Harappa - Curse of the Blood River

by Vineet Bajpai

  ‘Hinduism was born thousands of years ago, when there was no other known religion, beta. In fact no one can say when a profound way-of-life took the form of an all encompassing and all-embracing refuge called Hinduism. We never competed with anyone. We never tried to travel far and wide to convert people. We never took to the sword to compel people to follow our God. Because for us there is no our and your God. For us all Gods are our God – the mighty One. And here we are, perhaps ten thousand years later, still around,’ concluded Purohit ji with a gentle smile. He was clearly passionate about the subject.

  Here in the most prehistoric city of the world and in the heart of the Dev-Raakshasa matth, Damini saw a side she had never witnessed before. Sanatana dharma or Hinduism passed no judgments, gave no diktats, told no one what to wear and when to worship. It was not a martial code based on dark regulations imposed by a handful of so-called holy men. It was a glowing way-of-life. To each his own.

  Harappa, 1700 BCE

  THE FIRST KING OF HARAPPA

  Chandradhar was getting ready to leave his residence. He stood in front of a polished copper mirror, strapping his sword to his belt. These were dark times. He did not know what the day held in store for him or for anyone. He could not rely on any of his bodyguard. They were all behaving like zombies. The only people in Harappa unharmed by the water were Priyamvada, her trusted maids, the crooked Ranga and his select henchmen. And of course Pundit Chandradhar, who was kept away from the poisoned water by his wife, as part of her meticulous conspiracy. She wanted him to be in his senses for what lay ahead of them.

  Just as Chandradhar was about to leave, Priyamvada entered his room. She was in a different color now, somber and graceful.

  ‘What is so wrong in what I have done, Chandra?’ she enquired innocently.

  Chandradhar could not believe what he was hearing. He looked at his wife with that disbelief clearly showing on his face. ‘You really don’t think there is anything wrong with what you have done, Priyamvada?’

  ‘Okay I know a woman lost her life. But isn’t that a sacrifice we must endure to build a great future for this glorious kingdom under your able leadership?’ she replied.

  ‘Harappa is NOT a kingdom, Priyamvada!’ shouted Chandradhar.

  ‘But it will soon be Chandra. Don’t you see? You will be the first king of Harappa!’ Priyamvada walked up to her husband and looked into his face with imploring, ambitious eyes. ‘And I will be your queen! We will rule this prosperous province as our own. And after us our children, and their children…’

  ‘We have no child, Priyamvada!’ interrupted Chandradhar in a loud voice. There was silence in the room.

  Priyamvada’s face had turned pale, as if bitten by a cobra.

  ‘Wake up and accept the reality my dear. We are childless and we have to accept our fate!’ said Chandradhar more affectionately, fully aware that he had cut open his wife’s most gangrenous wound.

  Priyamvada was now quivering with hate, her eyes welling up with tears of poison.

  Chandradhar tried to hold her, only to be pushed away. He could see his wife turning into a witch again. Every time she was reminded of her fruitless womb, she transformed into a monster much more heinous than her normal self.

  ‘I will kill her son!’ screamed Priyamvada like a woman possessed. ‘That bitch Sanjna thinks she can be the first-lady only because she has that boy?! I will kill them both!’

  Chandradhar knew he had made a big mistake. He had awakened the evil sorceress inside his wife at the worst possible time. It was not going to be easy to contain her hate and fury now.

  ‘It is my sister and nephew you speak about Priyamvada. Be careful.’

  Priyamvada charged towards Chandradhar and clawed at his face and chest with her long fingernails. ‘You also don’t find me worthy of becoming queen because I couldn’t give you a successor, don’t you, Pundit Chandradhar??’

  ‘That is not true, Priyamvada. You know I love you more than anything or anyone in this world,’ said Chandradhar.

  ‘Then do as I say. Put the seal on the judgment book and let that devta die the death of a rabid dog!’ insisted Priyamvada hysterically.

  ‘You know I cannot do that. Vivasvan Pujari is an innocent man. He is a great man. He is my friend and he is the husband of my sister. And how can you forget, he saved my life! I am standing here in front of you because of the life gifted to me by Vivasvan Pujari’.

