Visit to the temple

1

Dakshineshwar, Kolkata

Rajat and Biswda had boarded the ferry to Dakshineshwar at Fairlie Ghat. They had been sailing over the Hooghly for about ten minutes now. This was the route which carried passengers across the city since medieval times. Rajat saw a huge three storied structure on the eastern banks of the river – designed majestically in old Bengali architecture, with nine massive navratna spires dominating the horizon.

“That is the temple of Dakshineshwari.” Biswada pointed toward the building.

“Old!” Rajat exclaimed, “Breathtaking.”

They alighted on the bank and took the flight of stairs up the ghat.

The temple of Kali at Dakshineshwar was built by a queen on a land bought from the British on the east bank of the Hooghly. The site partially covered a Muslim burial ground. The presiding deity was Bhavatarini – the one who rescued from the turbulent ocean of life.

“Beautiful!” Rajat said, “But it cannot match how the goddess looks in real.”

“What?” Biswada exclaimed. “Real?”

Rajat realized what he had spoken. “Oh. I mean how she might look in real. She might be beautiful.” He cleverly covered up his mistake.

“Yes, Rajat Babu.” Biswada replied. “She would be the most beautiful one in the whole world. I wish I could see her.”

As both of them exited the sanctum sanctorum, Biswada led her into residential area of Dakshineshwar.

“Isn’t it amazing Rajat Babu. Dakshineshwar used to be north Kolkata.” Biswada looked at Rajat. He giggled. Rajat gave him a stare of disgust. “Biswada, it wasn’t amazing at all.”

“Anyhow.” Biswada continued. All this was irritating Rajat. Biswada had been talking continuously since past hour and most of it was crap. It was getting on his nerves now, but Biswada continued uninhibited. “The important thing is that why we came here in the first place.”

I think I was mad. I could have come here alone. Rajat thought to himself, however, there was no end to Biswada’s talks.

“Do you see that building Rajat Babu.” Biswada pointed towards a large thousand square yards mansion among the apartments.

“Yes.” Rajat answered absent mindedly. He was more mindful of own head that had started to ache by now.

“That belongs to the millionaire Krishna Das Choudhari.” Biswada said.

Why is he telling me all this. Rajat was really annoyed.

“I used to live there.” Biswada said rather coolly.

“What?” It was getting out of hands now. “Biswada. Did you get me here to tell me all this? Now don’t tell me that you are Krishna Das Choudhuri’s son – Biswaroop Das Choudhuri. I’m having a headache, so please remain silent now.”

“Ok.” Biswada said and marched toward the mansion. He opened the gate. Rajat ran after him.

“Biswada, we aren’t going there. What the hell? What are you doing Biswada? I don’t know them” Rajat barked.

“Rajat babu. I’m going in. They don’t live here anymore.” Biswada said coldly and proceeded.

Rajat blocked his way now. “Biswada. Ok! Whats going on? Tell me first.”

Biswda sighed, “After Krishna Das and family shifted to Lahore, I was the chief caretaker of this property. I lived here with my family. After my family left, I felt lonely in this place, therefore I left the service, but Krishna Das had trust on me, therefore he let me have the possession of the property. I keep visiting here frequently to see that everything is alright.”

“…and you have got me here to tell me this…?” Rajat felt even more annoyed.

“Definitely not. Rajat babu, please don’t grow impatient. I am telling you everything.” Biswada led Rajat to the verandah. “After my family went away, I felt really lonely for some time. I feel even now, so we made a pact. Whenever my family needs to meet me, I get indications to meet them. On Friday night, I got a dream – I saw my son in this house. Rajat babu, maybe I am chasing a dream, but I believe in it.

Deborah's Pain

7

Deborah's Residence, London

“I hope I’ll get some time to prepare some notes before I leave for the supper.

Thomas said, breaking the silence.

“The supper is ready reverend. Have it here!” Deborah said with a mild smile.

“Thanks. That would be so kind of you.” Thomas answered.

“Great, I’ll be back.” Deborah replied with as she disappeared into the kitchen.

 She was back in a short while with the supper. “Its modest reverend - Shepherd’s Pie with bread and port wine from Portugal.”

“That’s excellent Deborah.” Thomas replied.

Both of them sat for the supper and talked about anything under the sun, or above it till Deborah mentioned:

“The last supper.”

Thomas stopped for a moment.

“Bread and wine.” Deborah mentioned.

“Shepherd’s pie.” Thomas said, and both laughed.

They finished the supper. Thomas sat on the sofa with his notebook to make some notes about the cases. Deborah went in the kitchen

There was a shriek.

“Deborah!”

“Deborah is it you?”

Thomas heard a swooshing as if it were a sound of a whip hitting the skin. There were more shrieks and moans. The sounds were clearly from the kitchen. He rushed there.

The skin of Deborah’s back was torn in tiny shreds – white fascia showing underneath it. Drops of blood were running down her back. Thomas ran towards her, shouting – “Deborah!”

There was a thud – he saw himself pushed away by an invisible force. There was a sound of an invisible whip and as the whip touched Deborah’s back. He saw a mark of nine lashes, and soon shreds of flesh came out of her back, and then there was more blood.

