Agniputr

by Vadhan

  The room opposite to it led into the massive kitchen where at least five cooks and ten helpers had always been at work, preparing appropriate meals depending on the time of day for the steady stream of guests—farmers, government agents, relatives, friends. Another door led into the Khazana, the treasury room, an oval structure with sturdy walls and iron grills.

  Raghu had always been intimidated by the Treasury room. Sombre faced hefty men holding dogs on a leash used to stand guard against entry and they’d gently dissuade him when he wanted to get into its iron grilled confines as a child.

  When he peeped through the door, he found a dilapidated room with rusty iron bars, empty broken down vaults and burnt out lights staring back at him. Like everything else the treasury was now a relic. For some reason the room reminded him of a passage from Stephen Hawkings’s book, A Brief History of Time. Raghu could not remember it verbatim but the effect of it was that the nature of the universe is disorder and the more it spreads, the more disorder there will be.

  The buzz of his mobile phone brought Raghu back to the present. He pulled out the instrument.

  ‘Rupal baby’, the display announced.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, where the Hell are you?’

  ‘Out...so what’s up?’

  ‘What do you mean, out? Raghu are you being naughty?’

  ‘When I say out, I mean out, Rupal. That’s all you get...now what is it?’

  ‘Hmm...sexy, I like it… I am gonna tame you, lion boy.’

  Surya laughed. ‘I’ll be back in town in a while. Maybe you can call me then.’ He didn’t wait for a reply, he cut the call.

  He found himself climbing the metal stairs that led to the first floor veranda.

  ‘Tchak, tchak’ walking stick on unpolished granite.

  His grandmother wrapped in a silk saree, the memory flashed across his mind and made him gulp down a sob.

  Her soft features and kind eyes were for him and his widowed mother. To everyone else, she was the Rani Garu, queen mother, eyes flashing authority, her mouth a stern line on her face.

  He stepped onto the ambari, the protrusion to the veranda from which his forefathers were supposed to have stepped onto their elephant mounts or heard the woes of their subjects.

  ‘Babu...step back, the structure’s weak,’ Poti yelled from the front yard.

  Turning, Raghu walked in through the door to the private living quarters of the Surya rulers. The size of the rooms never ceased to amaze him. He wondered, not for the first time, how constricted life had become from the olden days.

  Like compressed software files, life was packed with myriad events to make space for even more meaningless things. People ran at breakneck speeds in search of the elusive comfort of material wants—the latest car, the fastest women, the most beautiful houses, fat bank balances. They did not once stop to think where it was leading, what they stood to lose.

  There were two bedrooms, one to his left and one to his right. The one on the left was his grandmother’s. The room to the right was his and his mother’s. Raghu chose to step into his grandmother’s room. The huge electric fan with a bulbous dome and long blades still worked without a sound of protest when he switched it on. The traditional Pankha, hand operated fans, had been removed though their fittings were still clinging on to the wall like memories.

  The rosewood beds with flowing silk mosquito nets and soft cotton quilts made Raghu yearn for the warmth when he snuggled into his grandmother’s arms, a dreamy eight-yearold who would listen to stories of his grandfather’s hunting expeditions and his father’s fights against the demons in the castle dungeon. Funny thing was the castle did not have a dungeon. Well, Raghu thought, story tellers always did have the largesse of fantasy.

  The rectangular dining room was about three times the size of his ‘villa’ in Gurgaon. The dining table pat in the centre of the room had sixty-four chairs around it.

  He did not count.

  He knew.

  He lowered himself into one of the chairs, just as the morning turned into a wintery December afternoon.

  ‘Babu...your lunch, Gauraya came back from retirement for you,’ Poti laughed. A couple of staff, young men, carried trays with brass vessels. The aroma of mutton korma, rice and charoo filled the room.

  ‘Gauraya, my God, is the old man still around?’ Surya asked wondrously. Even when he was a child, Gauraya was an old man, at least, Raghu remembered him that way.

