“I have an idea to take your entire hand clean away right here, right now,” Roy said.
“But I happen to believe sometimes people are more important than ideas. You think this book you are writing is worth killing for?” Roy said and took the bunch of papers on the table in his hand.
He then pulled a lighter from his pocket, lit it and held the bright yellow flame close to the crispy papers.
“NO! Don’t you dare!” The Librarian screamed from the floor, thrashing against the pillar.
“I have to finish it. It’s sacred. No, please. I beg you!”
“Now you don’t have to kill anyone over your books anymore,” Roy said and lit one of the papers on fire.
The golden flame quickly started eating away at it. And then as the Librarian looked on in shock, Roy tossed the fiery paper onto the wooden bookshelves.
“NO!!” the Librarian screamed and Roy could see tears welling up in his reddened eyes, behind his broken spectacles.
The tears reflected the orange flames that consumed the bookshelves and was spreading onto the floor and the walls, turning white paper into crumbled rolls of dark, smoking carbon.
The Librarian screamed and sobbed like a child on the floor. Roy hit his head with the hilt of his katana and the Librarian passed out. Roy untied him, looked around at the flaming house and then at the unconscious Librarian, bent down, picked him up and said to Girish,
“Let’s move. We got the loot we came looking for.”
KALKI COMMANDS
Heretics shall be damned
Blasphemy shall be scorned
Honour shall be guarded
Men shall be judged
And the Sinful shall be punished
Kalki Commands
The needle pierced the flesh on Pradeep’s face.
It entered his skin and emerged out again, drawing the black thread along with it, carefully guided by Mishra’s old but steady hand. Mishra was a man with shocking grey hair and round glasses that adorned his light brown eyes which narrowed as he carefully stitched up Pradeep’s face.
Pradeep was lying down on a soft mattress on the cave floor in Mishra’s medical chamber, trying hard not to flinch or move.
“At least it wasn’t a bear,” Mishra said. “There would have been nothing left to stitch up,” he said.
“How bad are the scars going to be?” Pradeep asked.
“It’s a deep wound. Let’s just say, it would be better if you lose your mirror for a few months.”
“The scars will heal in months?” Pradeep asked.
“No, you’ll just get used to them by then,” the doctor said, pulling the needle above his left eye. “If you were ever planning on becoming a model at ‘Jashn’, now would be a good time to forget about it.”
Pradeep tried hard to not move his head as he chuckled.
“You really think Jashn exists?” he asked the doctor.
They had all heard rumours about it. Old roamers telling tales of an End Age entertainment plaza called Jashn run by a mysterious aristocrat named Jishnu. A place where everything is for sale, if you are willing to pay the right price –exotic food, women, dancers, slaves, radioactive drugs and jars filled with Beam light. Some roamers claimed, they even sold Crawler meat in there.
No one seemed to agree on where it is and how to get there though. Many think it is an urban legend, cooked up by bored roamers who just want to fool themselves and those who are willing to listen.
“I am not really sure –but hey, even an old man can dream!” the doctor replied.
They heard footsteps approaching the chamber.
The doctor looked up and said. “Speaking of models, here comes the kitchen knife wielder.”
Roy entered the chamber smiling widely.
“KATANA, doctor!” he said. “How are you taking care of our favourite commander here?” he asked.
“See for yourself,” the doctor replied.
Roy sat down beside Pradeep.
“I heard you were attacked by a giant mutant boar and you ripped its head off with your bare hands?” he said.
“Is that what they are saying?” Pradeep chuckled. “No it wasn’t mutated. Just an ordinary but big boar.”
“Mutated or not, it certainly improved your face though,” Roy said looking curiously at the deep red gash on his face.
Pradeep grinned, held up his right hand and flipped his middle finger at Roy. “How’s this for an improvement, pretty boy?”
“Hey those pre–purge symbols don’t mean anything to me anymore, man,” Roy said pointing at Pradeep’s finger. “Try and come up with something original, will you?” he mocked.
