Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series)

by Vineet Bajpai

  ‘Have you noticed something, Vidyut…whether it was the American war for independence or the French revolution, the Bolshevik storming of the Russian Tsar or the World Wars, the Cold War or the Middle East, Kashmir or Chechnya…the world has not been free of war and bloodshed even for a day?’

  The devta was in deep thought. The great matthadheesh was right. But it could not be all so simple.

  ‘You are right, Baba. But don’t you think that is so because we humans or our species Homo Sapiens has a spectacular talent for self-destruction? Isn’t forming groups, tribes or states, and then fighting to protect these identities an essential element of human evolution?’

  Before Dwarka Shastri could respond, Purohit ji spoke up.

  ‘Can we really be sure of what is the cause and what is the effect, Vidyut? What you have said about us humans is based on your observation of the continuous violence we inflict upon ourselves. But do we fight because we are genetically, biologically predisposed to bloodshed? Or have we accepted ourselves to be violent because someone or something has never let us live in peace? For example, a majority of the people of both India and Pakistan want harmony between the two nations. Four wars have been fought and innumerable lives have been lost. Both countries that should be investing into healthcare, education and employment, are busy building nuclear warheads and buying fighter jets worth billions of dollars. When for decades the ordinary Indian or Pakistani wants peace, what do you think is stopping it?’

  ‘The New World Order…’ concluded Vidyut.

  ‘Okay, Baba, now I understand broadly what the New World Order’s design is, and that it is run by some extraordinarily powerful people who thirst for more power. But I am still not clear about exactly what they want to achieve with so much intrigue, influence and control.’

  ‘Their goals are as simple as they are audacious, and are perhaps beyond the comprehension capability of ordinary folk. Here is what they want to establish as the New World Order –

  A one-world economy.

  A one-world religion.

  A one-world military.

  A one-world society.

  And a one-world government…’

  ‘…concentrated completely in the hands of their own so-called brotherhood,’ said Vidyut, completing his great grandfather’s sentence.

  Vidyut was amazed at what he was hearing. He could not believe that something so sinister, something of such convolution and massive dimension was lurking around the entire planet like a black shadow, and yet close to seven billion people lived in absolute oblivion!

  Dwarka Shastri continued.

  ‘Like I mentioned to you before, the first time a world-leader openly declared the name ‘New World Order’ was in 1921, when US President Woodrow Wilson used it in public. He was referring to the newly formed League of Nations post the aftermath of the First World War, but that was when we, the guardians of the Black Temple, knew that the Order had achieved dangerous proportions and was ready to unveil its hideous face on the world-stage.

  Thereafter several influential men began talking about a New World Order from various public platforms and media. The list of these men included Presidents and Prime Ministers of developed countries. It also included business barons and thought-leaders. Is it a coincidence that the exact same term, the New World Order, has been used again and again for nearly one hundred years, from 1921 to now? It was a seed being sown, Vidyut.

  It was as if the need for a New World Order was being artificially implanted into the minds of the populace.’

  ‘Baba, earlier you had mentioned that the most potent modus operandus of the Order was that it fought wars from both ends. What did you mean by that? Which wars did they fight or control from both sides of the border?’

  ‘I am glad you asked this question, Vidyut, because the answer to this will untie numerous knots of mystery and terror that surround the history of the Order. And how the impact of this secret brotherhood is far greater than you can imagine in your wildest dreams. Once you discover the truth, the world will never look the same to you.’

  After everything that Vidyut had heard and been through, he was certain that nothing could shock him anymore.

  He was wrong.

  ‘Tell me please, Baba. I am eager to know what kind of an impression a group of determined and cruel people can have on our past and present. After all, how much can one secret society influence the course of history?’

  The matthadheesh smiled but it never reached his eyes, that were now cold as stone. He asked Vidyut questions that his great grandson never saw coming.

  ‘Who do you think was behind the French Revolution, Vidyut? And the disintegration of the Soviet Union?

