A shelter in the snow

At Himavant

The unknown effort, as well as the time lapse between their dive into the Ganges, and their arrival at Himavant had left both Shankara and Burak exhausted. The fruit of the skies invigorated them, and at the same time, made them drowsy as well. They had just rested their backs on the rock by the side of the blue Ganges, that they dozed off to the realms of sleep, to be woken-up only in the evening, by the distant tinkling of bells, as if from the small tinklets tied on the neck of the cows.

Cows? There would be no cows here; maybe just the yaks. They would use the Yaks as the cows, maybe.

The sun was setting over the mountains behind the Ganges. It was just these folds of the earth everywhere around them. Visible in layers over layers, towering over one another. Burak turned around to Shankara.

‘There must be some humans there as well.’

‘Yes, let us see. We need to move and find a shelter soon, or the night would kill us of its cold even if the wild animals don’t hunt us.’ Shankara answered.

Both got up and turned around to the sounds. The tinkling was not from the vicinity, but from a far off place. As they moved on, the sounds got a tad louder each moment. These were not the tinklets on the necks of the cows, but actually the bells. They kept moving to the direction of the sound, until, in the midway, the sound just stopped all of a sudden. Among the mountains, they weren’t even sure, from which direction the sound came, now they were left entirely clueless.

‘ Let us just walk straight. Let us hope we reach somewhere.’ Shankara said with a sigh.

They walked ahead on the snowy track as it started getting darker. It would be night in another hour. As they walked, they hit a summit and saw a valley down the peak. Burak turned around to look at the expanse around him. The sky was crisp and the air was fresh. A sight suddenly caught Burak’s eyes. A little down the peak, there was a wooden structure. He quickly turned to Shankara, who faced onto the other direction, and patted his back. As Shankara turned around, Burak pointed his finger towards the building. Shankara’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he spontaneously fell on his knees in prostration towards the structure. As Burak looked ahead, he saw a man appear on the way to the structure, and as Shankara went down in prostration, the man faced the building and went into a sajdah. Shankara, got up and pulled Burak’s arm to take him ahead, as Burak watched the man in green robes go down into sajdah again. By all means he was into the namaz, except that he faced opposite to the quiblah.

Some Place Else

Rishikesh

Shankara asked Burak to follow him as he walked out of the town in a cold, deserted road. The town lay at the edge of the Himavant, the forbidden world, and this was the last road to nowhere. It was late afternoon. “Are you ready for your ordained destination?” Shankara asked Burak.

“Are we going straight away?”Burak asked expectantly as he jumped off from the stair on which he stood, and followed Shankara. “ I meant that we could, perhaps, do some preparations as we leave!” He tried to explain. However Shankara seemed to be in no mood to stop.

“You’d been preparing for this throughout your life Burak!” He said, and walked on till he bumped into a young sadhu. The sadhu seemed to recognize Shankara and immediately prostrated in front of him. Shankara held the sadhu’s arms and made him rise up. “Vidyadhara, have you brought my consignments?” Shankara asked the strange sadhu.

The sadhu immediately produced a box from his bag, and handed it over to Shankara. Shankara smiled and took the bag. “We shall meet on the other side. Perhaps.” Shankara said to him. There were tears in the sadhu’s eyes. Without saying a word, he turned around, and swiftly walked toward the town. Shanakra and Burak stood there and saw his silhouette disappear in the mist. It was getting dark and cold. It was almost dangerous to go anywhere outside the town at this hour, especially into the wilderness toward which they headed. They suddenly came to a point where the road ended. They could listen to the sound of flowing water somewhere from the woods ahead of them. Shankara continued uninhibited, Burak swiftly followed. Both stopped at a point inside the woods where there was nothing to go ahead, except the swiftly flowing Ganga, that lay in front of them. Shankara turned back to Burak and said, “ Look in front of you. Those are the mountains of the East.” He pointed towards brilliantly shining snow covered horizon, built up by successively taller layers of mountains, that almost obliterated the sky. For the first time in his life, Burak could not see where the land ended, and the sky started. The end seemed to be a bit of both the land and the sky.

“ You shall need to dive through the waters of the Ganga to get to the other side. Take this oxygen kit, and dive immediately after me. You can turn behind after I dive, and join your group after I dive, but remember, this is why you have come so far. Remember the verses that you read in your childhood, that made you come out of the world!” Shankara handed the box over to him. Before Burak could think of anything, Shankara dived into the river, leaving Burak alone to figure out the rest of his life in a moment. An inner voice suddenly overtook him and told him that the man who dived before him did it because he trusted that he would come. If for nothing else, he should trust him because of this and do it.  In a moment, he took out the oxygen mask and jumped into the Ganga.

It seemed petrifying. Cold water had surrounded him on all the sides. As he opened his eyes, he saw a different word, a murky aquatic reality. When he lived by the Van Golu, and the Caspian, he often thought of the life underneath the great water bodies. He had imagined it to be somewhat similar to the aquarium, but being inside was a completely different experience. He felt the waxy and ribbony water grass touch his body, and a sudden fish rush before his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a thrust from behind. He was pushed forcefully ahead. Suddenly shankara came over him, and dragged him along with himself.  Within minutes they had surfaced to see a high wave building in front of them. Suddenly, they were takem upon the crest of the wave, and after a few tosses in the water, Burak could sense the turbulence calm. He could feel something by his hands. He cleared his watery eyes and saw brilliantly white snow covered landscape in front of himself. He was at the shore.

