Ganesha's Temple: Book 1 of the Temple Wars

by Rohit Gaur

  Then, just as Tarun began to turn away, it spoke with that ancient, sonorous voice he recognized from his dream.

  “Hello, Tarun,” it said. “I’m Ganesha. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Chapter 6

  TASKS

  Of all the terrible shocks Tarun had experienced in one day—the explosion, seeing his brother lifeless on the ground, being kidnapped, crashing down a mountainside—nothing compared to how he felt at standing here in this cave. What was happening? How was this possible? This figure in front of him, this couldn’t really be Ganesha, right? Ganesha is not real, just a story, a myth you heard at temple school. Was he dreaming? Had he been knocked unconscious during the crash? Was he dead?

  “I assure you, I am real,” Ganesha said in his slow and gravelly voice, seeming to have heard what Tarun was thinking. He opened his eyes and locked his gaze upon Tarun, his eyes tired, but still carrying a sharpness, as if a fire were kindled behind them. As he spoke, dust motes rose from his wrinkled features as if he had not been disturbed for many years. Everything in the cave had a tinge of neglect to it, a layer of grime or dust coating it like a film, the air stale. In one hand, Ganesha held up a large lantern as if he had been waiting for someone. For Tarun.

  “I realize this may be difficult to understand,” he continued, “but you are here for a reason.”

  Tarun felt bewildered, almost delirious. This time, instead of checking his body, he checked his mind: it didn’t feel like he was experiencing a dream or a hallucination. The cave had all of the expected attributes: its moist coolness, its earthy scent. The grass that stretched over the ground was unusual but it felt just as it should. Even the floating lights, some of which were perfect orbs, others like elaborate flowers, each of them pulsing with an obvious energy, gave off a true light, flickering shadows across the walls. Everything about the cave felt possible and real, except for the elephant-headed creature in front of him. This talking, breathing sculpture, still gazing intently at him from his perch, didn’t make any sense. If it weren’t for him, everything else would be believable.

  Somehow, Tarun was able to form words: “You’re right, I don’t understand.” He realized, in spite of his confusion, that for the first time in the last few hours, he did not feel fear. A cool midnight breeze fluttered through the cave and Tarun looked up. He realized that the cave had an opening in its ceiling high above the floor, and beyond it was the pitch-black sky, freckled with shimmering stars. Directing his eyes back down, he looked closer at Ganesha, trying to take him in. Resting upon a magnificently carved wooden base and framed from behind by a high stone arch, he was veiled, like the lights, with some type of dim energy that gave off a warm and comforting aura. Tarun noticed that his four hands lay completely at peace with his body, but his elephant face looked war torn, as if he had sustained many battle wounds. He was both like and unlike any murti he had ever seen: it was as if he had never truly seen Ganesha before, a figure so striking, so complete in form and size that he appeared all encompassing.

  “Where am I?” Tarun finally asked.

  “This is my temple,” Ganesha replied. “My home. This is where I live.”

  “A temple?” Tarun repeated. “This isn’t like any temple I’ve ever seen.”

  Ganesha offered up a mysterious smile, his cracked features shifting as his eyes crinkled and his mouth curved. He raised the tip of his trunk and let out a slow chuckle.

  “That is true,” he replied. “This is not like any temple you have ever visited. This is a special temple that only very few people can enter—or even find.” Ganesha, lifting himself from his pedestal, walked toward Tarun. Though he dwarfed Tarun as he loomed over him, he still felt unafraid.

  “How did I find it, then?” Tarun asked, feeling braver.

  Ganesha smiled again: a strange smile that nevertheless seemed kind and compassionate. The eyes, Tarun realized, were soft and brown that conveyed without words the idea that anything was achievable. They drooped as if under the weight of a heavy fatigue, but glinted with a sharp watchfulness that suggested the mind underneath was still alert and attentive. It was a serious face, even with the big fanlike ears and long trunk, a face befitting a god known for his wisdom and nobility.

  “I guided you here, though you did not know it.”

  “You guided me? But I was just running away from those men.”

  “My powers are different from those you understand. Believe me, it was not an easy thing to do. I used almost all of my remaining strength to do it, to get you here.”

  “You mean you were the one who . . .?” Tarun couldn’t help the outburst: the pain of the day’s events was fresh and he was quick to anger.

  “No, no, I had nothing to do with that,” Ganesha said quickly, then paused for a breath. “I’m sorry, truly sorry, about your brother Kumar. Humans can be very cruel, ignorant, and I was too weak to protect him from what happened.”

  A beat of silence and then Ganesha went on. “He did love you, even though he rarely showed it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know many things, Tarun. I know your brother is gone. I know your father is deeply worried. And I know that your mother is being taken deep into the mountains.”

  Tarun thought of his mother, alone and afraid, being held captive by the men with guns. I abandoned her, I ran away and left her. He shuddered to think about what they wanted from her, from his father, and more importantly, what they would do to get it. And here he was: far away, in a cave, listening to a murti brought to life by some strange magic.

