Ganesha's Temple: Book 1 of the Temple Wars

by Rohit Gaur

  “Your friend is correct,” Raavana continued. “There are still pockets of resistance to my rule—minor ones, really, though they are quite determined. The Serpentine nevertheless continually grow stronger and more determined. We will eventually take the Veiled Lands in its entirety. That is inevitable. It is in our nature to rule, really. All that the creatures of this great world may decide is whether they are with us . . .” Here, Raavana broke off and bent down to select a smooth stone from the edge of the crater. He stood up and hefted it in his hand.

  “. . . Or against us.” He tossed the stone over the lip of the cauldron and Tarun watched as it bounced on the semisoft surface of the lava and sizzled as it was engulfed.

  “Did you know, Tarun, that you too have a choice?” Raavana began to slowly pace back and forth, choosing his words carefully and precisely. “You see, while I am soon—very soon—to be the lord of the Veiled Lands, my plan does not stop there. You may not know this, Tarun, but long ago I was a deva just like Ganesha and the other prana masters. Did you know that?”

  Tarun glared back at him and said nothing.

  Raavana continued: “And just as Ganesha had his dvari to assist him, so I had the Serpentine as my faithful servants. We grew strong and powerful, but when we tried to take command over the Veiled Lands, a position that was by nature ours, the other devas fomented a rebellion and overthrew us with great violence, casting us down from our rightful place. It has been many centuries, but the longing to reassert our lordship over the Veiled Lands has been kept kindled in secret, coaxing the flames of our ambition gradually over the years, gathering strength and resources. And now we are so close! But when we are once again the lords of the realm, the Bare Lands will become very important.”

  “The Bare Lands!” Tarun finally spoke aloud. “What do you want with us?”

  “Our worlds are vitally connected, Tarun. Ganesha must have explained that to you. What happens there reverberates back to our world through prana. We feed off the energies your world creates. I truly admire the Bare Lands, actually. And I want it, Tarun, I want it very badly. And I think you might be just the person to help me get it.”

  “Me? What do you need me for?”

  “You would be crucial! Vital! I couldn’t do it without an ally like you. You see, I cannot myself travel to the Bare Lands, not yet anyway. You would be my emissary, charged with great tasks and important responsibilities. I know that you have begun training in the use of prana, but your teachers are weak! Ganesha is a tottering old fool—you saw for yourself how feeble he is. Once he’s dead, his temple will collapse and I’ll be able to enter the Bare Lands for myself. But for now, I need an assistant. Someone capable and smart. Someone like you, Tarun. With your talents and my training, you could be the most powerful human in the Bare Lands. With my help, you could rule your world as I rule mine.”

  “You’re a liar!” Tarun spat out. “You’d betray me, just like Latrina did.”

  “Latrina? Who is Latrina? Oh, the newt who was in the boat with you. No, she didn’t betray you, Tarun. In fact, I’m sure she’s already in our deepest and most uncomfortable dungeon. No, indeed, it was not her.”

  Tarun looked at him with suspicion. “Then who?”

  Raavana chuckled and looked sharply in his direction. “You don’t know yet, do you?” He turned to a Serpentine and spoke in a harsh command. “Bring him up!” The guard jogged down the mountain path and returned followed by a figure that Tarun thought he recognized.

  “Radigar?” Tarun asked in disbelief.

  Galerest let out a loud moan through his muzzle when Tarun spoke the name.

  Tarun’s mind reeled. How could he have betrayed them? Why?

  “Yes! It was Radigar,” Raavana said with deep satisfaction, enjoying the look of distress on Tarun’s face. “Your faithful companion. When you arrived in Phracta, he headed straight for my compound to speak with me personally. Didn’t you, Radigar?”

  Radigar refused to look directly at Tarun, fumbling with the cap he held clasped in his hands. “I’m sorry for it, lad. I truly am. But my wife was taken by the Serpentine last year. This was my only chance, you see. To free her.”

  Tarun felt his stomach growing tighter.

  “You coward!” Galerest bellowed from behind the muzzle, wriggling with fury across the dusty ground. The guards restrained him once again with their staffs.

  Raavana stepped over and placed a long, scaly arm over Radigar’s shoulders. He shuddered at the touch, but did not back away. A gust of wind rustled past them, sending tangles of sooty smoke over their heads.

