“What is wrong?” Marlo asked, more perplexed by the guards’ reaction than anything else.
He took a step towards them, and they all backed away.
“S… Sire,” Pranko stammered. “It … your eyes, sire.”
“What about my eyes?” Marlo pressed on.
“They…” Pranko could not say the words.
“What about my eyes?!” Marlo was nearing irritation.
“Sire,” Pranko said finally. “Your eyes are glowing!”
Marlo’s lower jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure. He obviously could not see his own eyes and would have to wait until they could find a stream or river before he could verify what Pranko was telling him.
“Hurry, now!” Marlo ordered, as he hurried to his horse. “Every moment we waste spells doom for my brother!”
He mounted his horse and started riding away. He was still in denial about his brother’s fate, despite what the stranger had told him. The guards looked at one another as if deciding whether to follow the strange man who had just undergone the strangest of situations or not. But they had made a pledge and, whatever this – creature, demon, whatever – thing was, they must honor that pledge. As such, they mounted their horses and rode after Marlo.
From a distance, the stranger watched them disappear over the hill. Five hundred years later, his burden felt as heavy as if it had just happened yesterday. He thought if he could imbibe the soul of one who was willing, he would rid himself of this curse. But he was wrong. He was still the same soulless creature he had become over five hundred years ago. Frustration turned to anger; his anger turned to fury. It was fury at himself for his myopia, fury for his sin, fury for the unforgivable, five centuries years ago. Yehuda let out a scream that could rend the non-existent heart of the Devil himself in twain and plunged his fist into the ground. And for the millionth time, the Curve of Callow rocked as if hit by an earthquake. When the quake was over, Yehuda collapsed on the floor of the cave and wept, yet again, for the millionth time.
At the first sight of a stream, Marlo jumped off his horse and knelt at the bank of the stream. He saw the brightness in his eyes that Pranko was talking about and did not understand how this could be. Furiously, he washed his face over and over, as if the water would remove the brightness like dirt on a piece of fabric. His attempts were futile, and Marlo collapsed on his back, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would douse away the brightness in his eyes. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, mainly centered on how to explain the brightness in his eyes to his parents. He was so engrossed in his mental quagmire that he was oblivious to the sounds of approaching horses and Pranko calling out to him repeatedly.
“Sire!” Pranko called. “Sire! Are you alright, Sire?”
When Pranko tapped Marlo lightly on the cheek, Marlo opened his eyes. Then, Pranko’s expression changed.
“It is gone, sire!” Pranko’s voice was heavy with relief.
“What do mean it is gone?” Marlo asked.
“Your eyes sire!” Pranko was smiling happily. “Your eyes are back to normal!”
Marlo rushed on all fours to the stream and was relieved to see that his eyes had returned to normal. He did not know, and neither did he care to know, why. He just accepted his good fortune. Marlo rose to his feet and turned around to face the guards. He was unsure what to tell them, but he knew they had to have a conversation before they arrived at the palace.
“So,” Marlo began. “I am not sure what happened out there or what you saw,” he half-lied, half-told the truth. “But I think it would be wise if no one else finds out about this.”
“Do not burden yourself, sire,” Pranko said, stepping forward. “I speak for all of us that, by the gods, we swear no one else will ever know about the events that transpired at the Curve of Callow. We are as baffled as you are, sire,” he added, “but we will never tell a soul.”
Marlo winced slightly at the mention of ‘soul’ and hoped the guards did not notice.
“Thank you,” Marlo replied. “Thank all of you!” and he walked to each of the guards and clasped their forearm.
“Now we ride, sire,” Pranko spoke. “At this pace, we may arrive two days earlier.”
“Then let us make sure we are ahead of schedule, my friends,” Marlo replied, mounting his horse and, for the first time in days, he smiled.