  ‘Oh yes...the old bandicoot’s still around. He is waiting downstairs for you. So are Musali, his retinue and Ramdas.’

  ‘Ramdas is it? The last Commander of Guards wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes Babu.’

  ‘How is pichi Rathaya? Does he still insist on meeting me? Do you remember he used to boast of so many things he had to tell me? I was so scared of him as a child. I think it was the eyes, they were all white with the single red vein running across each of them; he seemed...somehow inhuman.’

  Poti smiled a little sadly.

  ‘He was the last person to see your father alive and we really don’t know what happened inside the hall. He wouldn’t tell any of us; still hasn’t, Rathaya maintains it’s only for your ears.’

  Raghu did not reply. He was too old for fairy tales. Also, he was too busy eating. He finished his meal and let out a contented burp. He washed his hands in a brass bowl of scented water.

  ‘Babu, do you know that you look just like your father now-a-days? He used to sit in the exact place you are sitting now. I know you can’t remember him, he died when you were only a few months old. I was a small kid back then. Chinna Rani Garu, your mother, was in tears mostly and Rani Garu was devastated.’

  ‘Did my mother suffer much?’

  ‘Yes, she did initially. She was hardly nineteen at that time and a mother. Her life was pretty bleak. She turned to religion. We took her to Madras. You remember?’

  Raghu nodded, ‘I was seven. I remember.’

  ‘There is nothing left from the Samasthaanam but this old Kota and relics like us, but we still remember the good times and...the bad ones. All the farmers here are land owners thanks to your father. There are two thousand grateful villages which will always keep this Kota alive Babu.’

  Raghu nodded tightly.

  ‘This may appear to be a dusty old Kota to others, but Kings among men lived here once. Their blood runs in you Babu... don’t forget that. We are your people and you will always be our King.’

  ‘Poti...what my father did was what he did. I can never match up to him, but when I stand here, in this lonely house, I know that this was where he once lived and that people looked up to him, I feel I am part of a life of action, a life of fulfilment. That’s what this place represents to me, a life well-lived. The musk of grain and sugarcane, the fireflies at night, the peacocks calling in the morning, all of it brings back my innocence, my dreams, what I wanted to do when I was a child. I really want to continue with what my father started for the people here.’

  Poti was stunned. ‘Babu…’

  ‘You see Poti, I want to earn the right to live in this Kota.’

  ‘What about Delhi, your law practice?’

  ‘A means to an end. I don’t see myself in courts for the rest of my life. Another couple of years, I make money as a partner, cash in and I’ll get out. Managing a Trust that invests in so many things is not a part-time job with the kind of interests that the Surya Trust has. Yet, it doesn’t have a full-time Managing Trustee, thanks to me. I intend to take that up, full-time, right here.’

  Poti hugged Raghu.

  ‘As you wish...Rajah Garu.’

  CHAPTER 15

  IT was swift.

  Faster than the eye could see.

  Darker than the darkest night.

  He could not quite make out its shape; just that it glinted sometimes. There were no features, no figure, just a blackness. Like light was absorbed by it. Raghu ran out of the memorial hall in full sprint, he was bare soled and was dressed in
nothing more than shorts. He did not know how he was in the memorial hall, only that it was important for him to run, to get away from the monster chasing him.

  His thudding heart threatened to break his chest cavity and his legs felt rubbery, partly from the fear and partly because of unkempt use of energy. He ran, as fast as he possibly could. To slow down was to invite death itself.

  ‘Am I in the nightmare?’

  It did not feel like a dream, it felt real.

  ‘But how would I know that I am in a nightmare?’

  The pebbles pierced the bare skin of his feet as he ran down the stony path leading from the memorial grounds to the castle.

  The chilly night air hit his bare chest and instantly dried the beads of perspiration.

  ‘God help me!’

  Branches of reedy plants whipped against his face making him yell in pain but he did not slow down, he ran as hard as he could, knowing well that he was no match to the thing chasing him.