Burak couldn’t recount that how long he remained in water. Even though it didn’t seem long, but, by all standards, it would have been really long time, as it was bright daylight. He was exhausted. As Shankara looked around, as if searching for something, Burak just fell down on some warm earth on the riverside to rest. When he woke up, the sun was overhead, but the chilling winds made the warmth almost ineffective. Shankara had gathered some twigs and made a fire close to Burak. It gave him some warmth. His clothes had, miraculously, dried, A Burak stood up and went a few steps ahead to inspect the landscape, he saw the most wonderous thing he had ever thought of!

He saw a humanoid figure appear in the horizon. The person seemed perfect, except that he had long ears, and strangely enough, a bow and a quiver full of arrows. As he turned back, Burak saw that Shankara had come close to him. Shankara quietly indicated Burak to remain silent, and spoke just one word in whispers. “Elf.”

The elf was surveying the sky intently, as if trying to figure something out. He then wly took out an arrow from his quiver, and aimed at the sky as if there was something there. He released the arrow towards the sky. The arrow vanished, but the elf kept looking at the skies as if searching for something. Suddenly, there was a shower from the sky. Amazing large pink fruits fell from the heavens, as if there was a tree up there. The elf quickly collected the fruits and wnt away, kicking some fruits here and there in haste. One of the fruits reached the place where Burak, and Shankara stood.

It was a pink colored fruit. Shankara indicated Burak to pick it up.  “ You can eat it. It’s safe.” Shankara said.

The fruit was almost the pulp. Without a covering or the rind. Burak was filled with unspeakable joy as he took the first bite on the fruit. This was the sweetest, juiciest, and tastiest fruid Burak ever had. All his tiredness and worries were gone in a moment.

Shankara was smiling at Burak. He gave out a short laugh and said. “Welcome to Himavant.”

There are many a devil!

Chicago

There were some informal meetings by the sidelines of the parliament. This meeting at Kina’s was one such meeting. Kina’s was an upmarket restaurant at Chicago – often frequented by the who’s who of the country. Today, the dinner meeting was between Father Carlo of Brazil, Priest Osman of Somalia and  Tsang Hui of China.

“It is important that righteousness rules – whatever way it might.” Osman explained as the others heard with apt attention. “In my country, the masses are with me and I guide them on the right path. The prince cannot question me either. In fact he treads his path as I advice him.” There seemed a touch of pride in his voice. He had his head held high. “My writ rules in not only Somalia, but also Sudan and Kenya. People accept me as their spiritual master and listen to me. Narayanaswami talks about the congress of forces of the good, but his influence in his own nation is  limited – he heads an international sect, that’s fine – and a rich one at it, but what about the power? We need to establish a religious and righteous rule in the world to make it livable.

“ It is impossible in my country Osman.” Carlo replied. “I might have people listening to me, but I can’t extend my influence on  the government to make religious laws. Moreover people are happy.”

“Happy?” Osman replied. “There are two forces in this world. Good and evil. Whatever we do, either makes the god happy or the devil. People don’t count in this Carlo.” His voice became stern. “What matters is that on what side you are?” He looked straight into his eyes. “Remember what O’Donnell said today morning – we need to put limits.”

In the background, sat Lui - listening to the conversation. He haad always wanted to make it big and change the future of people – everything that Osman said felt like making sense. There were people in his nation, and there was power and there was a huge gap between the two. He could easily function as a power broker – he only needed to tread cautiously. Just as he was in a deep thought, Osman called on Freidricho – the chief of the shadow government at Rio.

“Hello Mr. Freidricho, Salam wa’alaikum. Al Osman Al Hameed from the Somalian mosque.”

“Hello Mr. Osman.” Came back the reply. “It’s been a long time since I heard from you. As we had promised you in last elections, we are garnishing support for implementation of religious laws and special previlages for the two million Muslims in Brazil. We welcome your support for upliftment of the community in our country.”

“So  kind of you, Mr. Freidricho.” Osman answered in a pleasant tone. “God willing, you would be the next head of the state. Today, however I have called you for another favour. Favour, as it would be, not only to me and you, but also to the almighty.”

“Go ahead Mr. Osman.” Came the reply.

“I have a good friend in Father Carlo from Rio, who shares my thoughts in the matters of religion.  I hope you would visit him and have a chat. I feel we can work really well together.”

“Oh, that would be a pleasure.” Friedricho replied. “I would definitely visit him once he returns.”

They exchanged some pleasantries before Osman haung up.

Carlo looked at him with disbelief. There was a smile on Lui’s face. 

  _______________________________________________________

Narayanaswami was in a governing body meeting when he got a call from India. It was his deputy Priyavrat.

“Guruji, there is going to be a new development soon.” Priyavrat said.

“What’s it?” Narayanaswami said in a rather uninterested tone.    

