba?’ asked Vidyut.
‘Maybe it is his battle!’
Vidyut was confused.
‘Why do you say that, Baba? Prof Tripathi was reluctant to even speak about Trijat and his days with him. There is no way he is going to go back there. I don’t understand why you say it is his battle also.’
Dwarka Shastri turned to Vidyut fully.
‘How do you think Brahmanand lost his eye, Vidyut?’
Vidyut did not want to hear the answer.
‘It was plucked out pitilessly with a sickle, even as Brahmanand thrashed in pain and pleaded for mercy.’
The last devta appeared to be deeply disturbed. He sat with his eyes shut and his forehead resting on his clasped hands.
Purohit ji and Dwarka Shastri could see that Vidyut was not relishing everything that was happening around him. Clearly the unstoppable realities of blood and gore were getting to him.
‘What happened, beta?’ asked Purohit ji, keeping a hand on
Vidyut’s strong shoulder.
Vidyut shook his head, turned to Purohit ji and smiled. No matter how strained he was, Vidyut was not one to let his loved ones go through even a stressful minute because of him.
‘Nothing, Purohit ji. Just a bit wary of so much malice, intrigue and violence. I grew up knowing well that our matth and our family was not ordinary, but I had no idea that there was a web of deceit, conspiracies and bloodshed at every step.’
Purohit ji grinned empathetically and said, ‘even Arjuna felt wary at the beginning of the Mahabharata yuddha, Vidyut. There is nothing wrong with it.’
Vidyut smiled again and tapped Purohit ji’s hand in a reassuring manner.
Dwarka Shastri was unimpressed. He needed his great grandson to be strong, to be prepared...given the several gruesome battles that awaited him - until the prophesied hour arrived.
Only six more days to go. Centuries of pain, struggle and sacrifice. For this one day.
All for this one golden day.
‘There is a reason I have called both you and Purohit together, Vidyut,’ began the grandmaster.
‘Ji, Baba...?’ said Vidyut, in his ever so obedient tone.
‘My time has come, Vidyut. Purohit and I have been studying my kundali for years and we both concur. My end is near, my son. Very near.’
Vidyut did not want to believe what he had just heard. He turned to look at Purohit ji, hoping he would burst out laughing and this was all a big joke. But Purohit looked back at him with tender but grim eyes.
‘But Baba, why are you saying this? You have just recovered so speedily. You are hale and hearty. I saw you the day Trijat came. You stood there like a warrior! How can something happen to you suddenly? I am there for you, Baba. I will stand like a wall between you and death. Papa also left me this way! Now you can’t leave me like this, Baba...’ blurted out Vidyut like a child, ready to burst into tears. He shook his head continuously, refusing to acknowledge what he had been told.
Water trickled down from the great matthadheesh’s eyes. It took him some effort to get up from his chair, and he walked a few steps to where Vidyut was sitting. The grand old man lifted his awaited descendent by the shoulders and held him tight.
Vidyut cried his heart out. He had spent nearly his entire life alone, without a family to love him and be with him. He depended on a friend like Bala. That brotherly love was also snatched away from him by the claws of some strange fate he was destined to live out. In the last few days, he had found in his Baba all that he ever wished for. Only to lose him too!
‘Baba, you are a marvel. You can do anything that you like. You control the realms of space and time. Save yourself, Baba. You are a devta!’
Dwarka Shastri held Vidyut’s face in his large hands, like a doting parent holds a small child.
‘I am not a devta, Vidyut. While over all these centuries people have believed that every son and daughter from our bloodline was a devta or devi, the truth is something else. Our family, over generations has had only two true devtas. One was the great Vivasvan Pujari, whose tale I have narrated to you.’
The matthadheesh paused for a moment as he admired Vidyut’s godly face. His eyes were moist with love and with the longing of someone who was going to go far away soon.
‘And the other is you, Vidyut. You are the last devta.
After you, this world will never see a devta again.’
