Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series)

by Vineet Bajpai

  As they succeeded in singling him out and surrounding him, the fiend broke into an outraged laugh...slapping his own head in an insane display of fearlessness. In the next moment, his exultant face suddenly turned barbaric, and from under the arm-deep water they all stood in, he produced the long, smoothened trunk of a tall tree!

  It was beyond the imagination of the Ark commanders to see someone twirl an oaken tree like a regular staff. Nara-Munda’s veins throbbed on his muscular girth, as he swung the long tree stalk like a toothpick. In one sweeping stroke, he struck twenty riders of the fish-folk. Chests and ribs fractured in moments. Skulls and shoulder-blades of the warriors of the fish-tribe were crushed to powder.

  In the minutes that passed, the king of the cannibals wreaked havoc in the fish-folk regiments. His bizarre weapon of choice crushed the craniums of horses just the way it shattered the armor of the sea-folk.

  It was soon clear to everyone. It was written with the ink of the fish-folk’s blood.

  The demon Nara-Munda was the harbinger of hell.

  He was the future king of the great Ark.

  He was the future lord of the Earth.

  ‘Gandhak ki jwaala ko ye bhi nahin rok paayega, Dhruv...’

  ‘Even he will not be able to stand in the way of the destructive flames of gandhak, Dhruv...’

  Dhruv was now smeared in blood, part from his own wounds and the rest from the ruptured arteries of the daityas who had fallen prey to the archer’s sword and arrows.

  The two magnificent men, who had together pulled mankind along on the road to survival for over a year, were now distressed beyond measure. They had no choice left but to turn to the ultimate weapon that He had left them with.

  The weapon of mass destruction that Matsya had left them with.

  Gandhak.

  Banaras, 2017

  ‘HE IS HERE...’

  Vidyut felt he was travelling through space, through time, through galaxies, across births and deaths, wars and famines, revolutions and renaissance, meeting saint and satan, families and fortunes. He seemed to be dying several times, coming alive in different worlds, he remembered the fragrance of many mothers, the kiss of many lovers, the laughter of his children, the angst of his lost loved ones. He remembered happy homes and somber graveyards, the courts of kings and the huts of hermits.

  His chosen soul was scattered across the universe, beyond the realm of time, worlds and distances.

  And it was all happening since he had laid eyes on the prophetic letters written in the holy scroll he held in his trembling hands.

  ‘I...I... cannot make out anything, Baba...’ he gasped.

  Dwarka Shastri could not hear his beloved great grandson’s words in the din of the prayer-chants. But he understood. He gestured with his eyes, urging the devta to look harder, look closer.

  ‘Read from the eyes of your soul, Vidyut...’

  The matthadheesh had not said anything. But Vidyut heard these words in his mind.

  Vidyut looked at the scroll again, feeling nearly dizzy with the spiritual energy that was overtaking him completely.

  Strange sights flashed in his mind like lightning. He saw a gigantic deluge swallowing a magnificent city. He could see the faint smile of a dying woman, struck down by arrows. He found himself surrounded by scores of gnarling warriors, covered in ash. A merry family enjoying a feast of pooris and kheer together. A ravishing dancing-girl stepping out in a splendid mansion. He saw three blind black-magicians incanting demonic verses in a haunting cave. A man yelling ‘Ride to the East...find the Black Temple’. A hollow mountain, with a gigantic statue of Shiva. He saw himself falling from a cliff, shooting arrows amidst mountains made of brick and bronze. He saw himself drenched in blood, sweat and spit, being tortured by a delirious crowd in a prehistoric arena. A courtroom with guffawing judges. A clay seal with a one-horned bull. The screams of men in dungeons worse than a grave. A raging blue fire. A gigantic boat, beyond human conception. Two Portuguese executioners with steel fangs. A mighty Roman emperor.

  And then he saw Him.

  A face more handsome than he could ever imagine...laughing joyfully. An indescribable man with the golden-blue skin of a fish! Vidyut saw the magnificent fish-man in the black cave-temple of Shiva, making fun of him like an inseparable friend. Over a bonfire, eating a meal of poha like family. Pronouncing the onset of a great deluge, ‘PRALAY...ESHHYATI...!’, like a hard mentor. He then saw the blue fish-man, perched atop a high rock, standing tall against screaming skies, glowing like the prophet of prophets.