“The government is about to announce a tax on milk other than that given to the government stores for distribution. The food and agriculture minister has said that the regulatory mechanisms for checking the purity and quality of milk are quite expensive for which the companies must pay. They have tried to garner support for this since a long time. Their reason is that the companies and people can give the milk in government deposits and take optimum benefits. They allege that private firms are making milk an expensive commodity for their own benefits. They have also found out that the private firms are either overproducing as  is against the Cow Protection act of India and Prevention of cruelty against animals act of India, or not showing the number of cattle they possess.”

Narayanaswami’s eyes widened.

“Priyavrat, note down. Ask these questions to the government. First, would the cost reduce if the same amount of milk is being checked in government dairies? Second, the net amount of milk would remain the same in the market. People would not give milk to the government, and increase the cost of milk, for which the public would have to pay. Third, the government is more concerned with its own benefit rather than benefit of the people.”

He smiled as he disconnected the call. This might prove a turning point in his career. He smiled.

Mountains of the East!

With Shankara at Rishikesh

They sat on the stairs at the ghat of Ganga at Paramarth Niketan, overlooking the ancient Statue of Shiva as it sat on the island in the middle of swiftly flowing Ganga.

“She starts from his locks, and yet years back she devoured him in her tides.” Shankara told Burak, pointing to the Ganga.

He then shifted his gaze at the starry sky above him. “That is the Orion – from where it all started.” He spoke t6o Burak.

“What all?” Burak asked, confused.

“All this around you, whatever you have seen.” Shankara answered.

“I don’t understand.” Burak said.

“The very life that we see now.”  Shankara answered.

“In times immemorial, before the prehistoric, before any human being ever roamed on the face of the earth, there was a cosmic battle. It occurred in the belt of the Hunter as we see it from here.” Shankara pointed towards the Orion. “There lies a higher world there to which we all belong –where we all go after our life – to be born again. That is our seed.”

“Ages back, when ice covered the earth; the vanquished of the war were exiled from the Orion to find their own world. The sages who protected them lived across the skies – headed by the seven most gracious ones. The vanquished approached those sages with a request for refuge. The sages however had another purpose to fulfill. They gave refuge, but on condition that they would leave in two years for the earth. The sages taught them the art of travelling at a speed higher than that of the light – with the speed of mind.

After two years the sages set them off for their new abode. When they reached here, they mixed up with the native life forms to acqire a body, as they were originally, mind bon, as all the cosmic beings. They formed a new species – Homo sapiens.

Some of them went to a higher world and built civilization higher than Orion.  

The seven sages are still our guardian angels who watch us from that dark space between the seven stars. The ones who control the Orion still look for victory and glory – both on earth and the higher planet. They are all mind – bodied except the beings of the earth, therefore their realm of control is mind and the senses. They repeatedly aim at controlling the human minds. That is their battleground.”

“The almighty from whose golden egg everything develops and who holds the world in the balance of his mind intervenes in this game of mind every now and then and enters the realms of the mind to balance out the opposing side whenever one side becomes heavy. The cosmic play continues in many millions of such creations all the time. We think about right and wrong, good and evil; but in reality none of this exists – it is just opposing side of the axis – which has to exist for the very existence of the other side. We are just the pawns in this game of dice, where the turn of the dice decides how much we would move – the only difference is that we have a freedom in deciding the speed of our movement and how high we would jump.”

“Whatever you say seems to make sense.” Burak  said.” But somehow, the brain tells me not to believe in it.”

Shankara smiled, “you have travelled all your life alone, haven’t you?” He asked.

Burak nodded.

“Yes.” He remarked. “It all ended in Mecca.”

“You saw me there?” Shankara asked.

Burak exhibited a sense of mild shock, more than he actually felt there. How does he know?

“You saw many other people there, isn’t it?” Shankara continued. “You were even instructed to go to the eastern mountains.”

Burak nodded silently.

“Look to the north Burak.” Shankara pointed to the snow covered peaks on the horizon. As Burak turned to have a look, Shankara completed his sentence. “Those are the mountains that you were ordained for.”

Burak took a deep sigh. He raised up from the ghat where he sat.  The water of the Ganges made a sweet music in the background. He looked towards the majestic mountains on the north  and their snow covered peaks. He never thought that the fate would take him this far. He looked back. He was talking to a kafir priest. He did not know what was going on, but there was something that was inviting him to the wilderness beyond Rishikesh. Was the seer to be his guide in this journey?

The Transatlantic Meet

The World Parliament of Religions

Chicago, the Central Territories of America

“If there is something that can save the world from its present state of degradation,” he paused for a while and let the words imbibe into the teaming millions who were present there to hear the inaugural address before he resumed, “it is synthesis.”

