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.

The Frothy Mist

7

Nigambodh Ghat, Delhi, India

  

“Oh! I love this smell of burning flesh.” The ascetic said, breathing a long deep breath.

He had long and flowing white hair - matted, oily and rough - falling down to his waist. His beard flew sideways in flowing wind. Flashes of lightening reflected in his eyeballs and lit his face momentarily – accentuating the wrinkles on his forehead. White ash was smeared all over his body.

“Alas, I would have to part with it.” He had a scornful expression on his face as if someone had done some wrong to him.

His disciples gathered around him. With their hands folded and heads bent down, they listened to him intently.

“I get the signals of change! Smell the flesh.” He said inhaling again. “It rots as it burns. Even the Agni (fire) is unable to contain the rot. When the purifier ceases to purify, it means that it’s the time for change. I feel that others might have sensed it too. They would have started as well. At the end of the era, there would be a meeting amidst destruction in the HimavntMountains of the north. The seven sages would be there and thousands of ascetics. Kripacharya, Parashurama and Lord Hanuman himself shall be there. The meeting shall be chaired by Lord Bharadvaja – the Brihaspatya – the son of none other than Brihaspati: master of the demigods. There we shall get the clarity on what’s coming.”

He repeated the old verses:

Yada yada hi dharmasya, glanir’bhavati’bharata.

Abhyut’thanam hi dharmasya, tvad’atmanam srujamyaham

Paritranaya sadhunam, Vinashaya ch’dushkritam

Dharma’sansthapanarthaya, sambhavami yuge yuge.

Whenever, on the earth the righteousness is shamed – in order to raise the righteousness, I incarnate myself. In order to save the ascetics and destroy the evil – in order to re-establish the cosmic order, I come age after age.

“We are in the darkest age, my pupils. The transition of the order is about to begin. Something new will come out of the dust of the old order, as it was the last time:

Senyur’ubhyor’madhye

…in midst of the armies and in midst of the ages…

The darkness shall soon pass.”

He turned around and walked to the banks of the turbulent Yamuna.  

“How much for an upstream ride on the flooding Yamuna?” he asked the lone rower. He was denied the ride.

“How much for a lost boat?” He asked. The rower smiled.

The ascetic was soon seen with oars, rowing upstream in the wild Yamuna, till he vanished in the frothy mist.

Deborah & Kali

London (continued from previous)

  John was her best known relative since childhood. He   always loved her like a daughter. After the sudden death of her parents in car crash when she studied in London, John had been her guardian and father figure. She always made a point to meet him every fortnight when she visited Coventry. Lately, on her insistence John had started dating Jennifer Brown, an upcoming pop singer. She wanted him to marry and have a life. Even though John was a bit reluctant in the beginning, but both of them had turned to have a good understanding. The relationship had clicked. Deborah was really happy!

“She is a bitch,” Deborah thought in her mind. “I never thought she could ever do this.”

Just as she entered the fast tube station at Paddington, she could clearly see that this had become big news. There were small groups of people standing by the TVs watching the news. She saw the news flash on the TV.

Dawson Case: Girlfriend Jennifer Brown found dead at her home.

Everything seemed so stunning. She couldn’t understand how the things were moving.

“Did she commit suicide? Stupid girl!  She never had her head right.” Deborah thought as she boarded the zero gravity tube.

In next ten minutes she would be at Coventry at the helm of affairs.

 

3
Bangalore

At the crematorium, as Rajat’s head lay by the sacrificial pit; his body was hung by the hook and his skin was removed. Vikas used the skin as his seat as his team members cut off the rest of body into pieces and chopped the bones off further so that they could be cooked. They gathered the blood in the cooking bowl in which they started cooking him. As the meat was ready, Vikas took a bowlful of cooked meat and with chants introduced it in the fire. As fire engulfed the meat, smoke appeared. The smoke increased till nothing, but a white blanket of smoke was visible. And then she appeared –

Around her neck was a garland of chopped heads, all drenched in blood. She looked fearful – completely black in color, with a shining skin. Her sharp teeth projected externally and invoked fear. She was the one who, thus, lived in cremation grounds, wandering with untied hair.