East of Harappa, 1700 BCE
‘YOU PASSED THE TEST’
The gathering took a break from the discussion, for each group to huddle and assimilate what Matsya had just announced.
Manu and Tara, or Satyavrata Manu and Satarupa, were walking beside the kind godmother of the mountain-guardians.
‘My lady, who is Matsya? How do you know him?’ asked Manu.
She smiled but did not turn to Manu. As if she expected this question to pop-up anytime and was not surprised to hear it.
‘Why do you want to know, Manu?’ she said, as they continued to walk.
‘He is extraordinary, my lady. His presence soothes the hearts and minds of all around him. On one end he appears to be a fierce warrior. On the other he looks as tender as a loving father. He is fearsome, yet he exudes benevolence beyond measure. When he looks at me, it seems like he is staring at my soul, from this life and all the ones before it. In fact...in fact, I suspect he is an incarnation of Lord Vishnu.’
‘He gets impressed easily,’ quipped Tara. She knew her Manu, and how emotional and trustful her warrior-prince could get.
The graceful lady laughed at Tara’s words. She was delighted to see the bond of pure love and friendship that Manu and Tara shared.
‘You have just seen him once...that too from a distance in a crowd, Tara,’ she said. ‘Wait till you meet him face to face. Also, Matsya decides who finds him divine and who doesn’t. You don’t begin to love him of your own accord. He chooses the moment for that. He can make you hate him if that fits into his larger scheme of things. No one can say what he has in mind. All I can tell you is that he is as close as it gets to God walking on Earth.’
Manu was not amazed at what he heard. He felt it deeply himself. Tara was a bit skeptical at what she felt was an exaggerated description.
‘Tell me this please,’ asked Manu, ‘if he is who you say he is and I am convinced he is, why did I find him unconscious the other day, thirsting for a few drops of water? How can someone who is so omnipotent, be in such a helpless situation?’
‘He was not dying that day, Manu. You were! He is timeless, beyond the captivity of life and death. It was simply his final test for you. He just wanted to be sure that the man he expects the world from, quite literally, was in fact worthy of his trust. By willing to lay down your life to save a fellow human being, you proved him right. You passed the test.’
‘But again, my lady, how did you get introduced to Matsya? He does not live here, yet he seems to govern everything. He is not a king but has the aura of a thousand monarchs combined. When he laughs the whole universe laughs with him. When he gets annoyed, the skies lament and weep. Who is he?’
The lady thought for a while and then spoke.
‘No one knows where Matsya comes from, Manu. No one knows who his disciples are. It is said he has thousands of them, all dwellers of the water. Some say the mythical sea-monster Lok-Naas or the Destroyer of Men, an aquatic dragon bigger than a hundred ships taken together, is his tamed servant. Matsya once saved this mountain from the massive forces of a savage warlord. He stood alone on the battlefield, his long hair
and his fish robes fluttering in the wind, as hundreds of riders galloped towards him. Matsya simply grinned and raised both his arms in the air. I saw it with my own eyes. The hundreds of horses neighed to a halt, tossing their riders in the air, who crashed on the dust of the battlefield. The horses bowed their heads to Matsya before turning around in retreat.’
Manu and Tara stood there speechless, astounded. The gracious godmother would not ever lie. Someone of her spiritual accomplishment would not hallucinate nor get tricked by a magician.
‘Thank you for sharing this with us, my lady. I don’t need any convincing about who Matsya is. I think I know who he is,’ said Manu, with a faint smile.
The lady nodded. She knew it too.
‘Just one question though, my lady...how does Matsya smell of the seas all the time? There is no sea for hundreds of miles from here.’
‘Don’t you see, Manu...’ she replied.
‘Matsya is the ocean.’
Their voices were raised.
Tara could not believe that even after everything, even with the impending deluge, Manu wanted to ride into Harappa to extract his vengeance.
