by S Venkatesh
For a couple of moments, he remained in shock till he managed to compose himself and open his eyes.
He could still move his shoulder and arms. Probably just bad bruises and not a fracture, he thought to himself.
To his surprise, he realised that the Sumo had not fallen too low, having gotten entangled in a thick bush on a ledge very close to the hairpin bend.
He gingerly hoisted himself up and forced open the door, easing himself out of the vehicle. With visibility close to zero, he reached for his rucksack and put on his night vision goggles.
He was on a precarious ledge on the hill. There was a steep drop on one side, with the hill on the other.
As he got up to move away from the Sumo, being unused to night vision goggles, he misjudged the angle.
Sam’s wail was drowned by the sound of the wind as he slipped and plummeted down from the ledge.
***
Delhi, Wednesday, 5 p.m.
Roads in central Delhi were cordoned off as the heads of state were driven to the International Cricket Stadium in separate motorcades.
The international news media—reporters from newspapers, magazines, websites and television crews—had shown up in full strength. Delhi was effectively the centre of the world for those few hours.
***
Sikkim, Wednesday, 5 p.m.
Sam was stuck. Was this how it was all going to end?
Even if there had been no blinding rain and howling wind, there would still have been nobody to see him fall or hear his call for help. There was not a soul around for miles together.
He was swinging precariously from an outcrop of rock jutting out from the hill. His shoulder was badly bruised from the crash, but the biggest problem was that he had no way of getting back to the ledge.
The outcrop of rock would not hold Sam’s weight for longer than a few minutes. And while Damini was tracking him on his satellite phone’s GPS, he would be long dead before she arrived. Was he destined for a lonely death, away in the hills where nobody would find him?
But maybe that was fitting. That he had spent his childhood years in the hills, and would die in the hills he so loved.
In that moment, while hanging precariously, Sam decided something quietly.
That if he made it out of here, he would spend his life doing things that he enjoyed the most.
Like trekking up the hills.
Drinking cold coffee, topped up with ice cream.
Spending more time with friends.
Listening to more music.
Going out dancing.
Most of all, he would not shy away from his feelings for the woman he loved.
He would do all this, and more, if only he could make it out of here alive.
***
Sam’s eyes widened as he caught sight of another narrow ledge just below where he was hanging.
He would have to perform a craftily executed jump to get to the ledge, but it was within the realm of possibility. The weight of the rucksack was proving to be an unbearable burden, but he could not let go of it without himself losing his grip.
Sam muttered a small prayer, held his breath and jumped, rucksack still strung over his shoulders.
As he jumped, the micro-GPS device which had been planted in his rucksack by the craggy, bearded man from the rocket bus fell out and down to the rocks below.
***
The Mansion, Wednesday, 5.05 p.m.
The man sitting in the control room at the Mansion had been continuously staring at the moving blip on his screen for the past few hours. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as the blip came to a stop.
He clicked on the computer’s mouse a couple of times as the satellite picture around the blip enlarged. He then picked up the earphones off the brass handle-rail and dialled a number.
‘Yes?’ the voice on the other line said. It was the Maestro himself.
‘The rookie seems to be hovering around the same point, sir. Either he has found the place, or he has dropped the GPS, or he is dead.’
‘I can see that on my handheld device,’ the voice said curtly. ‘And don’t call him a rookie. There is a saying in my country: it ain’t over till you have your opponent’s severed head in front of you.’
***
Yumthang, Wednesday, 5.10 p.m.
Sam muttered a small prayer of thanks as he entered Yumthang valley. It was located roughly a hundred thirty kilometres away from Gangtok, at an altitude of 11,693 feet.
The hairpin bend where the Sumo had crashed had been just off Yumthang. He had to brave the pain in his bruised shoulder and the heavy woolen clothing was wearing him down. But the temperamental weather lent him a helping hand, and the skies had cleared up once again. It had just been a five-minute walk to Yumthang valley.
There was no sign of life anywhere in the valley. A couple of shacks which catered to tourists during the day were tightly shut, the owners probably ensconced in blankets in Lachung.
Sam sighed as he recalled a line from a verse.
Climbing unwaveringly up the path beyond the Garden of Heaven.
He had last come to Yumthang seventeen years ago. The Colonel was young and sprightly then, full of life. They had been awed by the multi-coloured carpet of flowers, with pink, blue, red and yellow competing for attention against the green meadows. Sam, then eleven years old, had simply lain down in the grass, among rhododendrons.
A veritable Garden of Heaven.
Things, however, were different now. It was the monsoon season, and the rhododendrons were replaced by tiny primroses. At this hour of the evening, all that registered in Sam’s consciousness was the rumble of the Lachung Chu river and the eerie howl of the bone-chilling winds.
***
Along the Lachung Chu river, off Yumthang, Sikkim, Wednesday, 5.25 p.m.
Sam was hiking along the Lachung Chu river, leaving behind the last bastion of civilisation at Yumthang. He found himself gasping a little as he walked, thanks to the progressively declining oxygen levels in the atmosphere.