They did arrive two days ahead of schedule. However, when they reached the palace, the look on everyone’s face bespoke of unwelcome tidings. The king was wrought with grief, the queen had almost lost her mind, and the pain in the air seemed to have a life of its own. Marlo scanned the room for Kano and found him sitting in a far corner, with his head buried in his hands.
“What happened, doctor?” Marlo asked trying his best to contain his fury.
“I am sorry, young sire,” Kano began, almost speaking to himself. “But it seems as if the arrow that struck your brother contained a variation of the poison.”
“A variation?” Marlo asked.
“Yes, young sire,” Kano replied. “Instead of the two-week period before the victim’s life expires, this variation took your brother’s life in three days.” Kano’s voice broke, but he found the strength to continue. “By the third day, his body had swollen to twice its size, and it was already completely…” he hesitated and could not summon the confidence to continue.
“Go on, doctor,” Marlo encouraged him.
“Young sire,” Kano managed to say. “His body was already completely rotten from inside. Two of the maid servants attending to him got infected, and the young boy cleaning his room was also infected.”
Kano cleared his throat. Marlo was speechless.
“Your father ordered his body be burned immediately. He also ordered that the two maids and young boy be put to death and that their bodies be burned as well, for fear that the entire kingdom may also become infected.”
The tears fell from his eyes like miniature waterfalls. Marlo was too stunned to say anything. Finally, he walked over to his father and knelt beside him. His father took his hand and squeezed it gently.
“His ashes are in a jar in my chambers, son,” the king said. “That is the least I could do.”
Marlo nodded, stood up and, without saying a word, he went to his chambers and asked not to be disturbed. Marlo then stripped himself of his armor and sat on the floor. He had no strength to weep or feel any kind of emotion. He felt dead on the inside and he knew it was not because of he was soulless. Hours later, it was dark, and he went out by himself and sat at the base of a tree. The journey was for naught, the sacrifice was for naught and what did he have now? He had lost his brother and his soul. But then he remembered he still had the blood in the container.
An idea struck him thence; if the blood is an elixir for everything, then perhaps the blood could restore his soul? Well, there was only one way to find out. Marlo ran back to his chambers, retrieved the container and returned to the base of the tree. He was about to drink from the bottle when he words of the stranger replayed in his head. The blood was special! It retained its original viscosity after all this time. Whatever it was that made this blood special, Marlo did not care at that moment. He ignored the stranger’s warning and opened the container. He hesitated for only a split moment before he closed his eyes and emptied its contents into his mouth.
And so, it came to pass, that a young prince, full of life, energy and love, had lost his brother to an enemy’s arrow in battle; that a young prince, with every prospect for good and lacking nothing, lost the one thing he could never replace, his soul; that a young prince, aligned on the side of the light, was drawn to the dark side because he drank the blood of one who was already soulless and cursed into darkness. Light begets light; darkness begets darkness. Blessings beget blessings; curses beget curses. Life begets life; death begets death.
And it would come to pass that Prince Marlo would later ascend to the throne as King of the Northern Kingdom, upon the untimely death of his father, two
years after his mother took her own life. It would also come to pass that King Marlo Pakola would take upon a fair maiden for a wife, who would bear him twins; Dreyko and Danka Pakola. Or so he would think. It would come to pass that King Marlo’s offspring would carry his soullessness in dormant form, tainted by the blood of one who was soulless, until it would become awakened on the night brother and sister would bond in an abominable union after an attack by a bat and a wolf. It would come to pass that Dreyko would become the first chuper and Danka would become the first luper.
Th Scientist smiled. Yes, he was never supposed to interfere directly with other realms and dimensions, and in fact, he never did interfere directly. As a purveyor of purpose, it was always easy to bend the rules. Well, not really ‘bend’, per se. It was more like circumventing the rules. All he did, in this instant and in every realm and dimension he visited, was supply enough purpose for the pawns in his play to do their jobs to the letter. And who could blame him? Was that not the same thing Yeshua was doing in this realm anyway? It was fair game!