“We must talk. We must share. We must evolve. We must do it for our future.” He spoke with several pauses as the audience heard aptly. “Our neighbors in east and west have aligned themselves in a way principally different from us. Though, this is not a political platform, but I bring this in because we have a spiritual connection between us. When we in the central territories were talking about a spiritual consensus, our neighbors in the east were talking about a single American identity. This they might have achieved in the area they govern, but, see how flawed their completeness looks with its homogeneity. People are diverse. You cannot ask them to reshape and live, prey and die in the same way. In our west , however, they have given a complete freedom to materialists. They have turned to be like feudal lords. The personal independence should not be so overemphasized that it turns the society into a utilitarian system.” Michael O’Donnell was the Supreme commander of the CTA. A ‘democratic tyrant’ as the world called him. His country saw elections every four years, but the ministry that was elected had to work under his government, and perhaps he had a veto power. He promoted liberal thinking ‘within limits’ that he decided. A seventy years old man – he was running the government since he was thirty. He inherited the throne from his godfather Richard Houston after the latter’s death .As he spoke the finishing line of the inaugural session, people rose at their places, as was the custom and gave a standing applause to the commander. “With such a world in my mind I wish the president elect of the congress His holiness Mr. Narayanaswami, also the head of the Vidyapanthi sect for the success of the programs. With these words I declare the 564^th World Parliament of Religions at Chicago open.”

The board of governors of the parliament thanked the supreme commander and felicitated him before he left. The addresses and the agenda for the meeting followed.

Narayanaswami who was the present president elect was a relatively new face. He emerged two years back from the oblivion and rose to glory. Thousands of people from all walks of life came to him, just as they did to his guru –the late Rajendrananda. He headed the board of governors that comprised of the most influential religious men in the world of all the religions - a body that the world saw with respect in this era of the dying light. His story of rise to fame and glory, however, no one knew. Just as this man rose to speak amidst thunderous applause, another gracious man was rising from his humble bed as the dawn broke around the globe in India.

The Murder of A Saint

Next Day

Travelling through the Deccan on the coach to Rishikesh

After a discourse to Kalia’s pupil, Madhavendra asked Burak and Kalia to follow him to his compartment.

“I had an old friend at Rishikesh. His name was Rajendra – a gem of a man. People would throng him in thousands and he would relieve their worldly agonies while himself being engaged in realms outside of this material existence.” Shankara started. “He had a favorite disciple – a man who would go to any extent for his worldly gains through the way of unworldly pursuits. He rules the world today.”

“In his hijack of the forces of good, he has joined hands with the ones who share his greed. The multitude of go getters who have crushed many a blooming lives to make their  way up to nowhere. The farther they go, the farther go the horizons and the farther goes their insatiable greed. They have become heroes, role models and masters of the earth. They sow the seeds of sin on the earth and reap the harvest of evil, which grows in magnitude – consuming this very earth, until one day living would become impossible on the earth.” The seer had a grave face.“What they don’t know is that they would be gone in a flash. Apamnapat who resides in the water filled clouds waits to devour them and rain the fresh waters in which he hides.”

“Who is he my lord?” Professor asked the seer.

“His name is Ajay. Born in a small hamlet in near Mathura – he was a son of a simple farmer. It was broad daylight in Mathura when he was born, and suddenly it began to rain without clouds. There was a tumultuous uproar as dogs, cats and jackals howled and the birds of prey gathered in the sky and flew in circles. The whole district of Mathura was flooded in this unseasonal rainfall. He tore his mother’s womb and killed her while coming out. His father’s crops failed that year. As he grew up, he would eat all the food in his poor household, leaving his elder and doting brothers hungry.  A bane on the family, his black shadow loomed on the whole village as the rodents and locusts infested the crop and cattle died of mysterious illness. It was at such a time that Rajendrananda arrived in the village. He saw the  agony of the villagers and found out the cause. It was the boy. He took the boy with him and raised him up as his own son, transforming him by the power of his prayers into a positive soul – or at least so he felt. The boy was to become the cause of his death in the time to come. Ajay put up a show of humbleness and righteousness in front of his master so that he became his favorite pupil. One day when Rajendra went up in a mountain cave with a year’s vow ofnot standing up from meditation and eating just once in two days, he appointed Ajay as his sole caretaker who would be the only person to have an access to him. His duty was to bring food to him. For four months he did his duty religiously. By then, he had also taken up the duties of his master as the head of the hermitage. He felt the taste of the position of power and prestige for the first time. People, rich and poor, powerful and impoverished all came to him alike. Moreover, he saw people giving him expensive gifts and the money flowing in. ‘What would happen once his master returns’ he thought. ‘All the privilages would be taken away from him and he would have to hold a subsidiary position again.’ This is when he stopped feeding his master. Rajendra would wait for food for five minutes every second day, while Ajay took the food from the hermitage and threw it away in the stream by the hillside. Within two months Rajendra fell ill.

Ajay reported at the hermitage that the guru was not opening his eyes for food. When Rajendra last met him, he told him that he does not want anyone to meet him. One day, when Rajendra decided to end his fast, he rose up with great difficulty to find Ajay standing by the hillside.

“Why don’t you get me the food?” He called out to him in an annoyed voice.

Ajay just laughed in surprise. “ You have risen father?” He said. “ this is not right. You shouldn’t break your vow. He approached a weakened Rajendra and gently pushed him along the hillside in the stream. The ascetic died of the fall and asphyxia. The seat was permanently taken by Ajay, who now named himself Narayanaswami. He heads a religious sect now and is lately chairing the world parliament of religions in America.”

Shankara continued, “ The board of governors at the parliament of religions is filled with such demons disguised in the veil of holy men. All of them are ready with a shovel in their hands – ready to dig the grave of humankind forever.” Shankara’s voice was furious. “They are the governors of the shovel of the doomsday.”

