The Sage's Secret

by Abhinav Menon

  Dweepa entered his humble home on the banks of River Gomati. Though it was a little far from the river, the sounds of the soft waves could be clearly heard inside the house. It was this rhythmic sound that calmed Dweepa’s senses when he meditated.

  The sage headed for his puja room and settled on the floor, facing the idols and framed photos of the various deities. On a plate, he gently arranged the flowers he had collected from his garden and looked around. The open window bathed the room in a warm orange hue, ushering in the sunset.

  Starting his rituals, Dweepa lit the oil lamp. The flame instantly cast its luminescence on the idols. The sage looked at his most loved deity—a sky-blue idol of a handsome young man. A garland of tulsi leaves adorned his neck, a peacock feather decorated his crown and a golden flute was held to his lips. The idol that stood before the sage was designed intricately—a striking statue of Lord Krishna. His lord’s eyes were attractive and twinkled with hidden mischief, reminding Dweepa of the tales of Krishna’s pranks as a child.

  Behind the idol, on the wall towards the right, was a hand-painted portrait of an old sage seated under a banyan tree. It was the likeness of Dweepa’s ancestor, the original Sage Dweepa, the one who had lived during Krishna’s time. He was the sage to whom Krishna had entrusted the truth about the Kalki avatar. Since then, several generations of Dweepas had passed; their sole goal: to assist the last avatar of Lord Vishnu when the time came.

  The present-day Sage Dweepa was very young compared to the one in the portrait. His short black beard and moustache gave him the look of an adolescent with a grown man’s facial hair. But the truth was that the sage was in his late twenties, and his toned and flexible body was the fruit of daily exercise.

  Dweepa lit some incense sticks in front of Krishna’s idol. The fumes slowly rose and swirled in the air, spreading all around. Dweepa inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrance. Sandalwood—his lord’s favourite incense! As Dweepa waved the sticks in front of the idol, he noticed something odd about the echo of Gomati’s waves. His ears were accustomed to its calm rhythm, and he could easily recognize when they were not in sync. Like now.

  Dweepa peered outside the window. It was dark, the sun already having set. The erratic crashing of the waves shouldn’t have bothered him, as that did happen sometimes. But today it seemed unnatural, significant even.

  He looked up at the pitch-black sky and felt as if something monumental was about to happen. A sense of foreboding filled him. He found the surroundings to be eerily silent, except for the unrhythmic waves of the river. No whistling of the breeze, no chatter of the crickets, no night sounds … It was perfectly quiet. Only Gomati was awake, as if it was about to go into spate.

  Dweepa shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake off his misgivings, and placed the incense sticks on the stand in front of Krishna’s idol. The feeling of foreboding, however, continued to nag at him.

  He placed the plate containing the flowers in his lap. Taking one in his hand, he closed his eyes and started offering prayers to Krishna. At regular intervals, he presented a flower at his lord’s feet. Once Dweepa completed his prayers, he set the plate on the floor. He bowed his head to his lord as well as his ancestor.

  As he got up, he heard a peal of rumbling thunder. And with what sounded like a crack of a whip, it started raining. Dweepa rushed to the front door to close it before the rain splattered inside his home. But as he reached the threshold, he found that it was already pouring. The wind was blowing wildly, howling and bending the trees. ‘Looks like the monsoon has arrived,’ he muttered.

  No sooner had he completed the sentence, than he heard another loud clap of thunder, this time accompanied by lightning. If it had been an ordinary flash of purple-white lightning, he wouldn’t have bothered and shut the door immediately. But the lightning tonight was unlike any he’d ever seen. For it was not the ordinary flare of white lightning—it glistened red! In that suspended moment, the whole sky glowed like a ruby. It was as if someone had painted, or rather mercilessly splattered, the sky with blood. The sight sent a chill down his spine.

  Dweepa blinked, doubting his own eyes. Had he truly seen such a frightening scene? Then, as if in confirmation, the sky roared with its loudest thunderclap and flared red again! The flash illuminated the fear on the sage’s face. Dweepa could feel the hair on his arms and neck standing on end. But his fear was momentary, for it was quickly replaced by doubt. An impossible thought had struck him. ‘Could I be that lucky?’ he wondered aloud.