  “You see, Tarun,” Raavana began. “You don’t even know who your friends are. How could you possibly know I’m your enemy?”

  He smiled broadly, revealing several rows of sharp, symmetrical teeth.

  “As for you, Radigar,” he continued, “you have been of great assistance to our cause. Are you ready to be rewarded?”

  “I didn’t ask for no reward,” Radigar stuttered. “Just my wife. You have her—“

  “Hush, now,” Raavana interjected. “Your wife will go free. But you too must be rewarded. Rewarded for your treachery.” Raavana tightened his grip on Radigar’s shoulders, his hand digging deep into the flesh of his neck.

  “You betrayed your friends, Radigar. Look at them. Look at them! See how they despise you for what you have done.” Radigar began to struggle in Raavana’s grip, but his hands held firm. Raavana began stepping forward slowly toward the edge of the crater, Radigar’s feet struggling to resist the pull.

  “No! No, please!” he shouted.

  “Now, now, Radigar.” Raavana’s low, steely voice began to rise in intensity. “You’re a traitor. And you know what we do with traitors around here, don’t you?” His snakelike face was now distorted into an angry smear as he dragged the pleading body to the edge. When they reached the cauldron of boiling lava, Raavana lifted him bodily and bored his red, empty eyes directly into Radigar’s face.

  “We reward them.” Sneering, Raavana threw the limp body of Radigar far out over the surface of the lava, where it disappeared with barely a sound. A silence fell over the company as the Serpentine lord stepped back and let his face resume its former countenance. Brushing the front of his tunic of a few specks of dust, he composed himself and turned back to the rest of them. Tarun watched with horror as Raavana focused his eyes on him.

  “You see, Tarun, I’ve avenged your betrayal. I’m on your side.” Raavana was speaking gently again, his voice covered over with velvet tones. “Join me as my companion and my aide in the Bare Lands!”

  Tarun thought of Ganesha, back in the cave, watching him make his decision. Ganesha? Can you hear me? Tarun said in his mind, hoping for a connection, for answers, for anything. What was Raavana offering? Could he do it? Or could he simply pretend to go along, save himself, go back home? No! He heard his mind revolt. Tell him what you truly think of his plan.

  “I’ve seen what you’re doing to the Veiled Lands,” Tarun spat out. “You’re dividing the people and the lands, destroying cities, killing and enslaving innocent people. You’re not helping anyone, you’re only hurting them. I wouldn’t help you in any way. I hope you get what you deserve, you miserable monster!”

  With a swift motion, Raavana raised his staff and struck Tarun across the mouth. The impact threw Tarun back on his heels, his head ringing and his mouth filling with blood. He spat out a piece of a front tooth that had chipped from the force of the blow.

  Regaining control of his anger, Raavana shook his head with a faint smile and paced in front of Tarun’s prone body. “Predictable. So very predictable. I could sense it on you right away. Sometimes my offer works and sometimes it doesn’t. Ah well.”

  Tarun couldn’t stop himself from asking as he continued to spit out the blood in his mouth: “Sometimes what works?”

  “Oh, you think that you’re the first human to be sent by some crazed deva into the Veiled Lands to bring me down? Ha! At this point I have quite a con
tingent of human allies in the Bare Lands, sowing seeds of division and helping us grow stronger. You see, Tarun, the Serpentine grow stronger from all the negative prana that emanates from the Bare Lands. It nourishes us. War, conflict, murder, violence—it only makes us stronger. My allies, spread all over your world, have proved adept at encouraging strife, betrayal, clashes of nations, struggles over resources and borders. They are truly marvelous in their ingenuity. With the help of my human agents, we will soon bring the entire human race into the conflict, finally giving us the strength to complete our conquest.”

  A sudden coldness spread down from Tarun’s face to his legs.

  “It’s no wonder, now is it, that the Serpentine are on the brink of ruling the Veiled Lands. The Bare Lands of late have provided us with so much prana, we really couldn’t have risen to power so quickly without humans! Allow me to say, therefore, how very grateful I am to you and your kind, Tarun.”