“What he doesn’t know however is that, the day he killed his master, he gave birth to his destruction. Rajendra’s soul was sucked into the sky with the streams water by Apamnapat – who lives as lightening in the rain clouds- the one who will bring about his destruction.”

The Language of God!

The Kamakoti Peetam

Kanchipuram, India

Madhavendra Saraswati was the Shankaracharya of Kanchi – the one who bore the light of the Adi Shankara down the ages from eighth century. He was the closest parallelism to the catholic pope in Vedantic branch of Hinduism yet, he couldn’t have been more different from the pope. His home was an ancient one room apartment at the Kanchi Math and his belongings were a floor rug made of dried twigs, an earthen tumbler, a stick that went well over his head and a sac full of clothes and daily needs. For clothes, he wore a loincloth and an angavastram. For one hour a day, he would sew clothes for the deities with his own hands which were sold in market and for which he was paid five rupees a day. For one hour, he would oversee the accounts of the instiution, for which he was paid ten rupees a day. His third duty was taking care of two cows at the Gaushala cowshed in which, he spent two hours a day. He was paid twenty rupees for this task. In addition, he performed daily pujas at the temple for two hours, met people for one hour and taught Vedas to the students for one hour. For this, he was provided a luxury of free stay and conveyance. For the rest of day, he would be allowed to spend time on his personal wish. He would usually read, meditate, sleep or do his daily chores in this time. He was given fifty days of paid leave in a year when he could make journeys. On his excursions, he was allowed three staff –a driver, an umbrella man and a flag bearer, who bore his flag with the Sanskrit epitaph : ‘Dharmorakshati rakshita’ – protected righteousness protects.

Shankara sat in his room on the straw mat with his legs folded in lotus posture ready to receive people who had come from around the world to meet him. “There is a teacher with a group of students.” He said to his attendant. “Tell him that I only want to meet him with the student who comes from deserts of the west. Rest of them, I will meet tomorrow.”

It was the second day of Prof. Kalia’s sabbatical with his students. As he waited outside the seer’s room for a hearing, the attendant announced –“A teacher who comes with a student from the deserts of the west.”

Kalia gestured Burak to move in. He told rest of the students to wait.

As Burak entered the room, he was astonished. He saw that the seer with an unintelligible name, who he was told was also called Shakara of Kanchi, and whom for the ease of conversation, they had all shortened to Kanchi was a face that looked so familiar, that he was in a dilemma as to where he had seen him.

Madhavendra Saraswati saw the look om Burak’s face. He smiled and asked them to sit. As they sat,  the seer rose up and approached Burak and touched his head as he said, “I’ll solve your problems.”

As he touched him, he saw flashes of the past in his mind.  He saw his circumambulation of the Ka’aba turn into a garden with people walking with him. In a flash, he saw the seer pass him with a group of people following him. As he chanted, he turned around and smiled at him, before vanishing into a milky white light.

Burak’s eyes widened. He saw the seer smiling before him. He couldn’t speak anything.

By now Kanchi had moved on to Kalia. “ I am leaving on vacations tomorrow for Rishikesh. You can accompany me with your group.  I shall make the arrangements for you if you say. It is an unanticipated leave.”

As he opened his mouth to speak, the seer spoke before him, “come you must.”

 Kalia closed his mouth. He had nothing left to say. It would be difficult to re-plan everything, especially since the students were there with him, but he would have to do it anyways.

Burak looked around him. This place was completely strange for him. It was getting chokingly fragrant –all his senses were awakened. However his sixth sense knew another thing – it was the time for his evening prayers.

Shankara understood what was in Burak’s mind and asked Kalia mildly, “I want to talk to your student alone.” Kalia bowed and left the room.  He dispersed the attendant thereafter.

“We will do the oblations before the prayers Burak.” He said as he offered him water.

As burak started his prayers, he felt his surroundings change once again. Madhavendra was by his side, praying with him – his attire miraculously changed. After he finished, Burak turned toward the seer and saw him sitting in meditation. 

He was outraged.

“What was all that?” he barked.

“I was just praying along with you.” The seer answered.

“You were praying my way.” Burak said.

“I don’t even know a word  of the language you were speaking.” Shankara smiled. “If you saw something, maybe it was an indication from the god that he sees all the prayers the same.”

Shankara was smiling at him all the time. “Our time is over, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning now.” He said calmly.

Burak stormed out of the room in disbelief.

No Socrates Must Die!

Lahore, India.

Burak just ate, prayed and read. He had enjoyed it thoroughly. He tried to imagine the characters, and they were there in front of his eyes. He had grown fond of some of them – Shantanu was a righteous king, Devavrata was brave and yet humble, Ganga was true to her words. But then all were wrong – Shantanu had a weakness for the woman, Bheeshma had abducted the three girls of Kashi, Ganga left her husband alone. It was a perplexing story where, till he had read – he could paint all the characters grey. Satyavati was greedy, but a good wife and had a sense of responsibility as the queen, Salva was arrogant and haughty, but honourable – no one was completely right or completely wrong.