She carried heads of decapitated men and also, a sharp sickle-sword in her hands. She was smiling with blood drenched lips. On the whole she inspired fear, but at the same time she looked pretty in an unusual way.  

She wore ornaments, ear rings, armlets and girdles made up of dismembered parts of corpses. Her hair was long and beautiful. Sitting on a corpse, she shone like a sun and made fearful sound that rocked all the directions with fear.

Trembling with fear, Vikas and his team prostrated in front of her. She was looking all around in extreme anger, ready to devour the earth. Her shrieks deafened the ears of the sinners. In a single stroke, she decapitated Vijay, a member of the team standing to the left and drenched his blood in her pot. As she drank, blood drenched her hair as it flew from the corners of her mouth. Vikas and all others were trembling. It was the first time that they had invoked Kali. They never knew what would happen. Demigoddesses were comparatively more benevolent, but Kali was the ultimate power. No one could stand in front of her. As she finished the meal, she threw Vijay’s head on the ground and crushed into pieces .His decapitated body lay, still trembling on ground some distance ahead. She gave it a single blow of foot and it was gone. It lay there – still and dead. She roared like a lioness and then said – “The sinner could not control his senses. He was already dead when he tasted the meat before it could be given to the fire!”  

“Goddess, please forgive us.” Vikas prayed. His hands folded and his lips shivring in fear. “You know about everything in the minds of the people.”

“This isn’t a business Vikas.” Kali roared. “There are things that you don’t know. Everything happens for a reason. I don’t appear on the earth without a deeper cause. Never in this age have I stepped on the alter to taste flesh – but when I come, it’s an indication of great changes. Tell me why you killed this man?” She stopped abruptly.

“Goddess, I want to restore him with Pankaj’s soul.” Vikas answered meekly.

“Did you get paid for it?” Kali said in a loud serious tone.

Vikas knew that these are going to be the last words from his throat. He knew that this was not a business. How did he even think that he would escape the goddess with this? He had been a fool.

“Yes Goddess” He answered, just ready to be slain.

“Let this be a lesson for you. I told you that this is not a business. Your Guru took a word from you for this before teaching you this science. Tantra is to be used only for a greater benefit of humankind. Not for greed. Though there is a reason behind everything, but you won’t know that. You would get what you want, but there would be a price that you would have to pay. You will lose two people who are closest to your heart in return of this so that you never repeat this again.”

Kali immediately took Rajat’s fallen head and blew a whiff of air, and there he was, complete with all his limbs – just as he was before. The only difference was that of soul. He now had Pankaj’s soul in his body.

Kali Turned to Vibhu. “Give me your hand.”

Vibhu moved forward. Kali took his hand and immediately dug a black iron nail in his palm. Vibhu cried in pain.

“Don’t worry. You won’t die. I have tied Rajat’s soul with you. He will be with you forever. He was a good man. His soul would be free from all the sufferings. You would be the one who would suffer for him. As for this pain in your palm it would never go away.” Kali roared, rocking the directions and into the smoke from which she had materialized, she vanished.

Vikas looked at the horizon. The night had ended. It was the dawn.

The Ritual

In the afternoon, Vibhu handed Rajat over to Rudra. Since then, Rajat and Rudra had been together. Rajat had obediently listened to Rudra all this time. He never tried to escape as other people would have done!

 He somehow had nothing left to live for anymore after Pankaj’s death. Both were together, when his car crashed. He couldn’t overcome the guilt that it all happened due to his negligence.

He ought to have died, not Pankaj! Maybe whatever was happening to him was the way nature corrected its mistakes. This was his redemption.

He, however, told Rudra once while they sat together for lunch – “you are in an illusion brother! You’re on the side of the devil. You will have to suffer.”

Rudra answered back calmly – “you are wrong. You will realize it later.” Rajat never answered back.

Now that they were in the crematorium, things happened in a really traditional way. Rajat was first taken to Pankaj’s cremation table. He was shocked to see that Pankaj’s ashes were there. They were missing when he last saw them in the morning!