Upon Matsya’s swift counsel, Somdutt had advised Tara not to tell Manu that the devta was alive, and who or what he had become. Tara had resisted wildly. She was not going to hide anything from her man – least of all the news of his father’s survival. It was only the safety of Manu that made her agree reluctantly. She knew if Manu found out about Vivasvan Pujari being alive, he would rush to his father’s aid – who she was convinced was beyond redemption. All that she knew of the Surya of Harappa was dead anyway. What was left was a murderous raakshasa...and Manu would become one too if he let the fire of revenge burn his soul the way it had scalded Vivasvan Pujari’s. She bit her lip at keeping a secret from her Manu, but she had no choice.
‘You have to believe in one thing or the other, Manu,’ Tara said in a strained voice. She had been trying to convince him for quite some time now. ‘You either believe that Pralay is coming. In that case Priyamvada, Chandradhar, Gun, Sha, Ap, those people who pelted the devta with stones, those wretches who spat at him...everyone will perish anyway! And if you don’t believe that the great deluge is round the corner, then why are we here on this dark mountain in the first place?’
She made sense. She always did.
‘If it is Pralay that kills the men and women who destroyed my family, murdered my mother and took away everything from my father, then shame on the existence of Manu Pujari! It is excruciating pain from the cold blade of my sword that must be the last thing Priyamvada, Chandradhar and those black magicians should feel before they depart from this world,’ said Manu frostily.
‘And you think that would make your mother, the beautiful Sanjna, proud of you, Satyavrata?’
Manu and Tara noticed that Matsya had walked up to them. The blue fish-man looked at Tara and smiled. Tara’s breath stopped where it was and she stood there dazed just as Manu was when he had met Matsya for the first time. She felt the peace that one feels in the sanctum sanctorum of a divine temple. Peace like she experienced in the arms of Sanjna when she was a child. Happiness that her love for Manu gave her. She felt she had seen Matsya somewhere. Or maybe everywhere.
Manu was right... He is Lord Vishnu.
Manu bowed and folded his hands in a respectful greeting to Matsya, who meant everything to him now. He ignored the question Matsya had asked.
‘Answer my question, Manu. So you think butchering a woman, along with your very own uncle and three blind men is going to make your parents and ancestors proud of you and your valour?’
‘I don’t know all that, Matsya. I have to make them pay for making my mother and father suffer. Please don’t stop me,
I beg you.’
Matsya sighed and walked closer to Manu. Tara was still a statue, soaking in the divinity she was experiencing.
‘Don’t worry about the Mesopotamian magicians, Manu. The princess of Mohenjo-daro has already thrown them into the mrit-kaaraavaas to rot and die. They will not survive the deluge. But their vile names will. I assure you, the black souls of those scoundrels will never find peace, and they will be remembered by the survivors of Pralay and their generations to follow as harbingers of dark omens. Ap-Sha-Gun will become a term hated for millennia to come.’
Manu did not seem convinced.
‘Tell me Satyavrata, what would your mother have you do...save a life or take one?’ asked Matsya.
‘Of course save a life, Matsya, but that is not...’
‘And what would she have you do if it was a question of quenching your thirst for retribution...against saving the whole of Srishti and redeeming the entire world?’
Banaras, 2017
‘THEY WERE HIS DISCIPLES’
About one hour passed and for most of it Vidyut was inconsolable. He suggested everything from life-saving yajnas to admitting the grandmaster in the best hospital in Los Angeles. He was desperate to hold on to his last, his only family.
But as time passed and Vidyut himself studied the horoscope of his Baba, he began to accept the reality. Intense Maarkesh, or the period of inevitable death, was clearly casting its black shadow over his great grandfather’s kundali.
If jyotish or astrology was to be believed, no one could save Dwarka Shastri.
Vidyut’s expertise on reading kundalis was far richer than what the matthadheesh and Purohit had expected. The devta noticed something that stopped his heartbeat.
The kundali of Dwarka Shastri did not just say that his end was near.
It predicted a very painful, vicious death.