Thomas ran out towards the door calling the police. As the officer in-charge entered, he could hear a multitude of loud moans from the kitchen – in voices of both men and women. The lashes continued.

Thomas called the ambulance. He went to the kitchen again. He saw the officer lying unconscious and Deborah lying in a pool of blood. She tried to stand up, and again there was a lash and she fell down.

“Oh God! The Devil!” Thomas cried and ran to the living room where the cross was kept. He took the cross and holy water from this bag and ran towards Deborah.

Deborah was standing bent forward with her hands up like she was carrying some invisible load on her back. She started moving – tears of blood coming out of her eyes.

In the Name of the Father, 

and of the Son, 

and of the Holy Ghost. 

Amen. 

Thomas started praying.

Most glorious Prince of the Heavenly Armies, 

Saint Michael the Archangel, 

defend us in "our battle against principalities and powers, 

against the rulers of this world of darkness, 

against the spirits of wickedness in the high places"

Come to the assistance of men whom God has created to His likeness 

and whom He has redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil. 

The Holy Church venerates you as her guardian and protector; 

to you, the Lord has entrusted the souls of the redeemed to be led into heaven. 

Pray therefore the God of Peace to crush Satan beneath our feet, 

that he may no longer retain men captive and do injury to the Church. 

Offer our prayers to the Most High, 

that without delay they may draw His mercy down upon us; 

take hold of "the dragon, the old serpent, which is the devil and Satan," 

bind him and cast him into the bottomless pit 

"that he may no longer seduce the nations.

In the Name of Jesus Christ, 

our God and Lord, 

strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, 

Mother of God, 

of Blessed Michael the Archangel, 

of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul and all the Saints. 

and powerful in the holy authority of our ministry,

we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil. 

He sprinkled holy water on Deborah.

Out of great astonishment, he saw that where the water touched the skin – the wounds healed immediately. It wasn’t the devil!

 As Deborah moved out of the kitchen – Thomas could well understand that Deborah was not possessed by the Devil, she was possessed by the God! She was carrying the cross on her back.

Thomas switched on his chip set on recording mode as she went to the living room. She fell down. Thomas knew that he couldn’t help her. He just sprinkled some holy water in the name of the god. 

Deborah fell down on the floor. She turned – as though picked up by someone. There was a sound of clinking of iron as if someone had stuck iron nail with a hammer – and then a loud cry and shivering in great pain. Blood flowed from Deborah’s right palm – as though someone nailed her palm.

The Ambulance was at the door.

In Afghanistan

Afghanistan

“Father, you look relieved.” Zaheer sat with a cup of tea in his hands opposite to his father. Zaheer was Wazir Khan’s only son. Twenty five years old, strong and handsome. He had the long nose of his father and gait of an aristocrat. True to his upbringing – he was humble and intelligent. He had just post graduated in political science from the Bamiyan University.

Wazir Khan smiled, “Yes, son. I am. When you are on the chair, you always have a responsibility on your shoulders. You have to act for the chair. Sometimes that is in conflict with your true self.”

“True, father. But I always thought that you acted like yourself.” Zaheer said.

Wazir straightened his back and then relaxed it again on the chair, leaning back as he rested his hands on the armrest. He was in some deep thought.

Zaheer tried to change the subject. “So father, what are you planning to do now?”

“Let me give you the answer to your first question first. I tried to act the best I could in the situation, but still I cold not control many things.” Wazir Khan said.

“What things father?”

“Hakim Baksh.”

“What about him father?”

“You would be shocked to know that your father owns a secret agency.”

“What?” Zaheer was in a state of shock. The tea almost spilled off his hands. “Why?”

“The Indian agencies told me that there might be a constant threat on Bamiyan and Afghanistan – especially from the western quarters. I found that the Indian agencies were very much true.”

“How?”

“The western agencies were spying Hakim Baksh.”

“Why?”

“The wing was started by Nilofar Khanam.”

“Father, you are confusing me. The foreign secretary in your government is being spied, and his daughter is the one who is spying on him.”

“I’ll tell you about that later, but another thing I found was even more suspicious.”

“What was it father?”

“Nilofer has contacts with the KGB. She is continuously in touch with them.”

“Hell! How do you know this?” Zaheer was hysterical by now.

“R&AW”

“Can they be trusted?”

Wazir nodded his head. “That’s why I built a small spy agency of my own. It was a difficult, and task it took years. All of them know that I have some spies, but they still don’t know who they are?”

“But how did you go upon building the thing?” Zaheer asked, seemingly astonished.

“Oghab2”

“Iran helped you?”

“Yes, and the love of tradition in Bamiyan helped me.”

“How?”

“The pomp loving assembly loves its people to put up requests for personal attention to their grievances to the convener. These, they have to give in writing on a piece of paper which is available free of cost at the assembly itself and then drop it in an old style request box to be taken out by the convener’s personal reader and read aloud to him weekly.” Wazir Khan explained.

“I know that father. It seems a stupid tradition, but the things get done surprisingly.” Zaheer said.

Wazir smiled. “Yes, they do; but it forms a foolproof way for passage of information directly to the convener.”