  The sage shut the door and hurried towards his puja room. Though he had some reservations, he was beginning to feel quite sure of what he had seen. Now he wanted to confirm if the thought that had come to him was true; if what he had seen was what it meant.

  He entered the lamplit puja room, the fragrance of sandalwood lingering in the air. It calmed Dweepa. He knelt before Krishna’s idol and bowed down to his lord. He then turned to his ancestor’s portrait and bowed to him too. Dweepa breathed deeply and looked at his ancestor’s face. Closing his eyes, he thought about the omens he had seen a few moments ago.

  Unrhythmic waves in the river, strong winds, torrential rain, loud thunder.

  Omens such as these had appeared before—only once before in history. At the time of Lord Krishna’s birth! These signs that he’d witnessed, the blood-red lightning in particular, could indicate one thing, and one thing only.

  Kalki had been born.

  The sage didn’t know where, but somewhere in this world, at that very moment, Lord Krishna had been born again to fulfil the Kalki avatar!

  THREE

  Kalanayaka was resting in a cane armchair in the veranda of his cottage as he watched the sun going down over the horizon. Enjoying the moment, he closed his eyes, leaned back and started thinking about the sacrifice he had made that morning. He was feeling especially proud today.

  The sorcerer smiled to himself. He opened his eyes and saw that half the sun was already submerged. He shut his eyes again and let his mind drift to his teenage years.

  Back then, Kalanayaka wasn’t known as Kalanayaka. He went by his birth name, Ajith. He attended the gurukul, and was interested in Hindu philosophy and mythology. In particular, Ajith was fascinated by the villains in these scriptures, like Narakasura, Ravana and others. The magnitude of the powers they possessed captivated him.

  Towards the end of his teenage years, Ajith’s interest in black magic and sorcery grew exponentially, reaching the heights of an obsession. Not only did he want to master the same abilities that his idols possessed, he wanted to surpass them. What he did not know was that his guru had noticed his young disciple’s interest and exceptional talent.

  The day he was summoned by his teacher was still vivid in Kalanayaka’s mind.

  A young man wearing yellow robes, the gurukul uniform, was seated in front of his guru under a banyan tree. He was tall and strong, with a healthy physique. His guru was in his late forties, with a long black beard and his hair twisted in a bun at the top of his head. The older man was wearing red robes, which outlined his slightly muscular built. He was reading the Vedic slokas from the palm leaves in his hand and explaining each one to his student, when he paused. ‘Ajith,’ his guru spoke softly, ‘next week you will turn twenty-two. It is time you learnt some real skills that you can use in the outside world. Skills that will help you achieve success in your mission.’

  Ajith looked questioningly at his guru. ‘My mission?’

  ‘Yes, your mission, Ajith.’

  Ajith cleared his throat and asked, ‘What … what is my mission, Guruji?’

  The guru smiled. ‘Of all the students in the gurukul, Ajith, you are the brightest and most resourceful, as well as quite hard-working. You show promise. So I am assigning this mission to you.’

  Ajith’s chest swelled with pride. He smiled, listening to the praises heaped on him.

  ‘What you have to understand first,’ his guru continued, ‘is that the mission is being assigned to you only because you are ca
pable of it.’

  Ajith nodded. He was impatient to know what his mission was.

  His teacher spoke again. ‘Your mission is to eliminate the Kalki avatar.’

  Ajith’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe his ears, shocked as he was at the words that had come out of his guru’s mouth. Then, breathing slowly, he gathered his thoughts, trying to absorb what he had just heard. He was aware of the Dashavatar of Lord Vishnu and of Kalki—the avatar he would assume in the Kali yuga, the present era. Kalki—the tenth and last avatar of Vishnu.

  My mission is to eliminate Kalki … Vishnu’s avatar? It sounds like a suicide mission! he thought to himself.

  Ajith gulped, but did not make his fear visible to the teacher. He desperately wanted a drink of water. His throat had gone dry after learning of his ‘mission’.

