Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series)

by Vineet Bajpai

  ‘It shall forever be called - The Mound of the Dead.’

  Banaras, 2017

  THE MURDEROUS CODE

  Vidyut sat with his eyes fixed at a spot on the floor.

  They were now in the great matthadheesh’s room. Both Purohit ji and Dwarka Shastri could see the distress and disillusionment on Vidyut’s face. They knew they had to do something quickly. The last devta could not be permitted to drift away. Not now.

  Not with the Rohini Nakshatra being just three days away.

  ‘This battle has been raging for hundreds of years, my son,’ said Dwarka Shastri. ‘Is it really possible to fight an enemy who is hell bent on genocide and subversion of billions of human beings with non-violence?’

  Vidyut did not respond. Dwarka Shastri continued.

  ‘I agree what Balvanta did was deplorable, Vidyut. And it could have been avoided. It ought to have been avoided! But what other alternative did we have? If Balvanta had left Trijat alive, the mahataantric would have come back at us with twice the venom. Yes, we could have taken him captive. But we took Bala captive too. We all know what happened there.’

  There was silence in the room for a minute, before the matthadheesh spoke again.

  ‘We cannot be at war with a ruthless monster, that treats human lives with absolute contempt, that sheds the blood of innocents with reckless brutality - and try to remain unblemished ourselves, Vidyut. You have to understand this very clearly, my son – we are at war! It may not appear to be so at the face of things, but that is the reality.’

  Vidyut was listening. Deep at the core of the storm his mind was going through, the one thing he was certain of was the impeccable moral character and unquestioned humanity of his great grandfather.

  ‘There is no doubt we are at war, Baba. First Romi Pereira and the highly-trained mercenaries. Then Bala’s cold-blooded murder. Followed by the mahataantric and Professor Tripathi. I understand we are battling someone exceptionally powerful and relentless,’ said Vidyut.

  Both Dwarka Shastri and Purohit ji were relieved to see the devta break his silence at last.

  ‘Despite everything we are faced with, Baba, I cannot accept the taking of a human life. I could have killed Romi if I wanted. I could have killed each one of the mercenaries. But I did not. And that is what my father and mother taught me. That is what Purohit ji taught me. That is what you taught me, Baba.’

  Dwarka Shastri nodded.

  ‘Which is why Purohit asked you about the battle between good and evil as depicted in our puraanas, Vidyut.’

  Vidyut looked up suddenly, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  How could Baba know about this? He was not even there when Purohit ji said it!

  The last devta could not hide his amazement and looked at Purohit ji, who simply smiled. Vidyut shook his head and smiled himself. Both these men knew that the great matthadheesh was trikaal-darshi, or the observer of all three realms of space-time.

  ‘Hinduism or Sanatana Dharma propounds nothing but universal peace. It champions sarva-dharma-samabhaava or affectionate coexistence of all religions and faiths. It teaches the path of detachment and the search for Brahmma, or the ultimate truth. Why, it even encourages the whole world to be one large, unified family when it pronounces Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam.’

  Dwarka Shastri waited for a few seconds before continuing. He wanted his great grandson to absorb every word he spoke.

  ‘And yet Maa Durga beheads Mahishasur. Lord Krishna kills the demon Narakasur. Maa Kaali exterminates thousands of demons that emerge from the blood of Raktbeej. Lord Rama kills Ravana and Shiva destroys the Tripur demon. Indra vanquishes Vritrasur and the Narsimha avatar of Vishnu tears open the belly of the raakshasa tyrant Hiranyakashipu. This is all just to send one critical message to us humans, Vidyut.

  That evil needs to be fought. That tyranny needs to be defeated. And if violence with an oppressor is needed to prevent mass violence against millions of innocents, then that is the path to be taken by the virtuous.’

  ‘But Baba, the Masaan-raja was unarmed. He was defeated. What code of war permits the killing of someone in that state?’

  It was now that Purohit ji erupted. He stood up from his chair, red-faced. He walked a couple of steps towards Vidyut before shouting in a voice brimming with angst and long-subdued anger.

