The Coming of Kalki

by Poulomi Sanyal

  “This temple, as Nirmala is already aware, is believed to be thousands of years old. Known as the ‘jagat mandir’ or universal shrine, it is said that its foundations were laid by Vajranabh, the great grandson of Lord Krishna himself.” Dr. Sinha closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Then he continued. “What we will see now, however, is the temple sanctum constructed in the early modern period. But over there,” he said, pointing to a distant corner of the temple grounds, “you will find a dig-site that Nirmala used to work at, and that is the location where, as they dug deeper and deeper, they found structures more ancient than the previous; and they kept digging and kept uncovering until deep down inside the heart of the earth, they found the walls of a shrine and man-made artefacts almost as old as Lord Krishna himself. Is that not true, my dear Nirmala?”

  “Very true, Professor. Shall we go inside?”

  “Yes, we must. I have been talking too much. I am an old man and prone to verbosity, you see,” said Dr. Sinha, blushing slightly.

  “No, not at all,” said Alejandro at once. “Everything you have said is very valuable to our research. So, thank you for sharing.”

  “You are too kind. Let us proceed then. Oh yes, I must warn you, that inside you will meet the priest of the temple. He is a sanyasi and does not speak any English.”

  “A sanyasi? What is that?” asked Alejandro.

  “A very pious man whose life is dedicated to the divine. He is austere and spiritually very powerful. Enlightened, you might say. He does not speak much. Yet when he does, his words bear enormous consequence.”

  “Are we allowed to smile at him?” asked Alejandro jokingly.

  “At your own risk,” said Dr. Sinha, appreciating the joke with a gentle pat on Alejandro’s shoulder.

  The company stepped into the semi-darkness of the temple halls amid the sweet aroma of incense burning in many a nook and cranny. Mixed with the incense were the smell of flowers and camphor and burning oils. There was no electric light anywhere and the beautiful temple interior was lit merely with candles and earthenware lamps. Right in front of them, a few feet away, was the alter of Krishna and at his feet, sat a man in a saffron robe with dreadlocks in his hair and beard. Sitting in a yoga pose, he was swaying gently to and fro and chanting softly with his eyes closed. He didn’t seem to take any notice of the visitors.

  “Sit,” said Dr. Sinha in a hoarse whisper and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, some distance from the deity and the priest. Alejandro sat next to him. Dr. Sinha leaned his head towards Alejandro’s and said softly.

  “Observe what you can in here. You may find many clues.”

  “Surely,” replied Alejandro. They sat together for a few minutes, taking in their surroundings. Alejandro observed that the idol of Lord Krishna before him seemed to be holding a flute between his hands. He immediately recalled another time he had seen a similar depiction of Krishna when he was researching the avatars of Vishnu online while in Havelock. He made a mental note to ask Dr. Sinha about this later.

  This flute, was it magical? Did it possess any supernatural power that men would want to harness?

  Right now, he did not want to disturb the peaceful silence of the room, so he sat quietly in a meditative state. A few more minutes went by without much happening and then Dr. Sinha started fumbling around for his walking stick and attempted to get up. Noticing this, Alejandro found the stick and handed it to the professor and then getting up himself, gave the old man a hand. Nirmala also arose.

  “Oh, you need not get up,” said Dr. Sinha, seeing everyone stand up. “I need to go to the bathroom, you see. My old bladder cannot take too much pressure, sadly.”

  “It’s alright, I am okay to stand. My legs are a bit cramped,” said Alejandro.

  “Likewise,” added Nirmala. “We will wait here for you, Professor. We can leave when you return.”

  “Very good. I will be back as soon as I am able,” said Dr. Sinha as he walked towards the door.

  “Do you need any help walking there?” asked Nirmala, kindly.

  “Oh no, dear girl! I will be fine. You observe what you can while we are still here.” And with that, he went away.