He entered Mujeeb’s room next day. Prof. Sujeet Ranjan Kalia, the head of philosophy was there with him.  Without waiting for Burak to be seated comfortably, he began – “What did you last read?”

“Three sons being born to the two princesses and the maid.” Burak answered.

“Who  is your favorite so far?” Kalia asked.

“Devavrata Bheeshma – the son of Ganga.” Burak answered.

Mujeeb smiled, “that is your first lesson in history – never identify yourself with any character in history. 

Everyone is right in his own way and his own circumstance. You are here to see what happened, not judge if what happened was right or wrong. And who’s wrong and who’s right when we are all pawns on a special board – with limited powers and our moves governed by someone who doesn’t know what way the next dice is going to turn.  ”

“That is a part of philosophy.” Kalia smiled and remarked.

“When Wazir Khan first talked to me about your intentions, I knew that your knowledge of history won’t be enough to serve your purpose. You need to read about comparative philosophy as well. Otherwise it would constraint your mind. As they say –a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.” Mujeeb said. “I think that it would be good if you join a starter’s batch at Prof. Kalia’s department for now. It would help you a lot.”

“I’m going on a sabbatical, Burak.  My students move with me. Be prepared for a journey - we are going south –where a great seer waits for us. We leave in a week’s time” Kalia said.

Burak nodded

Old Story of the East

Lahore, India

Burak sat on his rocking chair in the guest house apartment with visual tool on his wrist and audio device in his ears. As he clicked the play button on his book, he heard the sound, “Please close your eyes for the text. You can open your eyes and the text would be paused to restart at the same point when you play again. In case you want to start from the beginning or another page, just say scroll back or scroll forth. Happy reading.”

As he closed his eyes visual images started forming about the text as his imagination fed the visual tool sensors. It started.

“It is a prehistoric text of the subcontinent of India - A text on its rulers, a text of war and a text of peace.”

Images rose in Burak’s mind about huge buildings, wars, brown kings and cities and villages of old. There was tumult and excitement.  The book continued, as did vivid image in Burak’smind.

“When they first wrote it, writing was an art confined only to the Brahmins- elegant and intellectual caste of the Indians. They wrote it with peacock’s feather. The dark and effulgent Krisna  Dwaipayana ,the one who was born on an island in the dark coloured Yamuna; who is also called Vyasa because he divided the eternal  knowledge into various subjects so that it is intelligible by the human minds; wrote this text. No, they say the elephant headed immortal – Ganesha, who is the son of Shiva –the lord of demigods wrote it as Vyasa narrated it, on a condition that when his pen stops he would write no more – and when he stopped, the epic became the largest poem ever written on the earth. It claims that what is here could be found elsewhere, but what is not here is nowhere to be found. This is the history of Prehistoric India, the story of the line of Bharata. It’s called the Mahabharata – The great scions of Bharata.

Burak opened his eyes. The images vanished. He hadn’t asked for the subcontinental history. He called on Mujeeb. “I think we’ve picked up the wrong book Mr.Mujeeb. Its about prehistoric  India. Looks like fables, where there are strange beings.”

Mujeeb gave a short laugh. “Well, Burak. I told you that this is a conditioning text. You need to read this before anything else Be patient and read as I say. I know  what I have given you to read. We’ll discuss about it tomorrow.”

Burak closed his eyes and started with the text again. He slowly got absorbed in the text as it entered his mind in viid imagination till he heard in his mind the sound of  azaan – the call for prayer.

The Lady with the Secrets

Nalash, Patiala, India

 It was evening.

“Rajat, I will not tell you everything. I will take you to someone’s home tonight. We have been here since a long time. You haven’t eaten anything since morning. On our way, I’ll get you some dinner. This place is famous for food-though not the south Indian food that you are used to, but something very different from that. The Jaggi’s is just on our way back, and  the food tastes awesome – that is what I have heard.” Jai smiled at him. “We’ll take a cab, but remember, there’s just one person.”

Rajat laughed. “You aren’t dead Rajat…um…Jai!” He said. “Here we meet- in this way – halfway across the country..” They left the woodlands.

By the sunset, they were in the suburb of Nalash- which was once a village centered on an old Shiva temple. The locals said that if you want to meet Shiva, it can either be at Kailash or at Nalash.  On the 87^th street was a moderate home, where Jai took Rajat. He pressed the doorbell. A lady, seemingly of European decent emerged out.

“Oh my boy!I have been waiting for you!” She said as she opened the gate and led them in.

Rajat felt confused. She led them to the drawing room, where strangely, he saw Vikas.

“Mother, its time for evening prayers.” Vikas said the lady. “The guests shall also join in if they so like.” He added.

Jai and Rajat followed them into a room which was essentially empty except a cupof  burning guggal in the centre that sent up clouds of smoke – making the room fragrant and smoky. In one corner he sawa small  photograph of virginMary. It was all confusingly alien to him.

The woman took up  conch from the floor while Vikas got a huge bell in his hand. She blew the couch loud as Vikas rang the bell rhythmically and broke into Sanskrit chants. Something that reminded Rajat of that night at the crematorium.