  Or for that matter…9/11?’

  The Marshes of Aryavarta, 1699 BCE

  THE ARK

  Raindrops struck their faces like whiplashes, as they rode towards the great plains. A vast high-ground in the heart of the plains had been chosen as the construction site for mankind’s greatest undertaking ever.

  Dhruv led the mounted caravan as it made way through shrieking wind and torrential cloudburst. Nothing could be seen for miles except barren marshlands and distant mountains. The continuous downpour did not permit anything to grow. All vegetation of Aryavarta, but for the dark forests, had been washed away months ago. This band looked like they were riding on another planet, that had never hosted life in any form.

  Tara and twenty members from her combat outfit comprising young women followed Dhruv closely behind. Given his deep admiration for this fierce and effective force, Manu had christened the women’s wing with the name Damini Sena, or the Thunderbolt Army.

  The Damini Sena was no less formidable than the best warrior-squads that rode under Manu’s sparkling Sun-banner.

  Manu had no inkling then that his beloved, late mother Sanjna would be reborn and take the name of Damini three thousand and seven hundred years from that day.

  Manu himself rode behind the massive horse-carts that were laden with provisions meant for the workforce at the site. Two hundred carts. And this was a comparatively small convoy. The supply lines for the construction site were open round the clock. Thousands of toiling men and women had to be fed, clothed and provided with raw material.

  The caravan stretched nearly half a yojana in length, and was progressing towards its destination under a guard of one thousand, armed cavalry. In the past weeks and months several supply convoys had been attacked and looted by the brigands of the mountain-warlords as well as the vicious daityas. Manu was riding close to what was, in current times, an irresistible bounty for the attackers. He knew they were being watched at every step. He also knew how critical it was for these rations and materials to reach his people at the construction site.

  They rode over a patch of rocky hills, over which a road had been built for the supply-carts to cross with ease. As they arrived on the other side, they saw it.

  They were still very far from the high-ground, still at least a day’s ride away…and yet they saw it rise from the horizon like a Colossus.

  The Ark.

  Each time he set his eyes upon the mammoth Ark, Manu felt a strange mix of pride and hope. In a little over just eight months, they had succeeded in building the basic framework of this enormous boat that was larger than anything the human mind could fathom. From a distance, the Ark looked like a giant grey screen had descended from the heavens, splitting the earth and the skies in half.

  As one rode closer to this marvel of ancient engineering, it blocked the horizon in totality. It was like riding towards a wall that stretched from and to infinity. Slowly, the skeletal details and the raw robustness of the vessel would become clearer. Hundreds of thousands of the mightiest oaks had been harnessed and bent using brute force to form the gigantic hull of the Ark. Nearly an equal number of the strongest tree trunks, vine-cables and enormous rocks had been deployed as stilts to hold the giant boat aloft.

  Upon even closer approach, one could spot what appeared t
o be millions of tiny, moving figures. From a few miles away, it could be determined what these creatures were. They were people! So many in number that they looked like termite infesting a banyan tree trunk. Tens of thousands of men, women and children working incessantly under insufferable conditions to keep the hope for mankind alive.

  It was a spectacle in every sense. Hundreds of thousands of people from different cities, provinces and languages came together to shoulder this heroic enterprise. Every copper nail that got hammered into soaking wood took humankind one step further away from definite extinction. They fought hunger, disease, wild animals, bereavement, mutilation and all imaginable forms of suffering every hour of every day. But soon this collective endeavor made something very clear to the entire universe. That one instinct buried deep inside the spirit of man was more powerful than the greatest forces of nature.

  The instinct for survival.

  But the building of a monumental Ark came with its own price.

  Every day several workers died in accidents. The unceasing thunderstorms and violent rain made movement and judgment blurry at all times. Some slipped and fell from the top rungs of the Ark to certain death. Others got crushed under dislodged beams that were as heavy as rocks. Yet others were struck by deadly lightning that now rained ominously, striking the great Ark at several places at the same time. On top of all of this, every day several men and women succumbed to construction related injuries or sheer exhaustion.