  Priyamvada threw her head back and laughed maniacally, her head swinging from side to side. She stopped suddenly and growled at her husband, ‘You are so naïve, you old fool! That devta saved you to serve him like a slave for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Kill him,’ she continued, now whispering as if someone was listening. ‘Kill that devta. Kill his fair son. Kill his wife. Make me the queen of this kingdom.’ Her lunatic expression was as if she had just arrived at this novel plan and was sharing it for the first time.

  Chandradhar had left the room. He knew there was no use speaking to his wife when she was in this state. Much as he was enraged at her cruel plan, deep inside he shared her horrible pain. He had seen her suffer and long for a baby. Seeing her without a child was Chandradhar’s greatest source of agony. In trying to compensate for this great sorrow, he permitted Priyamvada leeway on many other fronts. Sometimes, he didn’t know where to draw the line.

  As he was about to mount his horse, a maid came running at him from inside his mansion.

  ‘My lord, please rush. Please rush!’ was all she could exclaim in a fit of panic.

  ‘Calm down and tell me what the matter is!’ said Chandradhar.

  ‘Lady Priyamvada…she…she…’

  Even before the maid could complete her sentence, Chandradhar was dashing towards his private quarters. He knew what had happened. It was not the first time.

  As soon as he entered the bedroom, he saw Priyamvada sitting on the ledge of a window. Her hair was thrown open, her upper robe lay on the floor, the kohl of her eyes was smeared across her eyelids and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her wrists were slit and she was sitting in a pool of her own blood.

  ‘What have you done, my love?’ cried out Chandradhar, as he tore his angavastram to make bandages with which to cover the bleeding wrists of his beloved wife.

  ‘Don’t bandage them, Pundit Chandradhar,’ said Priyamvada softly. ‘I will cut them again. If I cannot have a child, and I cannot see my husband as king…what do I have left in this world to live for?’

  Chandradhar looked into her weeping eyes and her fading complexion as she lost more and more blood. He knew even if he succeeded in stopping her bleeding now, Priyamvada would do it again. She was stubborn, and this was her ultimate weapon against him. He was left with no choice.

  ‘It is time to choose, Chandra,’ said Priyamvada with a weak smile. ‘Them or me?’

  Chandradhar slowly nestled his head into his beloved wife’s lap. With her blood oozing all over his face, he repeatedly kissed her bleeding hands. His eyes were also wet with tears of pain and helplessness.

  ‘You, Priyamvada…I choose you.’

  Banaras, 2017

  ARDHAANGINI

  Vidyut and Damini sat inside a cheap but clean Tibetan food joint very close to the matth. Varanasi, one of the hottest tourist hubs of India and a haven for the international spiritual seeker, was also a carnival of food and drink. There was no cuisine on Earth that was not on offer in this mystical city.

  The devta had been advised against leaving the monastery, given the highly sophisticated assassination attempt that had been made against him, by a man who had introduced himself as Romi Pereira.

  But Vidyut needed to get out, even if it was for a couple of hours. Before they launched a full-scale counterstrike against Romi and whoever else was with him, Vidyut had to confide in Damini. He had to tell her the bizarre but true realities of his past, present and maybe his future. Their future.

  They sipped on pints of cold beer. Much to Damini’s displeasure, Vidyut was
smoking again. Sonu, who sat two tables away with Bala, also had his second glass of beer in front of him. He had secretly confessed to Bala that he had never had alcohol, and wanted to try some. Much as he was an austere warrior-monk, Sonu was also just a young boy who wanted to try a few crazy things in life. Bala, the supremely fit yet heavy-drinking ex-army man, was happy to oblige. Every once in a while Vidyut would turn from his table towards Sonu, and smile or wink at him. He was delighted to see the monastery youngster breaking at least one rule! He also knew that with Bala he was in safe company. His veteran friend would not let Sonu go overboard. Also, while Sonu was enjoying the new sensation to the fullest, the youngster was well aware of his responsibility. Every couple of minutes his fingers checked his belt for the deadly Colt .380 Mustang that he was carrying.