Galadha Raktha Mukthavali Khanda Mala,
Maha Gora Raava, Sudamshtra Karala,
Vivasthra Smasanalaya Mukthakesi,
Maha Kala-Kamakulaa Kalikeyam

Wearing a garland of skulls drenched with blood,
Having a fearful form, black in colour with externally projecting teeth,
She is nude and lives in cremation ground with fully untied hair,
And she is Kali busy in love play with the great Lord Shiva.

Rajat felt the vibrations in his mind. They were more intense than ever.  After they finished the prayers, they returned to the drawing room. The woman looked at Rajat.

“I’m Vikas’ mother, Rajat. You can call me Anuradha. I was born Annie though. It doesn’t matter what you call me.” She said.

Rajat nodded his head.

“Well, Jai – your friend might have told you a couple of things. I’m going to tell you a couple of other things, that you must listen attentively.” She continued.

“Your father, the great Rama Uthhappa had an elder brother named Shiva Uthhappa, was; well, to say it mildly – having a psychiatric ailment since he was a child. The treatment was started early, however, the symptoms worsened. By the time, he was thirty two- he had to be confined to a room. Your father was the one taking care of him by now. At NIMHANS, he was admitted on a long term basis and was let out of his room only for two hours in the day and two in the evening in order to walk in the lawns and meet people, and that too under observation. Rukhsaana was a newly admitted Turkish patient, who was probably under chronic depression that was triggered by her traumatic past in the England as a student when she was reportedly defamed by her boyfriend who scandalized a sex session and spread a video involving him and her. Both the patients met each other and surprisingly, since they met- they would long to meet each other all the time. Their symptoms improved as well. The doctors allowed them to meet each other more often and visit each others at their time. That was till the time that it was found out that Rukhsaana was pregnant with Shiv’s baby. The boy was born in the hospital, but sadly, the mother died while giving birth. The father could not endure the loss and lived just a month after her death. The boy was adopted by the brother Rama Uthaappa – your father. That child was you. “

Rajat kept listening attentively.

“ As for Pankaj and Chandrashekharappa – the accountant – they were both killed – by Rama Uthaappa’s men.” She stopped. “Rama is not the man he looks to be.”

The tale of Zaara

Jalandhar, India

Zaara’s home was a huge mansion. It was manned by two female servants and a gardener. They lived in the annex to the house, while she lived alone. Mrs. Zaara, as they learnt was a masterchef at Cardamom  at the Taj in Jalandhar. She was one of the most famous continental cooks in the country and authored many cookbooks. She was also famous for throwing up lavish parties at her home. She was a famous figure.

“You can stay with me.” She told Deborah and Thomas. “I have a guest suite. I’ll ask Vinni to prepare that for your stay. I don’t want questions from people, so I’ll be telling them that these are assistants whom I met at Hong Kong. I wanted them to be here to instruct me on modifications in cooking and taste.” She winked at them. “Make sure you reciprocate me.”

In the evening as they sat at the dining table for their dinner. Zaara Asked them, “so how did India treat you so far?”

Thomas sneaked a look at Deborah and answered, “Pretty bad! We got mugged and then cheated. Actually, madam, as an information – we are penniless at the moment.  Our  passports have been stolen and we are in an identity crises.”

“Oh my!” Zaara sighed. “ Didn’t you go to the British office?”

“That would take a lot of money.”Thomas replied.

“Perhaps, we don’t even want to go back.” Deborah replied rather hastily as Thomas ended his sentence. She wanted this interrogation to end.

“Oh, that’s another story entirely.” Zaara raised her eyebrows as she continued. “This country is full of illegals like you. They have learnt to put up with them. I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem here. The midland scum, you’d be.”

“You have offended me more than once Zaara. Whatever you have with Dawson’s is a personal matter, and moreover in my opinion John was a really respectable person.” Deborah protested.

“Respectable?” Zaara sounded furious now. “ If there was someone respectable in that family, that rascal of a man killed him?”

“Hah…your daughter?” Deborah answered sarcastically.

“William Dawson, if you know him. His elder brother.”

Deborah froze.

“If you have the mettle to listen then I’ll tell you all.” Zaara said.

“But how do I know whatever you are telling you is the truth?” Deborah asked, still unable together herself after what she had just heard.

“I’ll prove it to you.”

Zaara started.

“A pack of hyenas can sometimes prove too good for a solitary lion. William Dawson was that lion among the hyenas.  A gem of a man, he was a great friend of my husband’s. The tallest leader in the midlands –his popularity was growing in the conservative party day by day.An honest man, and an intelligent one on it –he stood taller than anyone in the conservatives and the labour alike. It seemed that he was destined to be the most popular leader in the United Kingdom in many years. He died suddenly in a car crash along with her wife. “

“I know how he died Zaara, everyone in the Britain knows it.”  Deborah remarked.

“So foolish of all of you to believe that. “  Zaara snapped with a sigh. “Do you know Carl Kingston and Tim Dickens?”

“Yes. The chancellor of the exchequer and the chief of Scotland yard.” Deborah replied.

“Good. What you don’t know is that John Dawson and both of them had been friends since they studied together at Wolvorhampton.”

“That’s good.” Deborah said.

“Yes, for them it was good, but not for others.” Zaara searched for Wolverhampton university ethnic sex videos.

There was a steamy sex video playing in front of them.