“How about this?” Pradeep said and flipped up the middle finger of his other hand too.
Roy laughed. “Looks like the tusks of a boar to me,” he quipped and chuckled. “Take care, brother. We need our commander,” he said, patting Pradeep on his shoulder.
Pradeep nodded. “Heard you drew your own scars out on the plains?” he asked. “They are saying you brought in some interesting loot.”
“Yeah we found some crazy fucker out there,” Roy replied. “Brought him in. The General has him chained up in the pit. Dude’s a librarian. Knows his stuff. Might come in handy, right? He’s missing a finger though,” he said sheepishly.
Pradeep sighed and shook his head.
“The General was right. We shouldn’t allow you to carry that sword.”
“For the thousandth time, it’s a KATANA!” Roy corrected him. “You need to rest. Just wanted to visit you before I head to dinner. By the way what’s up with Niv, man?” Roy asked.
“She seems awfully silent these days. Is everything all right?”
Pradeep had often felt that Roy liked Niv. It was uncharacteristic of him to be concerned about anyone, but she was the only one he seemed to care about even though he often pretended not to. It was indeed true that Niv had become withdrawn since that day when she had kissed him. Pradeep had tried to talk to her about it, but she wouldn’t allow him. Their conversations were now formal and short. Every time he tried to make her open up, she had only become more distant. He couldn’t let Roy know about what had happened.
He looked at him and shrugged. “No idea. I will try and talk to her,” he managed to say.
“Looks like being with Veda had made her mute too,” Roy tried being funny about it as he usually did.
“I better get going. Old Shakuntala is telling the story of ‘Crawler’s night’ again at the dinner table. Never get tired of that shit,” Roy said and departed into the tunnels towards the central chamber.
“Hey, Roy!” Pradeep called out behind him.
“Saahil … I …” he gulped. “Don’t accept any …uh …I don’t want anyone less than fifteen years of age to be part of the scavengers anymore. They are far too precious,” Pradeep mumbled.
Roy stared at him for a moment and nodded silently.
“Forgiven, Forever!” Roy said before stepping out of the chamber into the grim darkness of the tunnels.
“Forgiven, Forever!” Pradeep muttered into the air. He knew that Roy understood.
It was then that she stepped in. Pradeep could recognize the rhythm of her footsteps any day. Those little shuffled steps that she takes, like a shy storm, can brighten up his day no matter how dark it was.
The fourth Dalapathy sat on his knees and bowed in front of the Throne of Judgement.
Like all the other Ashvins, his smooth skin was dyed a piercing, bright blue, like the evening sky–to honour their patron blue–skinned God, Vishnu. He was covered in a long brown robe that hid his dark armour, built out of bullet proof vests of the old world.
A saffron coloured Tilak was tattooed into his forehead, starting at the middle of his nose and tapering into two branches which formed a V on his forehead and ran into his hair, ending at the back of his neck. The glowing saffron colour of the tattoo indicated his rank among the Sinless –the High Commander of the Ashvins–the feared and respected Da
lapathy.
The Throne of Judgement was a massive rock, sculpted into the terrifying form of a huge, black, many-headed serpent which coiled around itself to form the hard seat. Its many hooded snake heads loomed over those who would sit on the throne, like a stony umbrella. The eyes of the snake heads were exotic rubies that shone with a red menace. Many claim that they are the costliest stones in the End Age and were gifted to the Sinless by a wealthy devotee to prove his alliance to their Lord Kalki.
Seated on the throne was the only man before whom even the Dalapathys knelt. The man whose authority even the fierce and proud Ashvins–the horsemen of the apocalypse, the riders of the Sinless would not question. Many say he is the most powerful man of the wastelands.
The high priest of the Sinless –The Purohit.
“Rise, Vikranth,” the Purohit’s deep voice commanded.