‘There is something more. My siddhis seem to have faded ever since the battle with the master exorcist from the West. The Brahma Raakshasa certainly served me as he had promised to me half a century ago, but that spiritual exertion took its toll for sure. I could not see the blackened soul of Bala, despite him being right in front of me. Where was my trikaal-shakti when Trijat’s pishachinis took advantage of our collective focus on him and slipped out to murder Bala? And now, when we embark upon perhaps the last battle of my life, I am unable to see the future. I am unable to recall details of the Raktbeej Anushtthan. I don’t even know if I will be of any help to you, Vidyut.’
Vidyut got up, walked up to Dwarka Shastri’s chair and sat down on the ground. He took one foot of the matthadheesh in his hands and began pressing it gently – as a sign of his deep love and devotion to his Baba.
‘Just your presence is enough to send shivers down the spines of these evil wretches, Baba. Your aura alone will cut their dark powers by half. We don’t know what Trijat is going to throw at us. It could be anything. If there is anyone who can protect us from his unpredictable onslaught, it is you.
But having said that, I urge you not to join us, Baba. Please stay here.’
That was never going to happen. Dwarka Shastri was never going to leave his beloved Vidyut alone.
Even if it meant playing out the last chapter of his illustrious but merciless kundali precisely as it was destined.
‘Absolutely not, Naina!’ snapped Vidyut, as he tried in vain to convince her about the danger involved in their amaavasya undertaking.
‘Look, Naina, this time we are going to tear right into the heart of the demon’s den. There are hundreds of them, and it is not going to be just a battle of hands and weapons now. It is the kind of battle neither you nor I have ever fought.’
‘Then why are you going?’ she asked.
‘Because I am a taantric, Naina. Deep down under my fancy clothes and my expensive watches, I am a skilled practitioner of occult. I have spent twenty years training…first under Papa, then under the guidance of Gopal, my sanyaasi friend from the Himalayan monastery. I may not be able to out-maneuver Trijat, but I can at least withstand his assault for some time.’
Naina shook her head. She was not going to listen.
‘You have got to be kidding me, Vidyut!’ she retorted back, equally annoyed. ‘The matth is my home!
I will not keep out of any fight that concerns my family, my Baba…and you. You…Vidyut.’
Vidyut was looking straight into her large, speaking eyes.
‘Naina, you don’t…’ he started.
‘You still don’t see it, do you?’ interrupted Naina.
She was searching Vidyut’s eyes…for answers, for acknowledgement, for one trace of what she wanted to see in them.
‘I love you,’ she said softly.
Vidyut went numb. He did not know what hit him. She had never looked so vulnerable, so passionate, and so indescribably lovely.
‘Wha…?’ was all he could blurt out.
‘Yes, yes, a thousand times yes…I love you, Vidyut,’ she said again, as if pleading for him to hear the story of her heart. As if beseeching him to say what she had wanted to hear - for two decades.
There was a moment of silence - of nothing but a man and a woman feeling each other’s presence more intensely than either knew was possible. One was deeply and helplessly in love. The other was almost there, determined not to cross the line.
He could not say he loved her back. But he could not let her heart break. Not after everything. Not after who she was.
On pure instinct, Vidyut’s hand slipped around Naina’s slender waist as he pulled her towards himself. As their bodies came close and Naina sensed what was going to happen next, she closed her eyes, surrendering to her devta.
Vidyut pressed his lips on hers, which she received gently, softly. A moment passed when they stayed glued to each other’s lips, before breaking into a long, passionate kiss.
As they stepped out of the matth’s dining hall, Vidyut found a moment alone with Purohit ji. He was still dazed at what had happened between Naina and him a couple of hours back.
I will never forget that kiss. Never ever.
‘Purohit ji, I could not understand one thing. When Trijat and Baba spoke, it looked like they knew each other from before. The same happened with Prof Tripathi, who Baba has been addressing as Brahmanand. What is going on?’
Pralay- The Great Deluge Page 18