  The last devta opened his eyes. He looked at the ancient scroll.

  Tears flowed down his eyes as the words magically came to life.

  It all made sense now to the devta.

  After 3,700 years since this day was foretold...

  ...Vidyut had unveiled the secret of the Black Temple.

  He was now on his knees, bowed before the statue of Lord Shiva. The devta was weeping uncontrollably, and yet lost in a meditative trance.

  Kashi had now erupted in celebration. They did not know what or who they were welcoming, but the Rohini Nakshatra was now at its peak, and the holy men of Banaras knew the Dev-Raakshasa matth was rejoicing...after centuries!

  And that meant only one thing.

  The savior had arrived!

  Damini could not stay away from Vidyut anymore. She decided to go to him, to hold him, to share his burden. As soon as she stepped forward, something froze her steps. Out of nowhere an extremely old yet mystical looking yogi stood in front of Vidyut. He was both fearsome and benevolent. Damini gasped as she noticed his skin. It was like that of a serpent!

  But her fear evaporated when she saw the strange, gigantic, scaled man brush his hand on Vidyut’s head, in profound love and blessings. The snake-man’s eyes were tender, like he was caressing his own child.

  ‘Come here, bitiya...’ said Dwarka Shastri, now looking visibly exhausted, yet supremely contented.

  His life’s work was done.

  ‘He is here, Damini...He is here...’ said Vidyut into his soulmate’s ears, as she held him close.

  ‘Yes, Vidyut...it’s okay...tell me when you can...’ Damini replied. For her, the well-being of Vidyut was more important than the most prized secret of the universe.

  ‘Why did I not grasp this sooner, Damini...?’ continued the devta, his head bowed, tears flowing at the feet of Shiva. Damini’s arms were still wrapped around her devta.

  ‘Grasp what, Vidyut...? Who is here, my love...?’ she asked. She could sense that Vidyut wanted to share the secret of the Black Temple with her.

  ‘He is here, Damini...moments ago...at the peak of the holy constellation...

  Vishnu...’

  The beautiful Damini was unable to understand what Vidyut was saying. She asked him again, softly.

  ‘Who is here, my devta? What is the secret of the Black Temple, Vidyut?’

  Vidyut looked up at her. His eyes appeared to be different. They were...enlightened!

  He responded in the very few words that could escape his lips.

  ‘Kalki...

  Dreaded by the sinners, awaited by the virtuous...the tenth avatar of Vishnu has arrived, Damini.

  The Kalki avatar is born.’

  The Marshes Surrounding the Great Ark, Aryavarta, 1698 BCE

  TRUCE

  No one on living prithvi had witnessed so much fire before.

  Everything was burning. The cannibal soldiers were in flames. Their horses were being smoldered. Swords of alloy were melting. The heat was comparable to that of the Sun, as most of them imagined it to be.

  The dark, stormy, night had lit up as if stars from the heavens exploded on earth every few moments. The daityas were petrified and were running amok in the chaos that was unfolding on the battle field. They had never seen this rain of fire before. Not even the Ark soldiers and commanders had witnessed such infernal mayhem. It was something bizarre, something unbelievable.

  Barrels of fire were flying o
ut from the Ark decks and streaked across the night-sky, exploding with earsplitting bangs in the heart of the daitya regiments, charring hundreds of them within moments. Nara-Munda and his war-general Doonda stood paralyzed for a while, unable to comprehend what was going on. How could such great balls of hell-fire fly out of the great Ark one after the other, burning down their troops and routing their formations?

  In a matter of an hour or less, the battle scales once again tilted and were now poised right back in balance.

  For now, this was anybody’s war.

  And one game-changing fact was evident to the defenders of the Ark.

  They were very afraid of fire.

  The daityas were unexpectedly, unusually afraid of fire!

  Matsya had known this. He had blessed the Ark with gandhak or fire-powder that no one across Aryavarta had ever even heard of. He had trained Manu and Dhruv on building gigantic catapults that could fire barrels filled with gandhak far into enemy lines.

  This was the first time Matsya had saved the great Ark and all its inhabitants.

