Vidyut clenched his fists in hate.
‘Let them all go, Maschera. Your black knights, my warrior-monks...everyone. Let’s sort this between the two of us. You and me. Here and now.’
The Maschera’s face changed. Vidyut could not believe what he was seeing. The Italian don’s eyes seemed to be getting drained off of all color...and going white.
The white-eyed demon now looked at the Ninjas surrounding Vidyut and nodded. In the very next instant Vidyut felt a throbbing gash on his shoulder. As the devta turned to counter the cowards who had attacked from behind, he felt another sword slice through his thigh. Despite the wounds that tore open his flesh, Vidyut swung in a perfect Jiu Jitsu kick and struck one of the swordsmen on his chin. The man twirled and fell five feet away, propelled by the sheer force of the devta’s assault. But the spineless, unannounced attack had taken the devta by a painful surprise. In a blur of unbearable agony and of his own blood flying in the air, Vidyut heard a faint voice. He knew who it was.
‘You are a fool, O devta!’ said the Maschera Bianca. ‘You fight with those who you cannot vanquish. You lock eyes with me in your misdirected boldness, to show me that you are unafraid. Do you not know, you petulant boy...?
EVEN DEATH IS AFRAID OF THE WHITE MASK!!’
Vidyut tried to jostle his way to where they were, but he was cut down by more nanchoks and Japanese scimitars assaulting his body. Unable to maintain consciousness under the fatal barrage of blade and blood, Vidyut stretched out his arm in a futile attempt to reach the grand old man. Only one word escaped his lips in an anguished whisper.
‘Babaaaa...aaah!’
The White Mask now stood right behind the matthadheesh.
His eyes were the cold eyes of death.
The Great Deluge, 1698 BCE
LOK-NAAS!
The great Ark was now tilting dangerously, unable to cope with the enormous waves of pralay. The weight of the gigantic boat was more than that of a mountain, and the floating city was on the verge of sinking.
The massive hull of the vessel was being pushed by monstrous waves that exerted the pressure of a million whales. The rain and hail were so severe that several top decks of the Ark were flooded and overflowing. Thousands of men and women worked incessantly to pump the water out, but to no avail. The onslaught of the stormy downpour combined with the lashing waves was inundating the boat.
It seemed to be a matter of minutes now, as panic began to grip the collective of the great Ark. Mothers held on to their children, praying feverishly to Vishnu, begging Him to come to their rescue. Thousands of species of birds and animals now neighed, roared, whined, squawked and trumpeted in chaotic terror. The incarcerated daityas struck their hands, bodies and heads against the bronze bars that held them captive, pleading to be set free from the prison cells that were certain death-traps in the wake of the flooding Ark. Thousands of men and women hung on with ropes on the overturning hull, pulling with all their might against the impossible adversary in a failing attempt to restore the boat to balance. Several unfortunate residents of the Nauka now began to lose their footing and fell screaming down thousands of meters below into the jaws of the yawning typhoon, vanishing like specks of sand in the vicious surfs.
Manu’s last vantage point had also been drowned under the deluge and he was back on the Ark after a near-fatal canoe ride, waiting breathlessly as he saw it make its way through the giant waves, advancing towards the sinking wooden city.
The fabled sea-monster really does exist. It is not a legend. And Matsya is its master!
Manu’s fantastic delusion was soon cut short by the breathtaking reality.
They were perhaps ten thousand of them. Wearing robes made from glimmering fish-scales, they moved like one single organism. Satyavrata Manu, Satrupa, Dhruv, Prachanda and the rest of the Arkers were stunned as they saw the floating colony approach the great Nauka.
The fish-folk rode the waves in an interwoven network of small boats connected to each other using vines, spread over a couple of miles. The webby structure of light canoes stretching across a vast area made the entire colony virtually unsinkable. They all wore clothes made from fish and serpent skin that glistened against the thunder-flash from miles away. The spearhead of the aquatic colony was Matsya’s own boat. A wide raft with a hundred oars on both sides, it had two shining round shields mounted on both edges of the boat’s front bow. Used in sea-battles to blind an approaching enemy by reflecting the light of the Sun or the thunder, the massive shields appeared to be the eyes of a mammoth hydra!