Sam remembered that during his childhood, the Colonel and he had trekked further up from Yumthang to a place called Yumesamdong, also called Zero Point. He remembered playing in the snow there, without a care in the world.
The emotion seemed alien to Sam now. With Ananya missing and tens of thousands of lives at stake in Delhi, it seemed like the worries of the whole world rested on his shoulders.
The storm had subsided, the rains and mist had reduced and the moon was reflected in the glistening waters of the river. He was surrounded by tall, imposing peaks on all sides, which were reflecting the moonlight on their snow-clad surfaces.
Sam frowned as he looked at his compass. The westerly direction was diverging from the path of the Lachung Chu. Was he missing something?
He took off his night vision goggles to gauge the landscape properly. The moonlight was giving him a headache, thanks to the night vision goggles that were taking ambient light and amplifying it.
Sam heaved a sigh of relief as he looked to the west and found a smaller tributary of the Lachung Chu in that direction.
The stream seemed to emerge from a winding path through what seemed like a very treacherous slope up a barren, icy hill.
So that was the river referred to in the verses.
Walking by the river through blinding mists
Crossing the greatest moat of them all
The lion’s mane shall meet the scorpion’s claws.
There was a deathly silence, and not a soul around for miles.
Not a living soul, Sam corrected himself as the local legends from the inn in Lachung came to his mind.
But somehow, in the silence, as Sam contemplated the lonely uphill path along the stream, the reflected moonlight took on eerie hues; the hills seemed more foreboding, and Sam did not find the legends funny anymore.
***
International Cricket Stadium, Delhi, Wednesday, 5.50 p.m.
Bugles went off as the Indian cricket team and the Dream Combo X
I team trooped into the field at the International Cricket Stadium. This had been preceded by a five-minute speech by the chairman of the Board of Control of Cricket in India (BCCI) welcoming the dignitaries, and a five-minute classical dance programme to showcase Indian culture to the guests.
In the VVIP box, the US President, the Prime Minister of the UK, and the Indian hosts were sharing a light joke.
The Indian team won the toss and chose to bat.
***
Along the stream near Yumthang, Wednesday, 6 p.m.
Sam slowly made his way along the small tributary of the Lachung Chu.
The weather had cleared up further, and the moonlight was brightly shining through, providing good visibility of the surrounding hills.
It had only been forty minutes from the time he had left Yumthang when Sam—focused on his quest and looking in the westerly direction—saw the unmistakable rock formation atop the hills.
The final clue to his destination.
The lion’s mane meeting the scorpion’s claws.
It looked different from the way it appeared in the dream. The dream, after all, was not a supernatural realisation. It was his subconscious mind’s way of processing the verses.
The rock formation was distinct and striking. Sam was awestruck for a few moments as he stared at the majestic image.
The Gupt-Kandara ought to be nearby now.
***
Wednesday, 6.15 p.m.
Sam’s initial euphoria had given way to frustration as he realised that he was still not quite there.
Walking up to the spot where the lion’s mane met the scorpion’s claws was easy. It was along the stream which was a tributary of the Lachung Chu. But he could not figure out where the entrance to the Gupt-Kandara was located.
And then luck dealt him a helping hand. With the air and the skies continuing to clear up, and visibility by the moonlight getting progressively better, it was on his fourth circuit of the area that he spotted a ledge, almost like a platform, high up on the hill close to the spot where he was standing. The ledge was on the opposite side of the stream.
It looked strikingly similar to a balcony. It had to be some kind of opening either to or from the Hidden Cave.
But the ledge was located on a naked cliff almost three hundred feet above the valley. And the three hundred feet comprised sheer slippery rock, with no ridges or footholds, dropping right down to the stream below.
There was no way any person—except somebody who could fly—could reach the place.
***
Sam hovered for a couple of minutes, trying to find a way to get up to the ledge.
There were no footholds or ridges to hook a rope. Only slippery, icy rocks.
Sam remembered an incident from his childhood when the Colonel had taken him trekking to the Paro Taktsang, the Tiger’s Nest monastery in Bhutan. They had eaten at a cafeteria along the way and had a great time together. This was when the Colonel was still his jovial self; before the incident that had changed their lives.
Sam felt a sharp pang of sadness as he realised that time would never come back again. Neither that mood with all its joie de vivre, nor the innocence of childhood.
He remembered looking at the temple and asking, ‘Gosh, there is no way to get up there.’
‘There’s always a way,’ the Colonel had told him. ‘You just have to find it.’
***
Maybe there was a different opening. Maybe finding that was where Sam ought to focus his effort.
He decided to trace the path of the stream, braving the muscle cramps that seemed to be gnawing at his legs.
A little further up, he came across a place where the narrow stream disappeared into the mountain face. Thankfully, the path that he was on also led into the mountain face.
He had to crouch as he entered the mountain face, as his path, with the stream below, also narrowed down. He was probably getting closer to the source of the stream.
He would have to find a convenient spot to cross the stream and get on the same side as the high ledge that he had spotted.
It was dark inside the mountain face, and he had to switch on his flashlight. To his surprise, he realised that the stream got so narrow inside that he could actually jump from his side of the steam to the opposite side relatively easily.