  But not the last.

  It did not take the titanic emperor of the dark forests much time to first compose himself, and then work himself back into his typical, furious bloodthirst. In his fearsome voice, that seemed to combine the roar of lions with the trumpet of wild tuskers, he summoned his army of man-eaters to fight back.

  The forces charged at one another once again, this time with renewed frenzy. The clash of metal, of sword on sword, of spear on armor, of axes on battle-shields, was deafening.

  ‘Let us send a messenger to Nara-Munda, with a truce proposal,’ said Manu to Somdutt, who was mounted on his horse right next to Manu’s, as they surveyed the burning and bleeding battleground.

  ‘What?’ intervened Dhruv, who stood next to Satyavrata Manu’s steed. ‘Are you out of your mind, Manu? You want to negotiate a truce with that monster?!’

  ‘Look, Dhruv, my friend, I know it is lunacy to expect any civilized response from that beast. But no matter what the situation is, we must give peace a chance. At this time, he is rattled by the storm of fire gandhak has inflicted on his men. This might be our only chance. If he agrees to a peaceful settlement, we can save thousands of human lives, including those of the daityas and their families.’

  Dhruv knew Manu was right. Even now their chances of winning this war were slim. A peace solution could end this nightmare right away. But he was far from being convinced. He knew Nara-Munda was not a man of amity or reason. He was not a man at all.

  On the other hand, Somdutt found great value in Manu’s proposition. He spoke in support of the priest-king.

  ‘With the bandits gone and half of the daitya army decimated, their numbers have hugely dwindled. We have lost thousands as well. Under these new circumstances, we can accommodate the remaining daityas on the great boat.’

  Dhruv now walked around Manu’s horse and stood facing the two mounted men. His exasperation was evident.

  ‘Accommodate them? Did I hear you say accommodate, Somdutt ji?’

  Both Somdutt and Manu were quiet. Dhruv continued, trying his best to convince his two fellow-Arkers on the futility of the truce effort, as well as about the ramifications of having daityas on the great ship.

  ‘Have you forgotten, O wise Somdutt ji? They are cannibals!’ he shouted, amazed that his simple logic was not hitting home. ‘They eat people like you and me! What you are saying sounds like offering shelter to a pack of wild dogs in a barn of hapless calves!’

  The three men went silent. Dhruv paced up and down in front of the horses of Manu and Somdutt, waiting for their decision, looking at the proceedings of the battle.

  ‘I have thought of it,’ Manu spoke after a few minutes of careful consideration.

  ‘We will offer Nara-Munda refuge for the women, children and the wounded in the main Ark. As for his combat forces, they will need to surrender their arms and agree to be housed in the Ark prisons. This way we will save our own people, save the innocent women and children of the daityas, and also keep the daitya fighters incarcerated. In return, the daityas get to live through pralay, if the giant Ark indeed survives it.’

  Somdutt turned to Manu and nodded in consent. Dhruv looked away, unable to swallow this seemingly disastrous decision.

  After much deliberation, it was decided that Somdutt would approach the daitya-king. Despite resistance from Manu, Dhruv and Prachanda, the wise architect had insisted that he should be the messenger and negotiator of peace. Anyone smaller in stature did not stand a chance. Nara-Munda was not going to lend an ear to anyone less influential.

  To Dhruv’s surprise, Nara-Munda had agreed to talk. Both armies had pulled back and now stood in panting, bleeding formations facing each other. Somewhere deep down, every soul present on the field, in the daitya camp and atop the Ark, was hoping for peace. The battle so far had been more vicious and more devastating than anyone had bargained for. Too many men had died painful deaths in too short a time. Thousands lay moaning and writhing in unbearable suffering. The great flood was knocking at their doors.

  Everyone was hoping that the talk between Somdutt and Nara-Munda would put an end to this war.

  Nara-Munda walked out into the field, lumbering like the monster he was. He was not carrying any weapons. To everyone’s great surprise, ten children, nothing more than eight or nine years of age, accompanied him. Such a gentle gesture of goodwill and harmony was totally unexpected from the emperor of the daityas.

  Somdutt, who was now walking out to meet the cannibal-sovereign, turned and smiled hopefully at Dhruv. Nara-Munda had come with children.