This is how the legend of the dreaded sea-monster came to life. The glimmering fish-skin robes of several thousand of the fish-folk, their practiced, sequential movements giving the appearance of a slithering serpent, the front shields gleaming like giant eyes – Lok-Naas was not a living water-beast. It was the floating city of the fish-tribe!
What seemed like a million hooks and harpoons flew across from the boats of the fish-tribe. The uncountable projectiles attached themselves to the railings and windows of the Ark’s lower decks, all along the great vessel’s unimaginable length. The dominance and mastery that the magnificent blue-man and his fish-folk had over the oceans was now becoming evident to Manu and his men. With the ropes of the innumerable hooks and harpoons attached to their agile boats, the marvelous men of the floating colony began to row away from the overturning hull.
Each one of the fish-folk was timing his oars perfectly, using every ounce of strength. An intricate and complex series of sails were erected to assist the effort of the oarsmen. The sails were being maneuvered expertly, harnessing the power of the shrieking wind in favor of the mighty Ark.
It slowly began to work. The combined strength of ten thousand sets of arms and hundreds of surgically engineered sails created a propulsion that would have moved a mountain.
The great Ark rolled sluggishly, before thrashing back to a safer balance, creating enormous, mile-high waves in the process.
Vishnu had answered their prayers.
Mankind was going to survive pralay!
Banaras, 2017
‘BABAAAAAA...!’
‘We shall meet again, Vidyut, my son...we shall meet again in another life...’ gasped Dwarka Shastri, as the Maschera Bianca’s weapon of choice tore through the matthadheesh’s belly.
By now Vidyut was down on his knees, bleeding from several deep incisions on his body, with the world going either totally blank or flashing as a violent haze in front of his dimming eyes. Blood dripped profusely from his mouth and he was drenched in the cold sweat of extreme agony.
‘Baba...’ he whispered again, struggling to stay conscious.
But even under the dizzying pain, he seemed to hear the faint yet booming, terrifying voice...as if it came from another universe.
The curse of the Blood River!
Just the manner in which you have watched the divine Sages burn one after the other on this fateful night, fate will watch your lineage perish violently, son after son, generation after generation.
I curse you and your entire bloodline, O fallen devta…
The second stab from the White Mask ripped through Dwarka Shastri’s heart, the red shaft of the long screwdriver protruding from the grand old man’s chest like the nail of a crucifixion. The great matthadheesh’s mouth spewed blood as he whispered a prayer in preparation to meet his Maker. In this final hour, he was a proud and gratified man. This mahataantric from Kashi was a man who had fulfilled his divine destiny.
In his dying moments, even the old matthadheesh of the Dev-Raakshasa clan seemed to hear the hissing pronouncement of the Blood River, to which he closed his eyes in absolute and devoted submission.
Every single son of your descent will die a death as violent and as horrible as the spectacle today!
I CURSE YOU! AND YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE!
THIS CURSE SHALL LAST TILL THE END OF TIME!
‘I will protect you, Baba...’ muttered Vidyut, as he summoned every last bit of his strength an
d determination. Any other man in his place would have succumbed to the pain by now. But Vidyut was not just a man. He was a devta!
He wiped the blood off his face with his hand as he struggled to get back on his feet. But he was too late. When he opened his eyes, and saw what was happening clearly, it was already the end of the great life of the magnificent Dwarka Shastri. In front of Vidyut’s eyes, his beloved great grandfather’s body was punctured mercilessly by the Maschera’s lethal screwdriver.
True to the dark ancient curse, one more splendid son of the Shastri bloodline met a violent, brutal end.
‘NOOOOOO...!’ screamed Vidyut, unable to bear the anguish of the horror he beheld!
The cruel Mask’s eyes were now completely white. He threw the mutilated body of the grandmaster and smiled at Vidyut coldly, inviting the devta to a duel.
Beretta shots rang out in the darkness of the gory night.