  * * *

  Dr. Sinha had barely left the temple when Nirmala thought she saw a shadow move in the distance.

  It can’t be the professor’s shadow, she thought, it was too quick. He doesn’t move so quickly. Can’t be ghosts either. This is a temple and ghosts don’t really get along with God. Could be the flickering candle-light playing tricks on the eye, she concluded, giggling to herself.

  Then abruptly, without any warning, the priest of the temple stood up and turned to face them.

  “Oh!” said Nirmala, leaping back a little, startled by the movement. Alejandro grabbed her arm and steadied her, but his gaze too was fixed on the priest and an expression of surprise was on his features. Just then, several things seemed to happen at once. A sudden gust of cool breeze swept through the room and blew out all the candles; all but one, the one in front of the deity. A crack of lightning sounded from afar, and its light shimmered through the strip of sky visible between two tall pillars to their left. The air in the room became suddenly somber as if a presence was in their midst of a soul that they could not perceive with worldly senses.

  Alejandro and Nirmala were frozen, their eyes fixed on the priest who stood facing them, looking stern, cloak billowing in the air in waves of saffron. Then the priest spoke. He spoke, in a booming female voice, more mellifluous than a lark’s, more ardent than a queen’s, more poetic than an angel’s.

  “To the West and North in brilliant light

  A cosmic force will near

  Death will loom, and fear will reign

  And the earth will shed a tear

  Tall and fair will the tower gleam

  Monument to my grace

  A beacon in a desert land

  Not far from my embrace

  At the hour of my ninth birth

  Must ye seek the tomb

  So shall I be summoned yet

  Rendered from earth’s womb

  In thy rear the lord of death

  Jackal-headed, wise and slant

  An incantation old and rare

  Must ye seekers chant

  All thy race shall fall to ruin

  Hence darkness shall prevail

  At such hour lest ye shall not

  Make seven voices wail,” he said in clear English, although he spoke no word of the language. Then, in a trancelike-state, he collapsed onto the floor.

  Nirmala started at the development and was about to rush to his aid when she felt a strong hand force a handkerchief over her face. She felt giddy and noxious and remembered no more.

  CHAPTER twenty-one

  When Nirmala regained her senses, she was lying face-down on a rough floor, her body contorted, hands tied tightly and a gag stuffed into her mouth. It was pitch-black and stuffy. She was feeling dizzy and struggling to breathe. When she tried to lift her head slightly, she banged it hard against the metal roof. The floor beneath her was hot and trembling.

  I am inside the trunk of a car! she panicked, as realization set-in. Soon the vehicle started to move over what seemed to be a bumpy road, tumbling her around like a washing machine. Nirmala was sweating profusely. The cords around her hands, painfully chafed her wrists. But surprisingly enough, her legs did not appear to be bound. Little consolation, since there was no way for her to escape from the closed trunk of a car. The car was screeching along and then; it braked suddenly and came to a halt.

  Someone has come to my rescue! thought Nirmala, as her heart lifted. Alejandro perhaps, or even the police, though preferably Alejandro. Who knew which side the police were on.

  A few seconds later, she heard a soft beep near her ear and the door to the trunk opened. She immediately closed her eyes, pretending to be still unconscious. Someone shuffled around near her feet and shoved her legs aside, as if searching for something. In the distance, she heard a man’s gruff voice.


  “Hurry up, you son of a bitch! I am bleeding to death here,” he screamed.

  “Oh, shut up, you rascal. No need to raise a ruckus,” responded the man who was fumbling around inside the trunk. In a minute or two, he closed the trunk with a thud and moments later, the car started to move again.

  Nirmala wondered what that beep she heard earlier might have been. It was a soft sound that seemed to originate from behind her ear.

  Oh, it must be the sensor Alejandro gave me to wear in my hair like a clip! she remembered, after a bit of thought. Why did it beep? Could it mean an electronic signal was nearby? Could it be…could it be...yes it must be. It must be a key fob. There is keyless entry on this car, she reasoned in her head as understanding dawned.