  Peace finally had a chance.

  But both Manu and Somdutt had forgotten.

  They had forgotten the curse of the Blood River!

  “The Gods will never release you from your hateful destiny. The serpents of violence and bloodshed will never loosen their stranglehold on mankind, which shall kill and destroy each other...! Never shall carnage and butchery leave your side. This is my curse, O fallen devta! Humankind shall hear the shrieks of boundless suffering till the end of time!

  I CURSE YOU! I CURSE YOU ALL!”

  Banaras, 2017

  ‘THEY ARE COMING FOR YOU, VIDYUT’

  They sat around the ritual fire at the feet of Lord Shiva. Vidyut, Damini, Dwarka Shastri and, towering above all of them by a tall margin, the fearsome Sheshnaag. Naina, Purohit ji, Sonu, Balvanta and Govardhan sat a few steps away, their hands folded in veneration. Several other trusted sadhus of the matth also sat in silence, their eyes closed. Each one present in the Black Temple was now lost in the love and omnipotence of the holy avatar.

  Vidyut had the ancient scroll in his hands. The brief yet priceless information inscribed on the scroll of Matsya and Manu was now etched into Vidyut’s soul. He now understood why the New World Order had spent centuries looking for this secret.

  Dwarka Shastri and Sheshnaag had been submitting aahuti or offerings into the flames of worship, chanting mantras that even accomplished yogis and taantrics like Vidyut and Purohit ji had never heard of. These were secret, advanced shlokas that only two very old men in the world had the knowledge of. And they were both sitting around the ritual fire. The mantras were so powerful that it seemed as if the divine words rose with the camphor laden smoke of the pit-fire, and were going straight up to Vaikuntha, the celestial abode of Lord Vishnu.

  ‘Offer the holy scroll to agni now, Vidyut,’ instructed Dwarka Shastri.

  Vidyut hesitated. In the few minutes that he had held it in his hands, the devta seemed to have forged a deep bond with the scroll and the golden words transcribed on it.

  ‘This is where it needs to go now, Vidyut...back to where it came from. Only you now know the secret of the Black Temple, Vidyut. In fact, you are the secret of the Black Temple now!’

  Damini was very confused. She had seen Vidyut break down in extreme devotion and utter the name Kalki. But she was not clear exactly what was written in the script. The matt
hadheesh could see the perplexed expression on Damini’s face.

  ‘Damini deserves to know what the scroll has been hiding in its mysterious words for millennia, Vidyut.’

  Vidyut nodded. He smiled and turned to the love of his life. He was mentally wondering if Damini will believe what he was going to tell her.

  ‘As I told you, Damini, the divine, the awaited avatar of Lord Vishnu, the Kalki avatar has been born minutes ago, somewhere far from here. The prophesied Rohini Nakshatra was nothing but the time of Lord Kalki’s descent on earth.’

  The beautiful journalist from Delhi was mesmerized as she heard these words. She had heard of Kalki, the tenth avatar of Vishnu, who was ordained to arrive on earth when the sins and sinners of Kaliyuga reach the zenith of depravity. But she could not believe she was now a part of that divine occurrence.

  ‘So that is what the scroll says, the time of Lord Kalki’s birth?’

  Vidyut grinned and replied, ‘Yes, that...and something more.’

  Damini raised her eyebrows gently, urging Vidyut to complete.

  ‘What more, Vidyut?’ she asked.

  ‘The scroll not only has the time of Kalki’s birth, Damini...

  ...it also has the exact place of His birth.

  I now know where He is!’

  It was nearly dawn as they made their way out of the Black Temple, bidding farewell to Sheshnaag after seeking his blessings. The mystical, all-powerful serpent-king was not going to stay on in the basement of the Bhairava mandir for long. His presence was needed at his master’s side. He had waited for two thousand years for this prophesied day.

  As they sat on the terrace of Dwarka Shastri’s cottage, they could hear the familiar sounds of a typical Kashi morning. Sonu brought tea for everyone, as they sat on chairs that were laid out around a low center table. The grand old man was visibly exhausted, nearly out of breath with fatigue. And yet he had the most gratified look on his face. But he knew his work was not yet done.