King Yushla of the south suddenly felt lust for King Borash’s queen; lust that was never there. And Yushla was never smart enough to forge such a poison, unless he had help from a magician he had never heard of. Merko was the stronger of the twins and heir to the throne. So, even as Marko mourned his brother, he was glad Merlo was eliminated because now he had become the sole heir to the throne. There was never any telling what subliminal thoughts could do even to the most holy of saints. And the untimely death of his father was anything but untimely. Ah yes! The power of purpose. Purveying purpose meant being in power and that power was absolute… almost!
The Scientist was very pleased with himself, and with the unfolding of the plan so far.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: C. E. 13 – C. E. 18
“What do you know about the Akashic Records?” Ramalesh asked young Yeshua and Prince Gulam translated.
“I am not sure, Rama Sir,” young Yeshua replied.
The seer had asked young Yeshua to just call him Rama. But the young master would not call the elderly sage by his first name only. Thus, he insisted on adding ‘sir’ to the seer’s name.
Young Yeshua had become a popular in the kingdom, especially to astrologers, mystics and yogis. They thronged the courts daily to behold the young master of promise, the one who rumored to be an embodiment of Shiva. This teenager was going to be the greatest human being of the current age and the next evolutionary step for humankind lay in the hands. He was a yogi in the making! These wise men brought ancient texts filled with many prophecies about young Yeshua. While some of these prophecies foretold dark omens, most held a promise of redemption and the restoration of the glory of humankind; a new birth, a new beginning, a new people.
“Then I will help you remember, young master,” Rama said and sat at the table.
A priest brought in some jasmine tea in a marble tea pot, along with four marble tea cups, and set it on the table. A palace guard stepped forth, poured some for himself and drank it one gulp. After a few minutes, when nothing happened, he nodded curtly at the prince and the priest poured some into three cups. It was not that Prince Ganesh did not trust Rama. It was just standard procedure. No one would dare attempt such blasphemy as to poison a member of the royal house or a guest as esteemed as the young master. But there have been tales of far worse insanities. Young Yeshua made no move to drink his serving though, but when the Prince informed him that his action would be considered rude to his host, young Yeshua started drinking.
He was pleasantly surprised to find this alien brew quite pleasurable to his palate. The first cup disappeared quickly, and both Prince Ganesh and Ramalesh were pleased when he asked for a refill. The priest-servant gladly obliged with a bright smile. He spoke a few words to the young master. Prince Ganesh informed young Yeshua that the priest just said it was truly an honor for him to be in the presence of a yogi and more so, that the young master enjoyed his special brew. His life could end at that very moment, and he would be a man in perfect peace. Young Yeshua expressed his gratitude for the priest servant’s generous words and Prince Ganesh translated.
Ramalesh was observing the young master intensely on the physical and esoteric levels. Young Yeshua’s auric colors ranged from white to gold, indicating different levels of purity. Even his halo matched the colors of his body’s aura. But it was the bright, golden pulsation from in between his eyebrows that gave the final confirmation that this young lad sitting in front of him was truly the master of the present age, the one who held the key to the next evolutionary phase of humankind. Ramalesh nodded imperceptibly and sipped from his cup.
On the day Ramalesh was born, the village astrologer, as was the custom, had come to his bedside and made a prophecy. Ramalesh was going to be able to see beyond the stars and the present. He was going to be the eye of the past and future. Most of all, he was going to be the one who would initiate the grand awakening of the grand yogi of the age.
His parents had thanked the astrologer for his prophecy, even though they had hoped for something more acceptable; like their son would be a wealthy merchant who would rid them of their lives of abject poverty and hardship. Or that Rama would work for a wealthy man who would leave his inheritance to Rama when he died, and then Rama would, in turn, take care of them and so on! But instead, the village astrologer had talked about Rama seeing the past and future and some master of something! Since when did seeing the past and future ever put food on the table or garbs on one’s back?