  Besides Sonu, there were four more fighters from the monastery who shadowed Vidyut and Damini as their bodyguard. Little did they know that if there was indeed an enemy that could vanquish Vidyut, they anyway stood no chance. There was no way they could stop an adversary strong enough to harm the devta himself.

  ‘The dim sums are getting cold, sweetie,’ said Vidyut. ‘These are your favorite kind, babe, and this place is pretty authentic Tibetan.’

  Damini sat staring at Vidyut. She could hardly believe that Vidyut was speaking about steamed chicken dim sums after all that he had narrated to her! She was not even listening to him now. Either her boyfriend had gone mad or something really sinister was unfolding itself. Who was this Vivasvan Pujari? Why did he sound so nervously familiar? Why did she feel like crying even at the mention of this mystical name? Chandradhar was again a name that was disturbing her. Who was General Alexander Cunningham? Who were the British Brunton brothers who destroyed Brahminabad? Why was the place called Brahminabad in the first place? Did the East India Company and the British crown really not know about a whole prehistoric relic town being blown up to provide for railway ballast? And worst of all, what did the great Dwarka Shastri mean when he told Vidyut about the priest-king statuette? Damini always knew there was something mystical, something extraordinary about her boyfriend. But she had no idea that it was going to turn out so complicated and unreal.

  ‘I can’t believe all this yaa…’ said Damini after a long pause. ‘Before I ask anything else tell me this – is your great grandfather really a man who can conjure spells, summon spirits and unleash exorcisms?’

  Vidyut smiled tiredly. ‘We all can do all of that, babe,’ he replied.

  Damini was stunned. What did her boyfriend just say? And least of all could she accept the nonchalance with which Vidyut had uttered these words.

  ‘Sorry…did I hear you say we all? I mean…are you part of that we all, baby?’ enquired Damini, amazed at the ease with which her man was speaking about spells, ghosts, spirits and the netherworld. She picked up her pint of beer for a split second to check which brand it was that they were having, hoping it was the alcohol working on Vidyut. Her strapping and socially sought after boyfriend, who was best known for the cutting edge digital security company he had built from scratch, was now speaking like a mystical occult practitioner.

  Vidyut picked up his fourth pint of beer and emptied half of it in one long swig. Damini sat across him, a bit concerned about how much Vidyut was drinking and smoking. She let him. She knew that despite his brave demeanor, his nerves were jangled too - uncovering all that he had in the last two days. Also, deep inside her wicked side, she loved it. Vidyut became quite an erotic enchanter once he was drunk. She did not know if he was truly a devta or not. But after a few drinks, she knew his fingers worked pretty divine. She realised she was smiling to herself. She shrugged off the thought for the moment, confident that those expert fingers were hers to have anyway, all her life.

  Back from her fantasyland, Damini realised that there was much at stake.

  ‘So why exactly did the Brunton brothers decimate Brahminabad Vidyut?’ asked Damini.

  ‘It is quite simple Damini. They were trying to wipe out the evidence of an ancient Vedic civilization,’ replied Vidyut. ‘By using the bricks of the primeval city as ballast, they ensured that it would never be found again. Don’t you see Damini? They were looking for something! And when they did not find it, they ensured neither would anyone else.’

  ‘Wow…!’ gasped Damini. ‘This is all so…so…crazy.’

  ‘That was just the first in a series of systematic steps taken to wipe out the truth. Do you know that General Alexander Cunningham, who was present when John and William Brunton were laying the city’s bricks as ballast under the Lahore – Karachi railway line, was later rewarded by the British with the post of the Director General of the Archaeological Survey of North India?’

  ‘What? An officer who quietly witnessed the ruthless destruction of a precious legacy, was actually made in-charge of such heritage?!’

  ‘How do you know he was just a witness, Damini? How do we know he was not being rewarded for what he not just witnessed, but oversaw at Brahminabad in 1856?’ replied Vidyut.

  Damini was listening with her mouth open in daze.

  ‘For over half a century after all of this, the Harappan cities lay buried. Brahminabad was forgotten as two generations changed. And a new campaign, with a new name was commissioned in 1921.’

  ‘But baby, what was the truth they were trying to bury?’ asked Damini.