Shattered from deep inside at the inhuman killing of their adored matthadheesh, Balvanta and Naina could not contain their fury. Abandoning all thoughts of good and evil, right and wrong, they had opened fire at the Ninjas with their deadly Berettas. Balvanta had aimed for the Maschera Bianca as well, but the Mask had evaded a fatal shot. Balvanta’s bullet found its mark on the demon’s thigh. While this wound was not going to kill the Mask, it was enough to limit his combat effectiveness.
And that minor difference was enough for Vidyut, who was himself grievously injured, to draw his vengeance.
Vidyut was the embodiment of rage now. Even in his wounded state he pounced on the Maschera. The Mask greeted Vidyut with a powerful fist-blow, that the devta took straight on his jaw. Vidyut’s chin split and a bleeding gash appeared almost instantly. The white-eyed monster’s punch was brutal. But to the Mask’s disbelief, the devta kept coming at him, without flinching even momentarily.
It was Vidyut’s turn now. He struck his clenched fist into the steely abdomen of the Italian don. The blow was vicious even for the Mask and he coughed in agony. Vidyut struck again, this time with his knee, and hit the Maschera right into his ribcage. The Mask’s bones crackled and he fell on the ground, grimacing under an attack that was more punishing than he had imagined.
But he was the Devil’s messenger. He was not going to be vanquished so easily.
In the next moment, the Maschera Bianca sprung up, looking ghastlier than ever. His face carried a strange, macabre scowl. His right hand was tightly clasped around a menacing weapon.
A screwdriver that was still dripping with Shastri blood.
The Maschera Bianca could see Vidyut was losing blood rapidly. Earlier when he had landed in the matth, the Mask did not want the devta to die. But Vidyut was turning out to be a more daunting challenge than the Devil’s lieutenant had expected. Reeling under the pain from the devta’s blows, the Mask was losing his sense of purpose. His rage was making him forget how important Vidyut’s life was to the Order. But more than that, he could see bloodthirst in Vidyut’s fiery eyes.
The Mask concluded quickly. Either he kills the devta today. Or Vidyut would not let him leave the matth alive.
‘To hell with the avatar, Vidyut...you will die today at my hands, writhing next to your old man’s stinking corpse!’ hissed the White Mask.
With these words, the demon lunged forward and swung around to land a crushing kick into Vidyut’s face. It was a devastating blow. The devta could not stand any longer on his feet and crumbled to the ground, nearly losing consciousness.
The Mask now leapt onto Vidyut and pinned him down. The demon shoved his left forearm into the devta’s throat, strangling him slowly. His right hand now held his favorite execution tool, the screwdriver, in stabbing position. He nearly touched the tip of the weapon to Vidyut’s eyeball and hissed. His face was just an inch away from the devta’s.
‘Tell me the place of Kalki’s birth, you fool...and I will kill you swiftly. If you still persist, I will take your life more painfully than I took from your old daddy boy...and I will slaughter every single soul...’
Before the demon could complete his cold threat, Vidyut interrupted him.
‘I told you Maschera, leave Banaras.’
What Naina, Balvanta, the Ninjas and the warrior-monks of the matth saw next, was something they would never forget.
The Maschera Bianca screamed like a dragon struck by a silver arrow, his head twisting backwards and the veins of his neck ready to explode. His tongue shot out from his mouth due to insufferable pain, even as color began to return into his petrified eyes. Tearing through the monster’s entire gut, the devta’s clawed hand emerged from the Maschera’s back.
‘AAAARRGGGGHHH....!’ yelled the devta, as he pushed his arm deeper into the demon’s belly, remembering the bloodstained body of his beloved Baba.
Vidyut had torn through and through the Mask’s body, disemboweling him in the gruesome process. When his blood-smeared fingers and forearm surfaced from behind the demon, they were reinforced with an ancient, concealed weapon of close combat.
Baagh-Nakh!
The same copper-hooks shaped into a claw that the great Manu Pujari had used to defeat the monstrous Ranga. The very same baagh-nakh that Markandeya Shastri had worn when he ripped open the Portuguese killer Agostinho in medieval Goa.
The baagh-nakh was Dwarka Shastri’s last gift for his able great grandson. It was the reason why Vidyut had refused the Beretta pistol Balvanta had offered to him.
‘AAAAARRRGGGGHHH...!
‘YAAARRRGGGHHHH...!’