  ‘The same code that permitted the killing of the great warrior-priest Advait Shastri when he was unarmed! The same code that allowed your ancestor Markandeya Shastri to be hacked to pieces when he was alone in worship. The same murderous code that found Captain Wayne Ashbrook hanging from a tree!’

  Vidyut was stunned at Purohit ji’s words. But the indignant priest was not finished. He screamed out his last line with tears rolling down from his eyes.

  ‘The same code that permitted your father, Kartikeya Shastri, to be hunted, surrounded and killed thousands of miles away!’

  The Dark Forests of Aryavarta, 1699 BCE

  DAITYA

  He was panting heavily, his lungs all but out of breath. But there was no way he could stop.

  He had to reach his prized alchemists before they reached them.

  He was tearing his way through the dense forest, his feet slipping frequently on the slushy ground. His strong wrist clasped the handle of his heavy sword, ready to plunge into the gut of any enemy that was unfortunate enough to come in its way.

  His appearance had changed drastically over the last few months of death, devastation, battle, hate, dejection and hope. His once tonsured head was now covered with long locks of hair that bounced off his lean, strong shoulders. His clean-shaven, boyish face was now battle-hardened, with a sharp stubble over his strong jawline. His face and body were covered with scars from blades and arrows of all kinds. But there was one feature that had not changed one bit despite all the odds that had come in his way over the last few months.

  His deep, righteous, almond colored eyes.

  The penetrating honesty of Satyavrata Manu’s eyes had remained unchanged.

  Everything had been an uphill task for Manu ever since the momentous night of Harappa’s destruction had unfolded in front of his eyes. The next few days and nights had been spent in a frantic effort to evacuate the great cities of Kalibangan and Dholavira, besides other smaller townships and settlements. They had succeeded in pulling out vast numbers and saving innumerable lives, before the great flood had struck ruthlessly, mercilessly…systematically.

  As weeks and months had progressed, the deluge had engulfed hundreds of yojanas of land into its bottomless belly. Lands that once lay barren, infested with nothing but cacti and lizards, were now covered under what appeared to be the deepest of oceans. Hills and mountains that once stood like enormous titans against the skies, now lay submerged under stormy waves that kissed the thunderbolts ever so frequently.

  The great cleansing had also unearthed what lay buried deep inside human hearts and souls. It had brought out the vilest poison of human depravity, just as it uncovered astounding generosity and goodness that were thus far unknown to man. On one end the destruction and mayhem made some men and women risk everything to protect one another. Yet on the other, it transformed human beings into monsters that, even in the face of imminent extinction, left no opportunity to exploit the weak and the helpless.

  In a matter of months Satyavrata Manu’s world-view had undergone a sea change. He no longer believed that the human soul was filled with goodness unless compelled otherwise by circumstances. He had seen enough decadence of this dominant species of the planet to know one thing for sure.

  Man was an expression of God on Earth.

  Man was an imp of the devil.

  They hunted in packs like the hyena.

  They prowled the dark forests day and night. Their eyes watched everything that moved in the dense jungles. They hunted, cooked and devoured a pride of lions with the same relish as when they bit into raw fish from the streams in the wilds. Each one of these vicious forest dwellers was known as a daitya across Ary
avarta, and was feared by one and all.

  Quite like the animals they lived amongst, only brute strength and combat prowess decided the leadership of the daityas. Consequently, every chief of this vicious tribe had to challenge and publicly murder the previous leader in an unarmed fight unto death. It was little wonder that the current warlord who ruled the dark forests like its uncrowned king, was a beast of a man. Rumored to be over seven arms in height, he was believed to have torn open the gut of his predecessor with his bare hands, and tied the writhing man’s intestines as his prized waist-band.

  He was known across all of the forest lands and entire Aryavarta as Nara-Munda.

  Banaras, 2017

  KASHI VISHWANATH

  He stood in a corner of the narrow alley leading to the temple, watching all the proceedings with great interest. The Kashi Vishwanath Mandir was by far more spiritually charged than any other place of worship he had visited before. The temple alone congregated more pilgrims annually that the Vatican and Mecca combined.