  Only if Alejandro were here, she thought, becoming wistful. He would have surely unlocked the boot with his mind and let us out.

  Sighing to herself, she started to weep silently. Her tears getting mixed with the oil and grime of the floor beneath her head. She wished she had never been involved with this forsaken research in the first place. Her mother didn’t want it for her. She wished to have her marriage arranged with a suitable, rich young fellow who would take care of her for the rest of her life. Then she would no longer have to worry about chasing a career or making a living by herself. She could stay at home and manage the house and the children and prepare the meals and watch television like every decent woman of her community. But Nirmala never wanted such a life. She wanted to chase her dreams and follow them wherever they led. This is exactly what she had done, and right now her choice was leading her to her doom; a miserable ending of pain and torture, followed by certain death. What would her mother say now? Would she say that she had told her so? Perhaps she would not even have the chance, being too overcome with grief at the loss of her first-born child. Nirmala’s breathing became heavy and belaboured. She realized she did not regret having made this choice. No, she did not. She thought of the lines from her favourite poem, Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson;

  How dull it is to pause, to make an end… and then how did it go? Something about following knowledge like a sinking star, beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

  The words filled her with a jolt of inspiration and she felt her strength return. I have had training with Alejandro for months, and right now, I also have the sensor on me. Maybe I can work the lock myself! she reasoned with herself.

  But, how do I jump off a running vehicle, and that too with my hands tied?

  Nevertheless, she steadied herself as much as she could with her feet and focussed her concentration on the lock. She tried to look at the location where the trunk door met the trunk bottom but all was dark and the best she could do was try to direct her gaze at the place where she thought she could see a hairline streak of light. She tried to remember everything Alejandro had taught her.

  “Focus on the sensor. Look at it or look in its direction and then with all your mind imagine a command that you wish to send it. Believe that you are actually sending this command. Concentrate hard and repeat,” he had said.

  Nirmala tried to do just that. She wrinkled her brows, contorted her face and focussed. Open, she thought. Open, damn it! Nothing happened. She felt the car stopping again but before she could get too excited, she heard the distant sound of a train rushing past. They must be at a level-crossing. Most possibly the same one from which they had escaped last time. It was likely they were headed to Rajkot and who knows whereto from there. This might be her only opportunity to jump off, after the car had halted, while they were still in a familiar location. She became desperate.

  One, two, three, open, now! she commanded furiously with her mind. Still nothing. The train blew a whistle. Time was running out. Her window of opportunity would be closing soon. She thought about Alejandro, his handsome, kind face, their friendship, how he had risked his life to save hers the last time, and desperately she longed to see him again and also to make him proud. She drew a deep breath and tried one last time. The car’s engine sounded from below. The train had passed. The gate at the level-crossing would soon be open and they would be on the train tracks. Then, bingo!

  Like a miracle, she saw the trunk door open. She could not believe her eyes. Quickly she lunged forward with her upper body and rolled heavily on to the road, using her arms to shelter the fall, protecting her head from smashing against the concrete. The sound of her fall got submerged in the whirring of the engine and the car was already speeding through the crossing. She lay on her side in its wake, wounded, traumatized, but free. At least for the time being. Her whole body ached. But there was no time to waste.

  Quickly, she had to make a choice, to run towards the guard that manned the guard-house at the level-crossing or to head towards the shadows. It was not safe for a woman to be out and about in this city, gagged and bound, at this hour of the night. But it might be much less safe to turn herself in to the guard. She would have to choose wisely whom to trust, because such were the times.

  The car had passed through the level-crossing and made it to the other side without anyone noticing the open trunk. The road, at this hour, was completely deserted and the guard at the gate was busy staring at his phone. This was Nirmala’s chance. She scrambled to her feet and made a dash for the thickets at the side of the railroad. There was one safe place she could think of, not far from here. She ran in its direction as fast as her legs would carry.