  But the leading cause of the loss of human life was something else.

  Dozens of sleeping men, women and children were dragged away in the horror of the screaming nights.

  To be eaten alive.

  New York, 2017

  THE STONEFELLAR FAMILY

  He excused himself from the board meeting he was presiding over and walked swiftly towards his own lavish office chamber that overlooked the imposing Manhattan skyline. He was 44, with blonde hair and wore the finest business suit money could buy. But what he wore with most ease was an expression of regality…of someone who was born into extraordinary wealth and power.

  He swiped his iPhone to receive the incoming call. The heir of the Stonefellar family knew better than to miss a call from the Big Man.

  They were partners. They both occupied seats at the highest bench of the Order. They were both among the Overlords – the Supreme Masters of the world’s most powerful and sinister secret brotherhood.

  ‘Greetings, Holiness,’ said Frank Stonefellar. He was sixth-generation rich and was a billionaire many times over. Neither he nor his Hollywood movie-star wife were fully cognizant of the spread of their financial interests. His family had its forceful tentacles into every global business that mattered – oil, pharmaceuticals, infotech, media, arms and most of all…international banking.

  ‘Hello, Frank. How is business, my son?’

  ‘All well, your Holiness,’ replied Frank.

  ‘And how are Beatrice and little Simon? He must be what, six now?’

  ‘With your blessings, they are both doing good, father,’ said Frank, getting irritated with the niceties. He knew the Big Man was not nice, and couldn’t care less for Frank’s wife Beatrice and his son Simon.

  In fact, Frank was waiting for the right time and the right opportunity to get the conniving old scoundrel eliminated.

  ‘Hearing from you is always a delight, Father. How can I be of service?’

  The Big Man knew that a poisonous serpent lurked behind the glib words of Frank Stonefellar. He was well aware of the tycoon’s pedigree.

  They are a family of deceivers. For generations. Once I am done with the devta and the Black Temple, it will be vital to end the Stonefellar bloodline for good.

  Forgive me Lord, for Simon is a child. But what must be done, has to be done.

  ‘The pleasure is mine, Frank. You are an old friend I trust deeply and love from the bottom of my heart.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual, your Holiness. In fact, Beatrice was asking when we will have the honor of hosting you again.’

  The Big Man feigned a polite laugh. He decided to come to the point.

  ‘Beatrice is as generous as she is beautiful. Now listen, Frank, you know what is going on in that dangerous Indian city on the banks of the Ganges, right?’

  ‘Yes, father. I am counting the minutes to the prophesied hour now. Everything we have accomplished over millennia, all the sacrifices, all the cleansing, the corporations, the wars and the epidemics…all for this one final hour. We cannot fail now, father. We must not fail!’

  ‘We will not, Frank,’ responded the Big Man from Rome. ‘The Maschera is our deadliest asset. He has never failed in the past. And you know what makes him different…what makes him invincible. You know what darkness prowls behind this mask.’

  Both Frank Stonefellar and the Big Man knew what was at stake. They both knew that if Vidyut was not stopped, they would lose the final battle. The grand world order they envisioned would scorch to vapor in the heat of what was coming.

  They knew if Vidyut succeeded in unfurling the secret of the Black Temple, a force mightier than any other in the universe would descend on planet earth. A force so devastatingly omnipotent, that even their all-powerful global brotherhood would not be able to stand in its way.

  Just like the great Dwarka Shastri and Purohit ji, the Big Man and Frank Stonefellar were also convinced.

  This battle between Vidyut and the White Mask was going to decide the fate of humanity till the end of time.

  Rashtrakuta Kingdom, 762 Ad

  PRITHVIVALLABHA

  ‘The riders from Kashi have arrived, my lord.’

  The mighty King Kannesvara, better known across the far lands and the seven seas as the indomitable Prithvivallabha, turned to face the general of his army - his senapati.