“Zaara! What on the earth..?” Thomas protested.

“The boy is a British and the girl is an ethnic Turk.” Zaara continued with her story. “Both were rich and had come to Wolverhampton for studies, but as the fate would have it, they fell in love with each other.” She stopped the video.

“The boy is my cousin. My aunt’s son. Palmer – the most illustrious among the university students. The hottest contender for the PhD in Political Science, something that John desired as well.  Now,he most cunningly came close to Palmer, so that he won his trust as a good friend. One day he invited Palmer and his girlfriend to his place for a party. He effectively drugged them and arranged them to be in a room for the night in that condition. The only thing he shouldn’t have done is videographing of this film that played in front of you. Worst still, this was fed in Palmer’s phone and distributed among friends. The video spread like wild fire. Palmer was accused  of defaming the girl. The relationship broke and the girl returned to Turkey, where it was discovered that she was pregnant. She was quietly nestled in Istanbul, where she gave birth to the child who was adopted by his uncle and aunt at a small Turkish village. As for Palmer, he was so hopelessly drawn into shame and infamy that he committed suicide. The  PhD went to John Dawson and he joined the conservatives directly after completion.”

There was a silence. Zaara resumed.

“As if this wasn’t enough, John didn’t stop there. The next roadblock to his political aspirations was no one other than his own brother – WILLIAM DAWSON. With him in the scene, John stood nowhere even on his own home turf. He cracked a conspiracy with the help of his old university friends and other foes of William – killing him in the accident. He became the innocent younger brother and scion of the dynasty now – the rightful heir to his brother’s throne and glory.”

“How do you know this?” Deborah spoke in a voice that seemed lost somewhere in her mind.

“My daughter, Sarah was married to John. A proud wife, she entered his home-office one day to hear as he spoke of the conspiracy. She was immediately confined and scared into submission when she protested that this was wrong. All her communications were stopped immediately. John reported that she was severely ill. She was given tranquilizers and sedatives in heavy doses in the meanwhile. Her trauma continued. She was brainwashed and deprived of love. Only in the little Deborah – William’s daughter could she find love. They got exceedingly close.”

Deborah realized that the lady actually knew the truth. Something that no one else knew. 

“John knew this relationship between the two. Now he played a third game to tame the girl. The bastard even had an eye on the ancestral property and money. He wanted all of it by himself.  He caught Deborah and Sarah red handed having sex one day, and then played the victim. In this process however, he threw Deborah away effectively  to Portugal. By this time Sarah had become useless for him. He conspired to get her killed as well,  however, on much insitance from me , she told me the whole story.”

“Oh god! He killed her as well!” Deborah spoke in disgust.

“No, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t kill two people – Sarah Dawson and Annie Dawson.” Zaara Disclosed.

Deborah was shocked. Her mother was still alive.

“ Who was buried for Annie then?” Deborah asked.

That’s where all the new dimensions get added, dear.” Zaara disclosed.  “Everythng about Annie’s death was an illusion. She had lately come in contact with an Indian magician – a metaphysisist as he called himself. His name was Gorakshak – the protector of the cows. He had been in London lecturing about Metaphysics and the dimensions of the soul – something in which Annie was interested as well. This man could read faces, and into the future. He controlled the dark realms of the soul –he claimed. He could somehow guess what’s going to happen that fateful night. He rescued Annie that night and got her to me. That night, I was there alone with him and with an unconscious Annie. I couldn’t escape his intense eyes, and even though I was forty four that time I felt like a twenty year old girl. He felt like an angel in the bed. I begot him a daughter; he named her Trishna – illusion. So far as the funeral ceremony I concerned – it was all an illusion – casted by Gorakshak.”

“As for Annie, he took her to India, and soon Sarah and me as well. Sarah didn’t die. She disappeared. She is in this country now – a metaphysisist. Her name was changed by Gorakshak to Tara.”

Deborah listened in awe. “Where is Annie?”

“Not far from here. She bore a son to Gorakshak as well. They named him Vikas.” Zaara answered.

“At the end, we had our revenge after all. “ Zaara  continued. “ John had a weakness for having a prostitute each night. That’s where Tara and Trishna stuck him. They sucked his very life out of him and threw his soul into the depths of hell, where he now burns.”

“Do you know that the poor Deborah burns in that case now? She is the accused in the case for John’s death?” Deborah was raged.

“It is because John was about to get what he did with others anyways. His friends in the government and the Scotland Yard were behind his life. He was proving a threat equal to his elder brother. Lately they arranged Jessica Simpson – the pop artist to date him. She was to drug him that night anyways and poison him. Thereafter they would arrange her flight to the island of Madagascer for her to live a luxurious life without her name. We killed Jessica Simpson. The government and yard thought that they had done their work well, till they found proof of two females there and found Jessica dead at her apartment. They thought that there was someone who knew the secret. In order to cover themselves, they dragged Deborah into the case with a false evidence of presence of her body fluids. We asked Gorakshak to intervene and help the girl, but he denied saying that god had a different plan for Deborah and he would help her. That it seemed was certainly right, till we got the news that her flight crashed here in India –not far from this place.”

There were tears in Zaara’s eyes.  No one was speaking anything now. There was perfect silence.