  * * *

  The priestess of the shrine of Meerabai lived alone in the house of her ancestors. She was a very learned lady who spoke many languages and started her adult life as a teacher until the day that her father, the high priest of the temple passed away. The ancient shrine of Meerabai was abandoned for months and fell into a dilapidated state. In the absence of a priest, the city wanted to turn it into a museum, but the locals rose up in protest.

  “The temple of Meerabai is an ancient house of prayer and to turn it into a museum would be an assault on its sanctity,” the people claimed.

  It was then that Astha, the daughter of the priest, stepped up. All her life she had accompanied her father at prayer times. She knew all the chants and hymns and her heart yearned for a spiritual life. She would continue in her father’s footstep, re-open the shrine of Meerabai and offer to it her life’s devotion. But the city rose up in revolt.

  “What heresy was this to have a woman run the sacred temple of Meera!” they said. They barricaded the shrine and prevented Astha from assuming her role. Then the priest of the Dwarkadhish temple intervened.

  “This temple is a shrine to Meera, is it not?” he had asked them. “Was she not a woman herself? The prime devotee of Krishna, of modern times? It is foretold that she will return again upon this earth to claim her right to the shrines of her beloved, Lord Krishna. What will you do when that day arrives, you fools? Will you dare to turn her away? Go now and clear the path for the priestess of Krishna who awaits at his door.”

  The crowd became speechless. They had no rebuttal to this argument. The priest of the Dwarkadhish temple blessed Astha and led her into the shrine himself. Since then, her authority over the shrine of Meera has never been questioned. Tonight, she had finished her evening prayers early and gone to bed at eight. By nine she had been fast asleep, dreaming of the lush gardens of Dwarka, where the Lord Krishna sat atop an ornamental bench, playing a divine symphony on his flute. She would wake up again at four, as she always did, pray to the rising sun and then head to the temple of Meera. It was a little past midnight when she woke unexpectedly to the sound of a loud bang at the front door.

  Who would call upon me at this ungodly hour, she thought. Fearing something sinister, she went upstairs to her prayer room and slightly opened the window that looked out on to her front porch. Peering out she saw the prone figure of a woman at the top of her steps, bound and gagged. With her right shoulder, she banged against the door one last time before falling limp before the threshold. In the soft gleam of the street light that illuminated her do
orway, Astha recognized Nirmala’s face. Although, they didn’t know each other, she remembered her as the lady who used to visit the temple of Meerabai in the evenings sometimes, seeking peace. Astha would sing her hymns to the Lord while Nirmala would sit in a corner deep in thought, pondering the meaning of life. Seeing Nirmala in a such a condition tonight, Astha looked around the yard to make sure there were no criminals behind her and then she rushed to her aid.

  CHAPTER twenty-two

  It was a Thursday in early March and Zoya and Chris were at the lab as usual, working on getting Zoya up to speed with the research.

  “So, you are telling me that it’s not just my intuition?” asked Zoya, ever the eager student.

  “Nope. Not entirely, anyway. Partly intuition maybe, but there is science behind it. Even intuition can be explained with science,” he replied.

  “Then are you telling me that if I think about my mom right now, she will call?”

  “No, I never said that. She is too far away, geographically, for her to react to what you are thinking. Although some say, that telepathic waves behave differently and do not necessarily abide by the conventional theories of signal transmission. But this hypothesis is yet to be proven. What is proven however, is the reverse effect.”

  “Reverse effect?”

  “Yes. If you think about your mom, she may not call you. But when she is actually in the process of calling you, right before the call comes in, you may sense it, and suddenly start to miss her. This is something we have studied extensively at this lab and I can show you how it works.”

  “How are you going to show it to me?”

  “A simple experiment. Come over here,” said Chris, motioning to his desk. Once at his desk, he pulled out two speakers from a drawer and connected them to his computer.