  Vidyut grinned. ‘You still haven’t understood, Damini?’ he asked.

  His exceptionally intelligent girlfriend shook her head.

  ‘To legitimize their imperial onslaught on the subcontinent, the British had to prove that Indians were an inferior race – nothing more than a brown, semi-tribal people who had been vanquished and civilized by a superior race of white-skinned, blue-eyed invaders riding from the west. It was the perfect psychological warfare to cripple the Indian consciousness. And make them believe that white western supremacy was destined and divine.’

  ‘I don’t fully understand, Vidyut,’ said Damini, now concentrating very hard on every word Vidyut was saying.

  ‘How do you think that just a few thousand British officers and soldiers conquered and controlled an entire subcontinent of tens of millions? Do you think it was only by military might?’ asked Vidyut.

  ‘Military might, superior economic strength, modern weaponry, disciplined bureaucracy…’ added Damini with a quick shrug.

  ‘Yes Damini, these were some of the advantages they enjoyed. But none of these was the definitive game-changer. Their most potent weapon was something else. It was psychological imperialism. They actually succeeded in subduing not just the land, wealth and politics of India. They crushed the Indian mind into submission.’

  ‘Dogs & Indians Not Allowed’ kind of signboards were a frequent phenomenon outside British clubs and officers’ messes even as late as the early twentieth century. What do you think such communication was aimed at Damini? Were they really trying to keep dogs out with signboards? Or was it a slow and continuous assault on the Indian psyche?’ asked Vidyut.

  Damini was listening intently, her fingers playing unknowingly with a strand of her beautiful hair.

  ‘The British knew they could never keep three hundred million people enslaved by the power of the gun alone. There was only one way of doing it, and that was by ensuring mass psychological submission of the entire populace. And this systematic effort started far back in time from the muddy ruins of Brahminabad. But that was not all, Damini. The conspiracy is much murkier than just British dominance over India.’

  Vidyut was now looking at the burning cigarette between his fingers, deep in thought. He had not taken a puff since he had lit it. Damini was cold with nervousness. She had to know how Vidyut was connected to all this.

  ‘What do you mean conspiracy, Vidyut? Please explain with clarity,’ implored Damini.

  ‘It all began over one thousand five hundred years ago, in the medieval city of Constantinople. It was here that followers of one faith decided among themselves that th
ey were meant to rule over all the others…forever.’

  Vidyut paused for a few seconds before he spoke again. He was now almost in a trance, as if teleported to another land, very far back into time.

  ‘It was all happening just like the dying Saptarishi had prophesied, ’ he said.

  Vidyut took a gulp from his beer. As he placed the glass back on the table, he noticed that Damini was in a state of deep duress. He knew instantly that she had had enough for one day.

  ‘Come on let’s go, we’re quite late already,’ he said to Damini, signaling to one of the old Tibetan waiters for the bill. He also gestured to Sonu and Bala that they had to leave.

  ‘Nooooo…’ protested Damini. ‘How can you stop now, Vidyut? I need to know everything!’

  ‘Yes yes…you will get to know everything, Damini,’ replied Vidyut, ‘but it is best that you listen to the rest from Baba directly.’

  ‘Baba? You mean the great Dwarka Shastri ji…?’ asked Damini, clearly in immense awe of the matthadheesh.

  ‘Yes, Damini,’ replied Vidyut with a broad grin.

  ‘No…no…I’m scared of meeting him yaa. And what…you will actually introduce me to him?’ asked Damini with her eyes wide, secretly delighted that Vidyut was going to introduce her to the only family he had.

  ‘He has asked for you himself. He asked me to bring my ardhaangini (inseparable half) along,’ replied Vidyut, smiling charmingly, looking deep into Damini’s eyes.

  Damini’s eyes welled up and a moment later she grabbed Vidyut’s hand in her own. ‘I love you, Vidyut.’

  ‘I love you too, Damini.’

  They sat there, clutching each other’s hands, lost in each other.

  A minute or two passed in pure bliss. Finally one of the restaurant waiters disturbed their moment of togetherness. He had just slipped the invoice folder on their table. Vidyut and Damini broke into a loving laugh.