  Raavana bowed in mock gratitude as Tarun grounded his teeth. If he could have broken free from his bonds right then, he would have tackled him to the ground and rolled him into the lava, even if it meant sacrificing himself. He struggled, but the ropes were coiled too tightly.

  “Tsk, tsk, Tarun. Try not to let your last thoughts be angry. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. Often I stay to watch, but much remains to be done today. So I bid you leave in the capable hands of my lieutenants. Goodbye, Tarun. Farewell!”

  Raavana nodded to the Serpentine guards and then swept away down the path. Tarun lay back on the ground and studied the sky, starting to purple with the setting of the sun. It was a strange feeling to be this close to annihilation. In truth, he felt only frustration. To have come so far, struggled with so much, accomplished every task, and now? Tarun wanted nothing more than to be able to tackle Raavana into the pit. He pitied Galerest, caught up in this sordid affair, and Ganesha, still locked away, but not, strangely, himself. In a way, there was a relief in the struggle being over. But then there was Parvati. His mother. What would happen to her? His dad would find her, he consoled himself. He would. They never needed his help after all. It would end happily for them. He could believe that.

  The Serpentine guards bent over him, hoisting him up from the cracked black earth of the volcano’s lip. They dragged his stunned body slowly to the edge of the opening. Tarun looked down into the superheated magma, bright like the sun behind a veil of thin cloth. The heat was unbearable, radiating up from the delicate surface and ruffling the fine red feathers around his face. In the moment before he was thrown into the volcano’s jaws, Tarun felt a moment of inner stillness, a peace of understanding and acceptance of his terrible fate. He would go forward into this dark night unburdened by regret or illusion.

  Then, in an instant, he was thrown in.

  Chapter 17

  FIREBIRD

  For hours Ganesha had been sitting, cross-legged upon his cave floor, concentrating his mind’s eye on Tarun’s journey. When they had entered the city of Phracta, the connection had grown dimmer, then dimmer still when they dove into the waters of the lagoon. But however blurred his direct vision became, he could continuously sense Tarun’s emotional states: apprehension, panic, shock, joy. They told a different kind of story, but one that he could nevertheless read. When a wave of happy relief had washed over Tarun, Ganesha had known that he had rescued the third object, his sacred tusk, and he celebrated right along with him. Leaning back, he raised his many hands in thankfulness and gratitude for this brave young man.

  But then, with little warning, that bubble of exhilaration burst. At first it was confusion, then dismay, then a deepening chasm of frustration and dread, lit with flashes of anger. Ganesha had pushed once more to see within his mind’s eye the events as they unfolded, but Tarun and Galerest were hidden behind dark shadows of smoky clouds. It remained that way for a long time, until a single startling glimpse pierced through the screen: the white, pointed face of Raavana, his jaw gaping wide in a terrifying grin, his blood-red eyes pinched with malevolent laughter.

  The face had transported him back to a distant memory. The last time he had seen that scornful grin had been the day he was imprisoned in his temple cave. He had been fighting the Serpentine for years before they were finally able to overwhelm and capture him. Ganesha had watched as the Serpentine brought down deva after deva, but he had remained a holdout for many years. In the end, his mistake had been trust. A treacherous friend had brought to his encampment fresh provisions from his home, including a tray of sweet almond mithais, his favorites. Unsuspectingly, he ate the treats, unaware that they had been laced with a Serpentine venom that would weaken him for many days. Unable to defend himself, Ganesha had been overcome by Serpentine soldiers. As the soldiers set to sealing him into his temple, the gateway between the Bare Lands and the Veiled Lands, where it was believed he could do no harm, Raavana had swept in to deliver a mocking farewell. “Did you enjoy the treats?” asked the pale, bloodless face as it was brought down to where Ganesha lay sprawled upon the earthen floor. “I prepared them especially for you.” Then Raavana had laughed, his face twisted into a mask of scorn.

  It was that face, that malicious and haughty face, that now swam into Ganesha’s vision from out of the misty dark, sending spears of ice into his chest. The face, he realized, that Tarun must have been seeing at that same moment. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the face vanished, and along with it went the swell of Tarun’s emotions. Without warning, the connection between them had been severed. In its stead: a dark nothingness.

  Tarun! Ganesha called out to the emptiness. Tarun!