Rudra laughed at Rajat’s expressions – “This is the truth, Rajat. What you saw in the morning was an illusion. It was all created by the child you met in the morning. Even that child was an illusion. Here he is! Rajat, meet Vibhu” He said introducing Rajat to a young man standing on the other side of the table.

Rudra continued.” He will be your friend in your afterlife.” Rajat heard what Rudra said, trying to absorb all that was happening around him as Rudra continued, “Now, your main work will be to pick the ashes and mix it with the sacrificial powder.”

Rajat felt spellbound to do as Rudra instructed. He could have run, but he didn’t want to, something had stoppedhis entire thought process. Rajat slowly collected Pankaj’s ashes and mixed it with the sacrificial powder amidst invocations and chants. As the chants continued. Rajat was stripped naked and bathed with honey, milk, water and liquor. He was finally taken to the alter.

Vikas invoked the holy fire of the night and increased it by pouring clarified butter. It was midnight. The fire would go on till sunrise. There were more invocations, more chants and finally the sacrificial offerings started with sacrificial powder mixed in Pankaj’s ashes. Each offering had an explosive effect on the fire.

As the darkness deepened, Vikas stood up and amidst invocations, took a sickle shaped sword, and ran towards Rajat. In a single blow, he decapitated Rajat entirely. Rajat's head toppled off his body and rolled over near the pit of sacrificial fire. Blood poured out of his throat and soaked his whole body red. Rudra and others started the dismemberment of his limbs quickly afterwards.

The Crying Child

Friday Morning 10:00 AM

BANNERGHATTA CREMATORIUM, Bangalore

People were grieving as the button was pressed and the dead body heated to intense red and turned into flames. There was a tremendous uproar. Ladies of the house were crying insane. It was the sound of death. It tears the heart and the soul in its merciless music.

 The melody of death was the favorite music for Vibhu’s ears. He stood there – in the form of a child – a young boy at it – watching the proceedings calmly. He haunted the crematoria as a crying child – filling the heart of the survivors with the sadness of death.

Just as the attendance to the funeral attrited , Rajat left the mourning family. He was among the last ones to leave as he was so close to the deceased. As he took the turn towards the lawns that lead to the parking outside the crematorium gates – he heard a squeal. The saddest and the most painful one he had ever heard. It resonated with a great loss. It resonated with emptiness and longing which can never be fulfilled - a wail that would invoke sympathy even in the hearts of the most merciless people. The wind was in the trees. It was a beautiful day. He turned around and saw the most beautiful and yet the saddest face of a boy he had ever seen. Fair, but pale, with red lips and black hair. He wore white kurta- pyjama. His mourning seemed complete.

An instant sense of sadness at the loss of the boy filled Rajat’s heart with extreme sympathy. He approached him and sat down on the ground on his knees facing the boy. He gently wiped the boy’s tears and amidst his sobs, he asked him, “Don’t cry my child. Where are your parents? Why are you alone?”

The boy had a white rose in his hand. He asked Rajat, “Was he your brother?” He was still sobbing.

Rajat answered, “He was my friend - a really close friend.”

“It’s so sad.” The boy said and burst into a sad squeal.

Rajat was a bit confused. Was he from the family? But then why was he alone? He asked, “You know him?”

The boy moved his head in denial.

“Then why are you crying for him?” Rajat asked. He was really confused by now.

“He will never find peace……” the boy burst into the saddest cry. “ He will never be able to cross to the other side.”

Rajat’s face turned white. The words reverberated in his mind. He looked like a dead man already. His hands turned cold. His speech stopped.

“This is your friend’s flower. I’ll take him with me.”

He remembered that a dead man’s flower is his ashes.

He ran off stumbling and falling a little distance away. He heard the boy’s words. “Its so sad. I’ll take you too. I cry for you as well.” And then burst into a loud crackling cry. The cry filled Rajat’s heart with absolute sadness. He stopped running and stood still. He didn’t want to live anymore.

The boy came over to him and gently took his hand. He led him to cremation table where his friend lay minutes back. The family was gone. There were no ashes there.