  They were right. There is something strangely powerful about this place, about this ancient city.

  No wonder the devta is here.

  He could not enter the main temple premises, as foreigners were not permitted. But from outside the temple gates he could catch a glimpse of the Annakoot or the ‘Mound of Nourishment’, which served free meals to thousands of poor and destitute. He looked up from a distance at the temple’s central dome, which was once made of solid gold. He could see the silver coinages embedded in the temple floor.

  He was being stared at by passers-by. While foreigners were not a novelty in Vishwanath Gallee or the street leading to the shrine, the striking presence he carried about himself was not something they saw very frequently.

  And justifiably so.

  No one like him had visited the ancient city of Kashi before.

  He was both mesmerized and worried when he witnessed the Gyaan-Vaapi well, and the devotees around it. Known to be the source of infinite wisdom, the Gyaan-Vaapi well had several legends associated with it. One of those was that when a pillaging sultan’s armies broke into Banaras and eventually into the Kashi Vishwanath temple’s sanctum sanctorum, the chief priest of the temple lifted and embraced the Shiva Linga, before jumping summarily into the holy well – sacrificing his own life in order to prevent the divine Linga to be desecrated by the invaders.

  He watched each one of them closely, every single devotee that came to pray at the sacred well. He looked at the evidently penniless young couples. He observed the shriveled old ladies, the half-naked senile men, the weeping babies, the crippled and the diseased. What was making him anxious was the depth of unquestioned devoutness that he saw in their eyes. They couldn’t care less about their poverty. They did not let their handicap come in the way of their single-minded devotion.

  Who can overcome a people with such intense and collective spiritual force?

  Worse still, who can defeat someone who comes with this entire life-energy compressed into his supernatural being?

  The devta must be stopped before it is too late.

  Fearless as he was, he had insisted on visiting the sacred temple and the holy well alone. He now walked out of the bustling street, pacing swiftly as he always did. As soon as he came to a wider road, he was surrounded by his security drill and was lost in the midst of trained fighters.

  Vidyut, Dwarka Shastri, Damini, Purohit ji, Naina, Sonu, Balvanta and the entire Dev-Raakshasa matth had reason to worry. The whole of mankind had reason to worry.

  A very chilling reason.

  The Maschera Bianca was in Kashi.

  In a final bid to stop what was going to change the fate of mankind forever.

  The Dark Forests of Aryavarta, 1699 BCE

  ONSLAUGHT OF CREATION

  Manu and his confidante, Dhruv, had their weapons drawn. As they escorted the four master alchemists through the dark forests, their eyes were peeled and their ears strained to catch the sound of any twig cracking as an indicator of someone approaching.

  Despite the dangers lurking at every step of this God forsaken forestland, the alchemists had to be brought here. The divine Saptarishi, who were now Satyavrata Manu’s spiritual guides and partners in combatting the onslaught of pralay, had listed down essential medicinal herbs and roots that had to be collected from the depths of the dark forest in order to be preserved and carried on the Ark.

  Manu had spent several weeks coming to terms with the fact that his beloved brother, teacher, friend and philosopher, the mighty Matsya, whom Manu believed to be an avatar of Lord Vishnu Himself, had left without even saying a final goodbye.

  Matsya had left a note for Manu, urging him to call for help when all was lost. And he had left a crooked looking blow-horn for Manu. The strange horn was made of the remains of some mysterious sea-creature, and was to be used only when Manu felt that all hope had vanished for humankind, and never otherwise.

  Even though months had passed and the monumental task of constructing the universe’s most gigantic boat was underway against all forces and furies of nature, Manu felt bitterly alone without Matsya by his side. When he had accepted Matsya’s commandment of leading the building of the massive Ark, he had done so believing that the magnificent blue-man would always be there to hold his hand. But that was not to be.

  Satyavrata Manu was left alone. Alone with the gargantuan task of saving Creation against the onslaught of Creation itself!

  Manu and Dhruv had a small band of half a dozen fighters with them.