  Within hours, the militant camp had been transformed into the field operations headquarters for the Kashmiri army. Arjun set up a makeshift office in one of the abandoned structures, which held a long table and several chairs, likely a former mess hall. His lieutenants spread out over the table a set of more detailed geographic maps that showed the countryside for two hundred miles in either direction. Assuming the militants had abandoned the camp only two or three days prior to their arrival, they could not have gotten any farther than that.

  That still left a considerable amount of territory, however, and given the denseness of the forestation and the elevation changes in the terrain, it could take them weeks to conduct a thorough search. That was why they had called in the dogs. Arjun watched through the window as their handlers corralled them in the open field, getting them ready for the search. Other men were preparing the equipment that would be needed to remain in the field for several days, including bedding, rations, and communications logistics. And, of course, weapons. Wherever the militants had fled, they had almost certainly gone armed.

  Vishal had volunteered to personally supervise the delivery of the tactical weaponry to the camp and he now barked orders to the soldiers as they unpacked the boxes of rifles, ammunition, hand grenades, body armor, helmets, binoculars and night-vision goggles, and distributed them among the waiting men. Arjun watched wistfully while the men loaded themselves down. At forty-seven years old, he would barely be able to keep up on the days-long march through difficult terrain, let alone also carry that kind of load on his back. He had to remind himself that no matter how young he still felt inside, his body had aged.

  However, if he were really being honest, the last few days had aged him greatly. Men were not meant to outlive their sons, or see their wives and children torn away from them, or lose suddenly and without warning all that meant the most in the world. Who could go through that and not feel years older?

  Vishal walked into the temporary headquarters and approached Arjun where he sat at the table. At some point, Arjun realized, Vishal must have changed into military fatigues, and he now carried a firearm in a holster under his left arm. He had never seen Vishal dressed like that before—had he served in the military before he entered government service? It had been so long that Vishal had been his assistant that he could not recall any details of his prior life.

  “We’re ready when you are, sir,” Vish
al said. “The dogs have been prepped and the men are ready for engagement.”

  “So are you, it seems,” Arjun replied.

  “Ah, yes,” Vishal said as he looked down at himself. “You probably haven’t seen me in a military uniform before.”

  “Or carrying a gun.”

  Vishal grinned. “I don’t carry one around the office, of course. But I like the way they feel.” He fingered the handle of the holstered weapon.

  Arjun, feeling the slightest shudder, decided not to press the matter. “Alright, let’s move out. Six hours until sundown.”

  Twenty-seven miles away, Parvati lay upon a patch of grass, wrapped in a ratty blanket. The quiet afternoon hours and the warm sun had coaxed her into a troubled sleep after two nights of anxious restlessness. She dreamed of a time shortly after she had given birth to Tarun, when Kumar was just beginning to walk and Arjun had just begun his career in politics. As she followed one toddler as he padded around the house, she held the other in her arms. Tarun had been a quiet baby, gazing at the world pensively with his grave brown eyes. But when his mother held him, swaying gently to an imagined lullaby and brushing his cheeks with her long hair, he unfailingly smiled and laughed. And now she walked down a long unfamiliar hallway, drenched in sunlight from rows of windows on either side, clutching the infant to her. Humming softly to him, she let her hair fall into his face, hoping to elicit a laugh, but he looked back up at her unsmiling and grave. The light in the hallway changed, as if clouds had passed over the sun. Parvati looked out of the window to see the landscape grow dark, a bolt of white-hot lightning cracking down to the ground in the distance. The bundle in her arms began to wriggle and she looked back down expecting to see Tarun’s face, but it was gone: all that remained was the white wrapping, covering an unseen but writhing mass beneath. Paralyzed, she stood motionless, staring at the bundle. With that mysterious foresight one obtains in dreams, she knew that what lay beneath the white fabric would not be Tarun, but something else. It squirmed in her hands, pulsating against the tightly bound material. Gently, she eased a corner of the wrapping out, tugging loose the binding, feeling her throat constrict and her heart pound through her chest. As the bundle opened, the writhing mass burst forth in a sudden whooom, erupting directly into her line of vision, and then she could see nothing but red, a bright, crackling redness, like the center of a fiery sunset.