The High Commander stood up, facing a man in his forties with fierce eyes and a dark thick beard. The Purohit was dressed in long saffron robes as always. On his forehead was tattooed the complex shape of the Vishnu Yantra –a five-pointed star, engulfed inside a circle, wrapped in lotus petals which was then again wrapped in another circle of lotus petals. It was a complex geometrical construct of esoteric power. A sage like presence of holy divinity permeated from him.
Behind the throne, hung a huge red banner, on which was etched the emblem of the Sinless –a flaming sword in the centre, around which was the Sudarshan chakra, the divine disc of Vishnu, the blue God’s fatal weapon. The sword represented the flaming sword of Kalki, with which the sinful will be punished. And the Sudarshan was to represent the fact that Kalki was the final avatar of Vishnu and the weapon that the God had sent to eradicate sin. The Dalapathys also carry this holy mark on their strong, wide backs which are tattooed when they rise among the ranks of Ashvins to become the high commanders.
Vikranth spoke with caution. “The Avadhanis have informed me that you wished to see me,” he said, his head bent low.
The Avadhanis were the eight-membered counsel of the Purohit, great scholars and techno–priests who possess vast knowledge of both science and the magic of the Lord.
“Yes, you have been one of my favourite Dalapathys, Vikranth,” the Purohit said. “I wish you to take our cause further, to the southern ruins. To the wretched caves. Are the Ashvins ready?” he enquired.
Vikranth nodded. “Yes, Maharshi,” he said.
He had been training the riders of the Sinless for quite some time now.
“Good. I need you to spread the justice of our Lord to those scavengers that call themselves the Forgiven. The time has come for the horsemen of apocalypse to ride far and swift, like death. The Lord commands me to judge the Forgiven, Vikranth,” he paused. “The Lord commands and I follow.”
Vikranth nodded again. “We will start tonight, Your Holiness. The legion of the Lord will bring justice and keep the Karma.”
“Very well!” The Purohit said.
“This is only the beginning. The Forgiven shall first be judged and then the Sandmen to our West,” he said.
The Sandmen had been on the radar of the Sinless for quite some time now. Vikranth heard more and more from the scouts, the news of the Sandmen with each passing day. They seemed to be a highly armed faction, with fire arms of old world a central part of their culture that worships an immortal, desert entity they call the Bleeding God. Any faction that worships anything other than the Lord Judge – Kalki Avatar is an enemy of the cause –a collection of heretics that will be brought to justice under any circumstances.
Vikranth listened with attention.
“Once the judgement is carried out and the sinful are punished, we, the Sinless will be ready to ascend to a higher plane of consciousness as a reward for our service to the Lord. I promise, by 10 EA, I will gift each and every one of the Sinless with the power of the Beam.”
And Vikranth knew, the golden age will soon be upon them. The Purohit is the only man who can give them a chance to access the power and energy that courses through the Beam. It is said that the Lord grants the Purohit, ways to access this power, every time a sinful man is punished.
The Purohit’s words rang in the sanctum like a message from Kalki himself.
“Ride, Vikranth! Let the Forgiven taste the flaming sword of divine judgement.”
“THEY ARE COMING!” the Librarian screamed again and again.
He was lying on the ground in a dark pit inside one of the western chambers of Belum caves, his feet and hands shackled together. The confused scavenger who has been guarding him had run off to inform the General about the lunatic’s ramblings.
The General’s bulky frame lumbered onto the ground above the pit and along with him came the guard, Roy and some other curious onlookers.
“Bring him up,” the General ordered.
Two of the on-looking Forgiven grabbed the Librarian by his armpits and dragged him out of the gaping hole in the ground and laid him down by the General’s feet.
The Librarian looked pale and panicked as if he had just seen a ghost. He looked at the General and said, “The Sinless. They are coming.”
“And how do you know this?” the General asked.
“I just know it. Trust me. I can see things.”