  This is the moment I was born for.

  Prithvivallabha was the most powerful king in the southern peninsula of the Indian subcontinent. The tales of his valor had travelled far. In a short span of a few years since ascending the throne of the Rashtrakuta dynasty, his armies had crushed numerous formidable opponents like King Sripurusha of Gangavadi and the Shilaharas of Konkan. He had also vanquished the Chalukya ruler Vishnuvardhana.

  But it was not his conquests alone that made Prithvivallabha’s glory reach dizzy heights both south and north of the Vindhyas. It was also something else.

  Prithvivallabha was a great devotee of Lord Shiva. And he was a legendary builder of splendid rock-cut, cave temples.

  However, even he did not know that his most profound work was yet to take shape. A monument that would make him battle both man and God, and immortalize his name forever.

  ‘I shall welcome them myself,’ said the king, as he wrapped a royal stole around his shoulders and prepared to step out of his residential chamber.

  As he stepped into the vast courtyard of his beautiful palace along with his senapati, Prithvivallabha saw the entourage from Kashi enter from the front gate. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the horse-cart that trudged in the middle of the convoy, surrounded by saffron and crimson-robed warrior-monks of Varanasi’s mystical Dev-Raakshasa matth.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and muttered a prayer to Harihara, a sacred form of the lord that combined the divinity of both Shiva and Vishnu. Prithvivallabha knew that if there was any day in a thousand years when the unity of Shiva and Vishnu was to be celebrated, it was today.

  As the horsemen trotted closer and dismounted one after another, the king saw their leader. It was the current reigning matthadheesh of the Dev-Raakshasa clan, the widely revered taantric and saint, Durgadas Shastri. He rode right in front of the horse-cart that carried a massive, ancient trunk made from a strangely unrecognizable alloy.

  The two great men looked at each other and smiled. Their mutual admiration and affection was evident to the Rashtrakuta senapati, who was busy welcoming the warrior-monks with scented water and traditional chiroti sweets.

  ‘Welcome to my humble abode, O gr
eat Durgadas Shastri,’ said the king, his hands folded in veneration.

  The 8th century matthadheesh dismounted, walked up to Prithvivallabha and placed his hands on the mighty king’s shoulders.

  ‘It is a delight to see you again, my old friend. Last time we met, you were a young prince,’ said Durgadas Shastri.

  ‘And your hair was black…!’ quipped the king, as both men shared a merry laugh.

  With the pleasantries over between the two old friends, Durgadas politely refused a tray of refreshments. The matthadheesh drew the king’s attention to the very precious cargo he had brought along.

  ‘This is now yours to protect, O king,’ he said, pointing to the long, alloy trunk.

  Prithvivallabha looked at the trunk, mesmerized. Whatever lay inside the metallic box seemed to cast a spell over the king.

  The Rashtrakuta emperor walked slowly towards the horse-cart and gently brushed his fingertips on the alloy trunk, completely overwhelmed. He then placed both his hands and rested his forehead on it.

  And wept with tears of devotion.

  ‘But Shastri ji, the Kashi Vishwanath mandir has been described in the Kashi Khanda of the Skanda Purana…it is meant to be eternal. How can it be destroyed by any force on Prithvi?’

  They were now in the king’s majestic dining hall. Despite a fifty-six-course meal being offered by the emperor, Durgadas Shastri ate only a bowl of rice boiled with milk. Like all his predecessors, he was an ascetic - who had devoted his life to protect the secret of the Black Temple. He also knew, that true to the ancient curse of the Blood River, he was going to die a violent, brutal death.

  ‘The temple is eternal and it shall remain timeless. But it will change its shape and form, Prithvivallabha. A few centuries from now, the shrine will fall. Only to rise again. And again. Eventually the secret of the Black Temple will return to Kashi, O king. It will return when the devta arrives. Until then, you are among the chosen guardians.’