  ‘So next week onwards,’ the guru’s voice stopped his train of thought and brought his focus back to the conversation, ‘you will start learning sorcery. It is of the utmost importance that you learn these skills. For they will aid you in defeating Kalki.’

  Ajith nodded slowly. Even though the concept of the dark arts fascinated him, he was too shocked to be happy about the fact that he was finally getting to learn them.

  ‘Till then, revise all the fighting stances. Make sure you understand and remember everything that has been taught to you.’

  Ajith nodded again and got up. He bowed to his guru and returned to his hut. Only two words ran through his mind: kill Kalki.

  The rumbling thunder brought Kalanayaka back to the present. He looked at the inky overcast sky, from which tiny droplets of water had started falling. The sun had set. It was almost time for his evening prayers.

  Kalanayaka quickly got up from his chair and heaved it inside his house, lest it get wet. With a shallow pant, he placed the chair next to the window. He went out again to see if he had missed anything, when the wind started blowing fiercely, rustling the dry leaves on the ground. Almost instantly it began pouring heavily from the dark, dense clouds.

  The sorcerer was about to retreat inside his cottage, when a loud thunderclap reverberated all around and the dark sky flashed a bloody red. He blinked, unable to comprehend what had just happened. As he stood trying to understand this anomaly, thunder boomed again and the sky blazed red.

  Kalanayaka took in a sharp breath, horror written all over his face. It had happened once again, right before his eyes. He wasn’t dreaming after all. It made for a terrifying sight—as if the blood he had offered to the sacrificial fire was flowing into the sky. The sorcerer rushed into his house, closing the door behind him. He rested his back against the shut door, panting heavily.

  Once his breathing returned to normal, he slowly walked over to the window overlooking the veranda and peeked out. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but the sky was black.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Kalanayaka walked to the puja room to offer his evening prayers.

  FOUR

  Dweepa hurriedly took his ancestor’s portrait off the wall and placed it gently on the floor. He then turned to the wall and ran his finger down the nail from which the portrait had hung. He kept going until he felt a small circular depression. He pushed it, and a section of the wall below the depression swung open, revealing a small cavity behind it.

  The sage opened the secret panel fully and looked inside. There sat a bundle of brown palm leaves, tied together with a worn jute thread. He took out the bundle and closed the panel.

  Briskly walking to the centre of the room, the sage sat in front of Krishna’s statue. Touching the bundle to his forehead, the disciple inhaled deeply, invoking the blessings of his lord and ancestors. He ran his fingers over the stack, recollecting the tale of his lord’s foresight. Knowing full well that the truth in the leaves was instrumental to the future of the universe, Lord Krishna had cast a spell of preservation over the notes with his heavenly touch. That’s how the bundle had sustained the passage of time spanning centuries.

  Dweepa gently pulled the thread holding the palm leaves together and opened the bundle. The leaves were free of dust, for he wiped the bundle clean every morning after the puja. He touched the bundle to his forehead once again and read the first leaf. A single word at the centre. In his ancestor’s bold inscription, the Sanskrit word read:

  KALKI

  He turned the leaf and started reading the next one. His ancestor, the first Sage Dweepa, had written down the instructions given by Lord Krishna word for word. However, those weren’t the only things passed down the generations. Dweepa had also narrated the night’s events to his successor, like any great religious scripture, albeit a secret one. This practice had continued through the ages—the passing down of the sequence of events, a story that was told to all the Sage Dweepas to have lived on this earth. So when he was handed the instructions, the current Sage Dweepa, too, was told the legend of that night by his predecessor.

  Thus, when he read the instructions today, Dweepa could imagine the original exchange as if it were unfolding before his eyes. A complete picture took shape in front of him, from the rain outside to Krishna’s mischievous smile. The sage flipped through the palm leaves until he reached the page he wanted to read.

  The raindrops pattered on the roof like small pebbles. Sage Dweepa looked at Krishna, waiting for his lord to speak.

  ‘I won’t be what I am in my current avatar when I am born as Kalki. I will be born a common man and won’t be all-knowing.’ Krishna laughed softly.

  ‘Why are you laughing, my lord?’ Dweepa asked.