  People had become the most precious resource for the builders of the Ark. Over the last few months, as the great deluge had raged on and plundered all of Aryavarta, they had succeeded in saving several hundreds of thousands of men, women and children. By now they had successfully evacuated the city of Kalibangan and sent riders to even the distant ones like Lothal.

  Today each city contributed to the workforce and armies of Manu’s Ark. All the able-bodied men were enlisted under the infantry or cavalry, just as a significant section of them was used for the main construction labor force. A well-equipped militia was needed to defend the very last civilized human colony, albeit temporary, from raids by large gangs of bandits and invading marauders of the warlords from the savage-lands.

  The women were no less and contributed equally to the armed units as well as to the architectural workforce. They also formed and led essential teams that looked after the wounded and the sick, that built and managed massive kitchens, that protected samples of animals, plants, insects, metals, fabrics, books, herbs, seeds, firestones and maps. They forged weapons and kept detailed inventory for the construction of the greatest vessel ever known to man.

  They all battled together to stay alive to see the other side of pralay.

  The undertaking was nothing less than constructing a whole new world – that too under the punishing cold cloudbursts and heart-wrenching thunderstorms. Each high-ground they selected as their basecamp had to be abandoned in a few weeks as the deluge spread, threatening to engulf the entire planet.

  It was.

  Leaving aside a lone sacred city.

  The strapping young Dhruv raised his index finger, signaling to his small band to come to an immediate and complete standstill. He then raised all five fingers, indicating that everyone should be weapons-ready. His expert soldier’s ears had caught the faint crackle of a dry leaf.

  Manu, Dhruv and their six combatants now formed a circle around the four aged alchemists, scimitars, spears and bows ready to counterstrike in the event of an ambush.

  One of the learned alchemists, who hailed from the far-off lands beyond the Vindhya ranges, was a bit confused. He could not help but ask.

  ‘O mighty Satyavrata, we have been in the midst of adversaries several times before. Each more dangerous than the other. But never have I witnessed such alarm. Is there anything especially worrisome about the daityas?’

  Manu did not respond. But his best friend Dhruv did.

  ‘Yes,
O wise one. The daityas are a bit more hazardous than any other foes we have confronted before.’

  Manu looked at Dhruv and gave a look of disapproval. Dhruv simply winked back at his friend and leader, and completed his statement.

  ‘The daityas are Nar-Bhakshi, O learned one.

  They are cannibals.’

  Banaras, 2017

  A TOTALITARIAN GOVERNMENT

  Dwarka Shastri’s heart wept along with his great grandson. But he knew this day had to come. And Vidyut had to confront it, one way or another.

  After two and a half decades of believing that his father, Kartikeya Shastri, had died in an unfortunate car crash, the devta had discovered the reality.

  Today he was face to face with the harshest, most unbearable truth of his life.

  My father was mercilessly ambushed, outnumbered and…assassinated!

  ‘Tell me everything, Baba. No secrets, no filtered information, no waiting for the right time…I need to know everything, Baba.’

  The grand old man knew the time had come.

  ‘Everything, Baba…’ said Vidyut, emphasizing on the everything very purposefully.

  ‘Tell me about this New World Order. Tell me about the Rohini Nakshatra. What happened after the fall of the Knights Templar? Why was my father killed? Who killed him? Who is sending monsters like Romi Pereira and Trijat Kapaalik?’

  Vidyut’s eyes were shifting from those of his great grandfather to Purohit ji. He needed answers. Today.

  ‘And Baba…what is the secret of the Black Temple?’

  ‘Like I was telling you, Vidyut…the planned and vicious manipulation of the 12th century Knights Templar represented one of the early successes of the New World Order. The Templars’ meteoric rise to riches and unbridled power, and then their equally dramatic fall emboldened the Overlords of the Order like never before. They had succeeded in systematically establishing a military force. They seamlessly merged banking with politics. They concocted religion with conquest. They got the priest to partner with the king. They spawned a formidable military outfit when they chose to. They decimated the same at will.’