  “I brought you here to help me,” Ganesha went on, watching Tarun think. “To help me with a great task. And if you do, I can help you in return. I can help you save your mother and reunite your family.”

  “You can help me save my mother?”

  “Yes, Tarun, I can.”

  The truck swung hard to the left and pulled to a stop. Parvati felt herself pulled from the cab by a set of strong arms and positioned leaning against the side of the vehicle. She could not be sure how long the ride had lasted—two hours, maybe longer—but she knew they had taken her far from Srinagar and, judging by the change in air, somewhere with altitude.

  A few whispered instructions and she was being forced to walk again, a hand placed firmly on her upper arm. Within minutes they had reached a step, then what felt like a doorway, and finally she was pushed back onto a low bench. The blindfold and ties were removed and she realized she was inside a small room with barred windows, sparse furnishing, and a single heavy door: in other words, a cell. Three men stood in front of her, still holding the menacing weaponry from before.

  With a heavy but articulate voice, one of them spoke: “Mrs. Sharma, by now you have no doubt figured out that you have been kidnapped. You should understand that we have no interest in harming you: if you cooperate, and your husband cooperates, you will be returned safely to your family. If you do not, or he does not, well, that may be a different story. Do you understand?”

  Parvati nodded, holding back the sobs.

  “Someone will come by soon with food. After that, I suggest you sleep.”

  The men began to leave, pulling the heavy door behind them.

  “Wait,” she stopped them. “Where is my son? What have you done with him?”

  The men exchanged a glance. Without a word, they left, the heavy door thudding behind them.

  “Let me show you something, Tarun,” Ganesha said, shifting into lotus position upon his dais. He closed his eyes and lifted all four of his hands in a particular motion. Particles of energetic light seemed to generate from thin air as he waved his hands in a circular motion. The light particles formed images, then began to shimmer and move, swirling into a swaying rosebud before reforming into a new set of pictures. Tarun could see what looked like human figures, women and men, in various activities: eating, dozing, bathing, riding horses.

  “Many thousands of years ago, the gods and goddesses, known as the devas, ruled happily over a vast
world known as the Veiled Lands, a spiritual world filled with life energy, or prana, the spiritual core of all life. Through prana came the first beings of light and dark, a duality that exists wherever life takes form. The prana of the Veiled Lands had created a great variety of spirits and magical creatures of all kinds who lived peacefully together. Until, that is, one deva, ambitious and power-hungry, sought to overthrow the order, dominate the other devas, and rule the Veiled Lands by himself.”

  From the light particles, new images appeared. One of the figures, a demon-like god, tall and menacing, was pictured standing above a fallen man, a sword raised above his head.

  “The rebellion was unsuccessful, however, and the other gods, pitying their brother for his vanity, chose to exile him to a parallel world which lacked all prana, the Bare Lands, the world you now inhabit, Tarun. This world you know is a reflection of the Veiled Lands, twin worlds that reflect the duality of a whole.

  The tall god, now kneeling and in chains, was shown being cast out, tumbling into his new world.

  “You see,” Ganesha continued, “when they exiled the deva to the Bare Lands, some of the prana from the Veiled Lands spilled over and created humankind.”

  A flock of new figures rose from the earth around the fallen god. Assuming he was responsible for their creation, they bent in praise of him.

  “After many ages, the devas forgave their brother and offered him the chance to return, but by then he had become accustomed to the Bare Lands and chose to stay. He admired his new home and fell in love with the humans. As a way to create a connection to the Bare Lands, the devas built a set of bridges between the two worlds, which would allow the siblings to visit one another.”

  A shining bridge was shown being constructed with a door on either end. The image magnified to show one of the doors opening onto a cavernous interior, lit with floating orbs of lights and in the center a small figure sitting on a low platform. Tarun looked at Ganesha.

  “This temple,” he confirmed, “is one of those bridges to the Veiled Lands. It is my responsibility to protect it, and so I have done for many centuries. There are six others as well, each in a different part of your world that connects to a different part of the Veiled Lands. Imagine a world just as vast as yours and in no less of a predicament. It so happens that our worlds are linked by the spiritual. What happens in this world affects the Veiled Lands and vice versa. We are united in our prosperity and in our destruction.”

  In the image, the Ganesha figure appeared young, unwrinkled, and strong, holding in his arms a number of objects: an axe, a rope, and a conch.

  “After the temples were built, the devas grew fond of the humans, and those of us who were charged with maintaining the bridges were especially so. We took delight in watching over the humans and ensuring their happiness. We are all connected through prana.”

  A smiling Ganesha was shown watching young children at play.

  “But the spirit of rebellion was not lost. After each temple was built, a cohort of prana masters known as dvari was assigned to assist each deva in protecting the temple, but some grew resentful of our affection for humans. Eventually, some of the dvari rose up and fought against the seven devas, imprisoning us in our temples and stealing our powers. Now, the rebellious dvari call themselves the Serpentine.”

  A snake appeared on the cave wall and bit Ganesha on the foot. Three more emerged and grabbed his arms, his objects dropping to the floor. As they did, he visibly aged, back bending, skin wrinkling, his garments tearing, and his jewelry tarnishing.