  Krishna gave him a mysterious smile. ‘Because I am not going to be born as Kalki after all, Sage Dweepa!’

  ‘Then why the name Kalki?’

  ‘Kalki is the name of my avatar, but it won’t be my birth name. Unlike my past avatars, all of whom were born with their avatar names … Parashurama was born as Rama, then there was Balarama, now Krishna … And as you know, Sage, the rest of the avatars were named after their appearances—Matsya, Kurma, Varaha, Narasimha …’

  Dweepa tried to grasp the logic behind his lord’s words, but couldn’t completely understand.

  ‘I’m not sure I follow, my lord,’ Dweepa said, doubt evident in his tone.

  Krishna smiled.

  A gust of cool air entered the hut through the window. The lamp illuminating the insides flickered, but did not die. After the breeze ceased, the light regained its steady glow and burnt more fiercely, as if in defiance. Krishna watched this act of the flame with amusement. He responded to the question, his eyes still fixed on the flame.

  ‘In the Kali yuga, my enemies will be strong. Strongest would be a better word. They will try, by all means necessary, to eliminate me, because I will be the only one who stands between them and the fulfillment of their corrupt desires. I will be the obstacle preventing them from fully achieving their evil goals.’

  Dweepa nodded. Krishna shifted his gaze from the lamp to Dweepa. ‘Kansa was but one person, a single enemy. You know how ruthless he was in his quest to destroy me! I fought his demons my entire childhood. But I wasn’t harmed by Kansa because I was all-knowing. I knew who the demons were; I could identify them. But I will not be all-knowing as Kalki. I will be born a common man, a normal child. I will not know who my enemy is, nor who my true friends are. I won’t be able to distinguish between them … I will be extremely vulnerable. My enemies can take advantage of that.’

  Krishna paused, glancing at the lamp again, which danced in the light wind.

  ‘Times will change in the Kali yuga. The way things work will be much advanced. So advanced that any person in the world can know that I have been born that very week of my arrival. And I am being modest. They could even know about my existence within the span of a day, an hour, minutes or even seconds. So I can’t be born as Kalki. To avoid being detected by my enemies, Kalki won’t be my birth name. That way, when my enemies try to track me by my name, they will not be able to find me.’

  Dweepa smiled at th
e ingenuity of the idea. Krishna smiled back. He kept his elbows on his knees and cupped his chin with his palm as he continued. ‘In my current birth, you and I saw just one powerful enemy—Kansa. But in the Kali yuga, every single enemy of mine will be as bad as Kansa. Probably worse …’

  Dweepa nodded gravely. It was inevitable. According to what he’d heard at Vyasa’s oral renditions of the four yuga, evil would be dominant in the Kali yuga. It would rise and grow to unimaginable proportions. Man would not be human. At least not all men would be human. Dweepa shook his head sadly and quickly wrote down what his lord had said.

  ‘My lord, you said you will be born as a common man. Does that mean you won’t be born with the ashta siddhis, as the world thinks you will be?’

  Krishna shook his head. ‘You are right. I won’t be born with the ashta siddhis.’

  Creases of worry appeared on the sage’s forehead. ‘But how will Kalki realize the purpose of his avatar if he doesn’t possess the siddhis?’

  Krishna, seeing the sage frown, said, ‘There are always other ways to fulfil my avatar, O Sage. Ashta siddhis, I can learn if I want to …’

  Dweepa looked at Krishna questioningly.

  ‘Your descendant can teach me some of the siddhis,’ Krishna said with a grin.

  Listening to his lord’s words, the creases on Dweepa’s forehead melted away, and he wrote down all the details faithfully.

  After Dweepa finished, he looked up. Krishna was smiling as he played with the peacock feather from his crown. He was caressing each strand of the feather, from its root to its tip. His lord’s smile had a special quality. Whenever Dweepa looked at his lord’s smiling face, he felt its warmth radiating through his own being. But at times, the same smile exuded a sense of mischief and knowledge to which only his lord was privy.

  Now Dweepa grew curious to learn how his descendent would come to know about his lord’s anonymous birth in the Kali yuga. If his mission was to help his lord in his Kalki avatar, then he needed to know when his lord would be born!