‘BABAAAAAAAA...!’
With his arm still piercing out from the dead demon’s body, Vidyut kept screaming, bawling and calling out his Baba’s name.
The Great Deluge, 1698 BCE
VIDYUT
‘I told you when we first met...those drops of water...I will owe you, Satyavrata!’
Matsya laughed as Manu rushed to hold him in a tight embrace. The blue-man hugged the son of Surya back. It was hard to say who had missed whom more. Did man miss his God? Or did God miss His mortal devotee?
‘Why did you leave me and go, Matsya? Why?!’ insisted Manu, as he refused to let the leader of the fish-folk go.
‘I never left you, Manu. Not for a moment. How can I even exist without you, my friend, my brother? I was watching you. When you evacuated cities without any regard for your own safety, I was there. When you were building this immortal Ark, a feat that was impossible even for the Gods, I was there. When you slew the daitya Nara-Munda, I was there, Manu. I was always there.’
‘Then why did you not show yourself, O divine Matsya? Why did you not bless me with your darshana, my Lord?’
‘My lord? You have started using big words I see, Shri Satyavrata Manu? Is the presence of a lady in your life bringing about this change? Are you softening up, O mighty warrior?’ joked Matsya.
‘Well...get ready to get an earful from the woman in my life, Shri Matsya. She is as upset with you as I am, if not more,’ replied Manu.
‘Okay, now that scares me more than the catastrophic waves of the great flood!’ exclaimed the blue man.
The two friends, the lord and his devotee, the avatar of God and the hero among men, laughed like old friends.
‘The bestial Ranga, the three black-magicians from Mesopotamia, Ap, Sha, Gun, the beautiful but vile Priyamvada, the demon-king Sura and even Nara-Munda...none of them were even close to the darkness of evil that is about to swallow this planet, Manu. We are entering the era of Kali, when the world will transform into a chaotic mayhem of violence, deceit, intrigue, betrayal, death and destruction. You are taking mankind into a new dawn of survival, no doubt. But what awaits us on the other side of pralay is a world where man will wage war against one another, against mother nature, he will destroy the forests, dry up the rivers, poison the skies and spill blood by using weapons of mass extermination. Nara-Munda killed one man at a time...that too only to ensure his own survival and the survival of his commune. But in Kaliyuga men will wipe out thousands of innocents, women, child
ren...to feed the insatiable lust for a transient throne.’
They stood at a high deck of the Ark, sipping on a delicious wine fermented by the fish-tribe. Matsya had carried it specially for his friend. Tara was also with them. A few days had passed and the maddening storms had given way to slow, incessant rain that was far less cataclysmic. The leaders of the Ark knew that they now had the formidable task of seeing pralay through ahead of them. But they all hoped, they sensed...that the worst was over.
‘What is your commandment for us, Matsya? What can Tara and I do to prevent such a dark age?’ asked Manu.
Matsya smiled and turned to Manu and Tara, resting his back on the railing of the deck. His face was being splattered with the drizzle. As he took a gulp from his seashell, he looked splendid beyond words.
‘You have a lot resting on your shoulders, you two,’ said Matsya. ‘It is your children and their children who will represent the last ray of hope for mankind.’
Satrupa blushed, as she took a sip of her wine.
‘What tells you I will marry this silly boy, Matsya, let alone have children with him?’ she taunted Manu naughtily.
The blue prophet of prophets laughed out merrily, thoroughly enjoying Satrupa teasing Manu.
‘I agree, don’t marry this reckless man, Tara,’ added Matsya. ‘He is a bit too intense, don’t you think?’
All three of them broke into an affectionate laugh that only closest and most trustful of friends share with one another. Both Matsya and Tara knew that she loved Manu more than words could ever describe.
‘Protect the Ratna-Maru sword, Satyavrata. Let it pass on from generation to generation, under the protection of your descendants. This cosmic weapon is meant to reach the hands of Lord Vishnu’s final avatar that will descend on the planet when evil and depravity cross all limits. You and your bloodline will be its guardians till the Kalki avatar arrives on earth at the peak of Kaliyuga.’
Kashi: Secret of the Black Temple (Harappa Series) Page 24