The Librarian knew he didn’t exactly see these things. Not in the way one would see something with their eyes. But that’s the only way he could ever explain it to anyone. A sense of seeing and feeling merged into a sensory experience for which there were no words in either the old world or the End Age.
“He is just trying to trick us into letting him go,” Roy said to the General.
“No! You idiot!” The Librarian screamed. “I am not trying to trick you. I am trying to stay alive. I told you I am writing my sacred book. How do you think I do it? I just see things,” he said.
“I know they are coming. I am not going to sit here in this stinking pit, waiting to be butchered by those extremist scum.”
“Says the man who had killed a dozen innocents and buried them in his backyard,” Roy said.
“I was trying to save my stories,” The Librarian said venomously.
“Everyone is trying to save their stories. Some real and some imaginary,” the General interjected. “But no story is ever greater than people. No story ever achieves greatness by killing the readers,” he said.
“If your people are really so important to you, you would vacate this doomed place and take them elsewhere,” the Librarian sneered. “In the End Age, there are very few fates that are worse than being captured by the Sinless. You know that.”
“There is nowhere else to go,” the General said. “This is our home and these people are my family. So, you better stop scaring them if you want your tongue to stay in your mouth. I have better things to do than listen to the mad ramblings of a serial killer,” the General said and left.
“No! You don’t understand. I can’t stay here. They will kill us all,” the Librarian pleaded as two men grabbed him again and lowered him back into the pit.
Roy bent over the pit and smiled. “You know what?” he said. “For a writer, you are really terrible at making shit up.”
The Librarian held his shackled hands up. “Once I get out these chains, you will see how good I am at making things up, you ignorant Thuggee,” The Librarian threatened.
“If I was still a Thuggee, I would have slit your throat and plucked out your windpipe at your house itself. I trusted your words once and you almost killed me and my friend. I am not willing to take another chance now,” Roy turned to leave.
“Tell me, Roy!” the Librarian called. “Do you miss your sister?”
Roy stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned back, his face pale.
“Told you, I can see things,” the Librarian said with a hateful smile.
Roy’s face hardened into a mask of anger. “I am not falling for your tricks, you shithead!” His voice shook. “You talk about my sister again and you’ll lose all your remaining fingers along wi
th your tongue,” he said and barged out, not looking back.
The Librarian lay down in the pit again, screaming and shouting whenever he found strength to do so. But it wouldn’t be until midnight when his screams would be answered.
The young guard had long gone to sleep and now the Librarian could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching the pit and other incoherent sounds. He hadn’t slept yet as was his habit. He would usually be writing by his table at this hour. He already missed his books terribly. He heard the footsteps close in and knew his time was up. It was either that brat Roy with his stupid sword or someone else the General had sent to silence him forever.
As the shadow of a man was cast upon the pit, the Librarian unwillingly looked up, expecting to see a scavenger carrying a gun or a knife. He was partly right. It indeed was a scavenger, but instead of a gun or a knife, he strangely carried a key to the Librarian’s chains.
“Hello!” the man whispered. “How would you like being free?”
SINS OF PASSION
Vikranth walked out of the inner sanctum and past the tall and heavy Dwarapalaks as they eyed him with the same calculated suspicion they view anyone who enters the sanctum with.
Just a few feet outside the main sanctum, he was greeted by Shukra – one of the eight Avadhanis. The Avadhanis pick their own names.
Vikranth had always wondered what sort of a strange man would pick a name like Shukra. He never dared ask.
The Avadhanis repelled him with their pale faces, their white robes and strange prayers. If it wasn’t for their closeness to the Purohit and the amount of trust the Purohit put in them, Vikranth wouldn’t have bothered with their kind ever.
“Kalki Commands!” Shukra said.
He was a tall and skinny man of forty with bony hands and a shaved head. His forehead was tattooed with a black U-shaped bindi like all the other Avadhanis.
Sinners- The Dawn Of Kalki Page 7