  Through his peripheral vision he saw the man running towards him on a diagonal path. Just like in his nightmare.

  The man glared at Raghu and then at the thing behind him. He wore his hair long and it was streaming behind him. He held a couple of curved swords, lethal steel that could slice a man in two. His armour was made of some dark matted material and his pants were stuffed into a pair of boots.

  Raghu ran on as fast as his legs could move.

  ‘This is so real. Too real!’

  He could not recall how he was in the memorial hall. All he could think of was the dark thing taunting him, playing with him. It knew anytime it wanted, it could wipe him out.

  ‘Run you fool, run; don’t think now,’ the stranger shouted at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just run Surya..., give me time,’ he screamed.

  They were both running shoulder to shoulder for a while. Suddenly the stranger disappeared as though he’d been swallowed by the ground and Raghu was alone. He turned his head for a quick glance. In that one moment, he saw the stranger swishing his swords at nothing. Sparks flew all over the place, as though he was slicing solid rock. Raghu did not stop to look further; he simply ran to the castle and climbed the steep stairs to the front yard, two at a time.

  ‘Poti...Venkanna, open the doors...’ he banged on the front door.

  No response. Raghu whirled around when the old bell of appeals rang out in the night. A clarion call. A roar of protest.

  It was the stranger yanking the old bell. Thank God it worked. He sauntered over to where Raghu stood panting for breath.

  ‘That was close Surya, very close. The Parch has found you out...too early.’

  ‘The Parch? What in the name of Heaven is going on here? What the fuck was that thing? How did I get here? Who are you?’

  The man glared at Surya for a time. Finally, he said, ‘I am P. Eshwar. The Sable Parch was designed to find you Surya and it did. It beckoned to you and you answered its command. But you are not ready for it. From now, be advised to walk in bright light. The Parch doesn’t like bright light.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you say anything about your father to anyone in Gudem?’ the Eshwar asked.

  ‘About my father? No, I mean, yes...this afternoon I was telling a friend I came to complete what my father started. Why? What’s wrong with that?’

  Eshwar frowned, ‘The Sable Parch heard you.’

  ‘What?’

  The man glared at Surya. ‘I must only hope that your father was right about you and your ability to use the Agniputr. Going by what I see till now, you’re way below the mark.’

  ‘What the Hell is an Agniputr?’

  The floodlights around the castle came alive all of a sudden and the front doors burst open. Poti stood there with a rifle in his hands and behind him Ramdas and his retinue. Raghu blinked his eyes shut against the bright light and when he opened them again the stranger called P. Eshwar was gone.

  ‘Babu Garu, what are you doing out here in the cold?’ Poti asked him.

  ‘I don’t really know Poti, I...’

  ‘Come on in, for god’s sake. You just got here after twelve years and you want to romp around in the night half-naked. What will the villagers think if they see you like this?’

  Raghu’s legs went weak as the adrenaline flow ebbed. He stumbled forward. Ramdas was quick to get his arm around Raghu.

  ‘What is it Babu? You look like you’ve seen death in the face!’

  Raghu swallowed, ‘My nightmare, I just lived through my nightmare tonight Poti...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was being chased. I don’t know how I got into the memorial hall. All I remember is running out of the hall and being chased. It was just like my nightmare...except...’

  ‘Except what?’

  ‘In my nightmare I never make it to the castle doors. I wake up.’

  In a hushed tone, Poti said, ‘You are the first one to come out of the memorial hall alive in a long time Babu.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside. I’ll tell you all that I know.’

  CHAPTER 16

  GOVIND did not have time for idle chatter, there was simply too much to be done and every moment was precious. There were always hurdles in life. Always. He believed staunchly that for every hurdle he had to cross, a solution would invariably present itself.