And Rama had grown up with this conditioning from his parents; to pursue a life of wealth and riches and liberate them from the mindless misery they called life. But throughout his life, Rama had felt a strong stirring inside of him; like his vocation involved something else other than being the errand boy to Dogra, a wealthy business man in the area and a purveyor of the finest linens to the rich and royal. Then one day, when the present king’s father was taking a stroll in the city, Rama had had a vision so powerful he momentarily lost control of himself. Without thinking, he had rushed towards the king, had thrown himself to the ground, and had spoken words that were more blasphemous than taking the name of Shiva in vain.
He had said the king’s brother was going to attempt to overthrow the king in eight days. He had also described the garments the king would be wearing, the king’s location, the time of the day and the exact words the king’s brother would say before striking with his sword. Rama had been thrown into the dungeons immediately. But eight days later, when everything had come to pass just as Rama had predicted, the king had asked for Rama to be brought to his presence.
Rama bowed his head to the ground when they brought him to the king, but not before noticing the king’s left arm in a bandage. The king’s reflexes had saved him, but his brother fell. The king asked Rama how he came to know the assassination attempt and when Rama said he just ‘saw’ it, the king had asked for Rama to be sent to the royal temple, to become a steward of the then royal seer. Twenty-eight years later, Rama had become seer to the king when his mentor’s life had expired. He still held that position two decades later.
“Man is a tripartite being,” Rama began his lectures, after setting down his tea cup. “Man is spirit, having a soul and living in a body. The spirit is pure, unsullied and is the source of Creation. We call this the Creator or Brahman. The body is just a manifestation of Creation and is, therefore, an illusion. Are you with me so far, young master?”
Prince Ganesh was translating as he Ramalesh spoke.
“Yes, Rama Sir,” young Yeshua replied.
“Good,” Rama said. “Please feel free to stop me as you wish, young master.” The prince translated.
“Thank you, Rama Sir,” young Yeshua replied.
“As I said, the spirit is the Creator,” Rama continued. “It is consciousness and truth in its purest form. The Creator precedes all of Creation and Creation is all that is manifested; from time, space, energy and beyond. The body is an illusion, but it is unaware that
it is an illusion. It thinks it is real and that its reality is what it perceives with its physical senses. But even then, it plunges into a deep state of confusion in a desperate effort to know more about itself. It attempts to mimic the only truth there is, which it does not know yet, by creating an identity for itself. It is this false identity, this illusion, this ever-changing sense of self that we call the ‘ego.’ As such, the human being is the embodiment of the greatest truth and the biggest lie there is. Hence, every time you say ‘I Am,’ you are either professing an absolute truth or an absolute lie.”
He paused for a moment to allow Ganesh to finish translating what he had just said.
“What about the soul, Rama Sir?” asked the young master. Ganesh translated.
“Now, the soul is like a middle-man or battleground between the truth and the lie. Well,” Rama adjusted himself in his chair, “the term ‘battleground’ may be a little inappropriate because there is, in fact, no battle. There is no fight between so-called ‘good’ and ‘evil,’ because ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are merely polarizations of consciousness. They are aberrations of the truth, and hence they are both illusions.”
“How do you mean, Rama Sir?” young Yeshua was a little confused for the first time.
“Let me show you something,” Rama replied and reached into a drawer at the table.
He pulled out a small piece of nicely cut, clear piece of crystal that was no bigger than an adult’s big toe and walked towards the wall to his right. There was a tiny ray of light that made its way through a crack in the wooden window.
“Your highness, if I may indulge you, could you please take that piece of cloth,” he pointed at a piece of paper on his table, “and hold it so that this ray of light falls on it?”
The prince obliged.
“Thank you, your highness. Now, if the young master could stand over here and face his highness, please,” he pointed to a spot about two feet away from him.
Young Yeshua obliged.
“Now, you see the ray of sunlight on the cloth, right?” he asked young Yeshua.
The Bright Eyes (The Soulless Ones Book 1) Page 17