Sam took the plunge and jumped.
As he got a hold on the rock opposite, he switched his flashlight on again. The stream led right into the mountain face.
As he crawled forward, he saw something that made his eyes widen.
Right where he was crouched, there was a place where the rock was different from the surroundings. Almost as if it was a gateway, a door, distinct from the background.
An untrained eye would not have spotted it. But Sam, as an experienced trekker and nature lover, was sensitive to geology and natural formations. To him, the difference in colour and texture was unmistakable.
He gingerly reached forward and touched and prodded the rock at that place.
Sure enough, with a clank and a groan, the rock slid sideways to reveal an opening.
It made sense now. The ledge that he saw on the way here was probably just a vantage point, not the entrance. This one was the real entrance to the Gupt-Kandara, the Hidden Cave.
***
Wednesday, 6.28 p.m.
Sam called Damini using his satellite phone and told her that he had found the Cave.
She said, ‘I can see the coordinates of the satellite phone GPS.’
‘I’m going in,’ Sam said.
Damini’s mind raced. This was the moment when she would have to talk Sam out of handing the Prativisha to the Maestro, in case he found an opportunity to barter it in exchange for Ananya.
‘Hold on,’ Damini said. ‘I am already on my way to Chungthang by road. I should be able to reach your coordinates by 11 p.m. You should wait till then.’
‘No,’ Sam replied. ‘We don’t have the time. People in Delhi are probably already at risk. I’m going in.’
Damini was a trifle relieved to hear that Sam intended averting the Delhi Demo rather than bartering with the Maestro. ‘We have to decide how to handle things once you find the Prativisha.’
‘Let me find it first,’ Sam replied tersely, as he was again hit by the sinking realisation that he might have a tough choice ahead of him.
***
International Cricket Stadium, Delhi, Wednesday, 6.30 p.m.: the moment of release of KaalKoot
Sylvan paused for a moment to catch his breath. What he was doing was monumental.
By pressing the trigger, he would be unleashing KaalKoot, the deadliest biological weapon ever.
Those directly affected, including the dignitaries and the press reporters, would start feeling the symptoms in an hour. Some would drop dead instantly, and all would die within sixty hours. Some of these people would start feeling delusional and fearful, creating pandemonium. Those indirectly affected in the second, third and fourth rounds—through breath and touch from the primary infectees—would die, too.
The heads of state of most of the developed world would die. Entire governments would scurry about trying to control the disease. But they would all be unsuccessful.
Then the blame game would begin—China, Russia, the US, UK, Germany and France—the world’s most powerful countries, with nuclear arsenals that could obliterate the planet many times over.
Sylvan swallowed hard as the implication of what he was about to do hit him.
But he paused no more than a moment.
With a controlled motion, he squeezed the trigger as he started walking across the stands, the special backpack with the cylinders slung over his shoulders. With his handheld device, he signalled to Yash and Yuko to do the same.
***
At the entrance to the Hidden Cave, Wednesday, 6.30 p.m.: the same moment as the release of KaalKoot in Delhi
Sam paused for a minute as the opening in the rock came into view. After this point, there would be no tu
rning back; no second chances. This was not his education venture. He could not just bail out when things got rough.
Here, if things didn’t work out, it probably meant that he would die—in an underground grave far away from civilisation.
He shuddered as the memory of a verse from the Yogyaveer’s scroll came to mind.
Verse 4
The secret shall be revealed only to the Worthy Heir
That person alone, of supreme faith, courage, stillness and compassion
Shall be able to conquer the Agonies
And prevent KaalKoot from striking again.
Sam sighed. He was no Superman.
Then an image came to his mind—of a woman whose dimpled smile reached all the way to her eyes—and he found himself mustering up the courage.
The opening widened as Sam pushed it, leaving enough space for him to climb in.
CHAPTER 42
Inside the Gupt-Kandara, Wednesday, 6.31 p.m.
The first thing Sam noticed, to his surprise, was that the cave was lit, albeit dimly. After taking a couple of seconds to orient himself, he realised that the light was coming from a series of rocks which were scattered throughout the chamber he was in.
‘Probably made of some chemiluminescent material,’ Sam thought, remembering his chemistry lessons. While fluorescent material emitted light that had been absorbed earlier, chemiluminescence involved light emission as a result of a chemical reaction.
The walls of the cave, too, were made from a material which reflected the light from the luminescent rocks. The Yogyaveer had sure known what he was doing.
The air inside the cave was surprisingly fresh. Probably recycled through plants? Sam remembered reading about a plant called Devil’s Ivy which was considered an effective indoor air purifier.
The rock had shut completely behind Sam, leaving no opening whatsoever. In fact, it had closed so smoothly that it was impossible to discern that an opening had been there at all.
Smooth mechanical engineering, Sam thought. Not bad for a recluse from the 1940s.
The Yogyaveer had clearly kept abreast of engineering progress on his occasional trips to civilisation.
Sam could not see any obvious levers through which the entrance could be opened from the inside. He could not go out the way he had come in.