  When Govind was in IMM Ahmedabad, he’d said the same thing to a roommate. In answer, the young man had emptied half a tube of hair washing gel into Govind’s palms and had asked him to put the gel right back into the tube in fifteen minutes. He had wondered how Govind would manage the hurdles in doing that.

  Two facts presented themselves to Govind as a result of that little exercise. It was wrong to presume that an emptied tube of gel was a hurdle at all, it was just messy and secondly, people had no real idea what a hurdle is. Take for instance, the hurdles he was facing now.

  The Surya memorial hall was the key to his plan; the hurdle was an order of the High Court restraining access of the place to him. The order was comprehensive and did not allow them to enter the property in any manner. It was as though Surya himself had dictated the order instead of the Judge.

  The way to negate the order presented itself to him in the shape of the Suryas themselves. The solution was always in the problem. Always.

  He had specifically arrived at Javaaram to ensure that the hurdle did not grow into a threat. He had no time for Sheila or her information about a bunch of ignorant villagers and a madcap of an old man. He hardly paid attention to her, barely able to maintain a steady affable smile till the end of her narrative.

  ‘If we are quite finished Ms. Sheila, we have some other meetings to attend to,’ he said softly, almost apologetically.

  Sheila rose immediately. Excusing herself, she made to leave the room.

  ‘Please, I want you to be part of the meeting. I am meeting with the Suryas after all. Our issues may be solved right now.’

  Sheila tried hard not to show her surprise. She had not expected Raghuram to walk quietly into their headquarters and surrender himself. The picture she had of the Surya heir was that of an imperious man who would not budge an inch if he did not want to, especially after the way he effectively blocked their entry into his ancestral property with a court order.

  But then, Sheila thought, the man was decadent. His social life was a mess, riddled with affairs and flimsy preferences. She could only add moral turpitude to his list of faults. Maybe, Sheila thought, she was mistaking Raghuram for his father. If Surya Prasad was the man Defence Minister Choturam made him out to be, he must have been formidable. Raghu, on the other hand, was a man who was in affairs with married women, his cook who was at least twelve years younger to him and his boss who was ten years older to him. It was hard to trust a man who had a weak moral fibre.

  Sheila wondered why she felt so strongly for a village she did not know three months earlier or for a man who had no clearly defined val
ue system. Even as these thoughts filled her mind, a part of her refused to accept the fact that Raghuram would simply lie down and die.

  She recalled what the Panchayat chief had said to her. The man apparently did a lot of good for his people through Trusts and Foundations. Also, legally speaking, he had a court order that held him in good stead. The lawyer knew how to play his cards. If Surya was willing to meet with the Home Minister, she was sure she wanted to know what he had in mind.

  Raghuram did not enter appearance that day. Two others did. Aditya Prasad Surya and Ravi Prasad Surya. One was close to thirty years old and the other was at least five to six years younger than his sibling. They were darkly handsome men with the same aquiline nose and broad shoulders she had seen in Raghuram’s photographs. Like the way villains looked in James Bond movies.

  They held their heads high, though they appeared to be of average height and were weighed down by a thick midriff. The brothers were immaculately dressed in white kurta, white pants and dark high neck vests.

  The Home Minister bade the brothers welcome with open arms as though they were high ranking dignitaries from a foreign land. ‘Welcome my friends. Please sit down, make yourselves comfortable,’ said Govind Kiromal, shaking hands with both of them. The duo smiled magnanimously and came to rest on proffered chairs.

  ‘The privilege is ours, Ministerji,’ Aditya, the elder of the brothers said in heavily accented Hindi.

  ‘Nonsense, it is my pleasure. I must thank you for sparing time for me from your busy schedule. I know that you are part of the opposition coalition at the State level and my colleagues have fought many bitter political battles with you. I also know that you are tremendously powerful people around Hyderabad.’

  The elder Surya, Aditya, waved his hand dismissing the praises. The younger one was quiet and watchful.

  ‘Meet my colleague, Ms. Sheila Pitambar. She is our head scientist for the project at Gudem.’