  “Having quarantined us in our temples, the Serpentine built up an army and attacked the other devas, beginning a great civil war that continues to rage in the Veiled Lands. The cruelty of the Serpentine and the peacefulness of the other inhabitants has given them an advantage. Although there is much resistance to their power, there is also much fear.”

  The Serpentine were shown savagely attacking a group of figures cowering before them.

  “As for the Bare Lands, when the Serpentine stole our powers and closed the temples, the devas were unable to continue protecting humanity and so we lost their devotion. Without us, the hearts of humans also began to fill up with cruelty, absorbing the spirit of strife that emanates from the Veiled Lands. And the more cruel humanity becomes, the more we devas age and grow weak, unable to fight back against the Serpentine without help. We now live in the Age of Evil. Things must change if there is to be a future.”

  The moving pictures now showed humans arrayed in battle, charging one another with weapons raised. The image focused in on one combatant, and Tarun could see he was dressed in the uniform of a Kashmiri soldier.

  “If the Serpentine win over the Veiled Lands, they will rule with violence and brutality, subjugating the people to their whims. And the fate of humankind, I fear, will be one of endless war. We must stop them before it becomes too late. Because the fates of our two worlds are interlinked, to protect one is to protect the other. This duality is the binding force that we must understand. This is why I brought you here, Tarun. I need your help to restore my powers, leave the temple, and end the civil war both inside the Veiled Lands and in Kashmir.”

  Ganesha waved his hands again and the light from the images all around disappeared. The cave grew dim. Tarun turned to look into Ganesha’s sad brown eyes.

  “My help? What could I do?”

  “You can do the one thing I cannot do, Tarun.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Enter the Veiled Lands.”

  The black SUV screeched to a stop outside the gate to the Sharma compound and right behind the abandoned vehicle recently vacated by Parvati, still running with the headlights glaring through the iron gate. Arjun’s security agents commanded him to remain in the car but he pushed out anyway. As he walked up to the SUV, he could see the bullet holes that had pierced the window, blood smearing the windshield. No, no, no, no, no.

  Jay’s body was in the front passenger seat, slumped over, dead. Another agent lay unnaturally against the gate. It was clear they had been attacked by many men with guns, likely hiding in the woods on either side of the driveway.

  “Sir,” an agent said after examining the SUV interior. “They’re not here.”

  “Looks like they disabled the gate,” another one said, examining the locking mechanism up close.

  The bomb had been more than a diversion, Arjun thought. It was just the first step in a plan to kidnap my family. Arjun looked into the trees, so dark you could barely see ten feet into them. Had they been taken away on foot? They could be anywhere by now. I should never have let them attend the festival without me. I should never have let them out of my sight, not now, not with everything that’s been going on. Whoever did this will pay for it.

  His eyes hardened and he turned to his lieutenant.

  “I want every vehicle leaving the city stopped and searched. Find my wife and son.”

  “I’ll make the call.”

  Arjun closed his eyes and thought out a message for his wife and son: I will find you and I will bring you home, I promise you that.

  “You want me to . . . ?”

  “Yes, Tarun, I want you to go to the Veiled Lands. I need you to retrieve the sacred objects that the Serpentine stole from me. If you bring them back to me, I will be strong enough to help you find your mother and free myself. Together, we may be able to rally the people of the Veiled Lands against the Serpentine and help end this civil war.”

  Tarun’s mind reeled: so much new information, so much of it preposterous and fantastic, and now he was being tasked with helping to end a war he had no idea was even happening. He thought about his father, though: this was what he was always talking about and trying to do, end wars, prevent conflict, stop the violence. But his father was chief minister of Kashmir, not a scared little boy. How could Tarun possibly help? He wasn’t fast or strong or even very clever, not like Kumar had been.

  Kumar had been . . . Am I already thinking about Kumar in the past tense? T
arun thought.

  “I don’t think I can do it, Ganesha. I’m too scared. I just want to go home.”

  “Think of your mother, Tarun. She needs your help. I need your help.”

  Tarun imagined his mother again, terrified and confused, being held at gunpoint by a militant somewhere high up in the mountains. He thought of his father, sick with worry and grief, doing everything in his power to find her. He thought of all the people who would learn tonight on television that the chief minister’s family had been kidnapped. So many people loved Parvati and admired the chief minister, the country would weep. The problem seemed enormous. But what if Ganesha was right? What if by helping him find his objects, I can save my mother? What if I’m the only one who can help? As absurd as the situation was, as difficult as it was to process, Tarun knew he had no other choice: who else would do it, if he did not?

  “Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

  Ganesha’s face relaxed into a tight smile. “Good, Tarun, good. You’re a brave boy. I know you are a strong soul, though you do not know it yet.”

  “But . . . how will I know where to go? How will I find your objects?”

  “You won’t be alone. I have friends in the Veiled Lands who will find you: many wish to see the Serpentine stopped. They will assist you in any way that they can.”