“Oh!” Zaheer gave a startled look.

“Everyone has a secret.” Wazir continued. “I found that Rahim Khan, the reader had an extramarital affair. If it was made public, his family and his social life would have been destroyed. He was blackmailed into submission. His affair was used as a messenger to the spies. No one knew what is happening.”

“That’s excellent.” Zaheer smiled. “But I don’t completely approve of it being morally correct.”

“That’s another thing, entirely. But, it’s a wrong for the right end.” Wazir said.

“As for your second question on what I have planned. The family is going to the Hajj next month.”  

Deborah and Thomas

2

London, England 

“He was my uncle! I don’t know what you are talking about?” She protested sitting on the chair in the glass chamber.

“You mean to say that you weren’t there?” The officer asked.

“Of course, I wasn’t.”

“Then where were you?”

“At my home. I was sleeping at the time you are talking about.”

“Yes, that’s what most of the people do at that hour.”

“True.”

“Yes, True. That’s why most of the criminals use the night to work.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” She was irritated.

“Its just a matter of fact. Just discussing about some obvious correlations.”

“That isn’t what you are trained for, are you? Discussing correlations.”

“Hah! Witty Ms. Dawson.  I see that you are quite alert and free from stress. Not a very usual thing to see when someone is sitting on this seat. Well, there are always exceptions, but then another strange correlation is that most of those exceptions are seasoned criminals.”

Deborah didn’t speak anything in return.

“What about the cameras madam?”

“What about them?” Deborah asked.

“They tell us that you never came home.”

“They tell you that my car didn’t come home.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Yes, that’s what it means.” The officer said.

“Because I came back with my friend. My car broke down. Its still at the services.”

“Ok…”

“So was it your first time with your uncle?” He suddenly changed the topic.

“You are offending me officer.” She cried.

“Ok. I’ll re phrase. Did you ever have any sexual relation with your uncle?”

Outside the glass box, the jury observed and heard the proceedings. The heart rate increased, so did the blood pressure. The Pulse oxymeter showed high values.

“No.” She answered.

The doctor of the court was watching the proceedings closely. He turned towards the jury and announced -

“She might be lying. She might have got offended as well. This can’t be confirmatory. Regarding the earlier part – she told the absolute truth.” 

“Thanks Ms. Dawson. You can hire a lawyer to defend yourself. If you won’t, the court would hire one for you.” The officer said. “For now, you are put on house arrest. The court will let you know the next date for hearing and the site.”

He turned away and left the glass chamber. The jury dispersed the court.

Lambeth Palace

“Father, this news moves me. There is something in my heart that compels me to go to Harrow – to her place.” He said, keeping the newspaper on the table and picking up the cup of tea.

Thomas was a young induct in the church. His study in law found an outlet in making official papers for the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was the assistant to the archbishop. However, he was also deeply interested in politics and news. The case of murder of Mr. Dawson attracted him particularly.

This morning he had sought an appointment with the Archbishop to discuss a personal matter.

“How would you justify it, son?” the bishop asked. He had the usual calmness in his voice, but his face seemed faintly anxious.

“Deborah Dawson has sought special permission from the court only for one thing.”

“…and what’s that?” archbishop asked.

“…to attend the Sunday mass at the church.”

It led to a semi – involuntary raise in the eyebrow of the Archbishop, but he suddenly normalized his expressions and smiled calmly saying –

“Seems like a good way to improve her image in the public.”

“She has been visiting the church every week. She knows all the nuns well. The church itself has given her a letter of approval which she produced to the court.”

“Hmmm….” archbishop said in a reflective mood. “That certainly strengthens your case.”

Father, I have been opening the page from the holy Bible since yesterday. Every time I open, it comes to the same passage. Pray, open a page for me sir.”

The Archbishop picked up the holy bible. Prayed on it and opened. As he moved his lips to read the passage, his eyes could only have recognized the first word, when Thomas repeated the whole passage before him.

But Jesus, answering, said to him, “Allow

it now, for this is the fitting way for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

Matthew 3:15

The Archbishop looked at Thomas, kept the book aside and said:

“Draft the letter and get it typed from the clerk. I’ll sign it for you.”

Ch.2 Coming of the Sages

Chapter 2

Coming of the Sages

1

The Himalayas, India

The foundation had been laid more than three hundred years back. Destruction was initiated by destruction. In just one night, everything except the shrine of Kedarnath was washed away. The northern pilgrimage was stopped. It took four years to revive it. On the very first day of the pilgrimage, there was a huge earthquake. All the pilgrims died. There were huge landslides. Approach to the shrine was destroyed. Only the shrine remained unaffected. Next year, there was huge seismic activity in the area which culminated in a great volcanic eruption which is now known as Mount Bhaskara as its lava seemed as a perpetual rising sun at its top. The pilgrimage was permanently stopped and the area was rendered inaccessible by the human beings. The Hindus cried at the loss.

The area – came to be known as the Hamavant in the religious circles and soon found favor with the recluses, ascetics and spiritualists. The stories of its unparalleled wild beauty, its sweet and unpolluted streams, and its crystal lakes, the ladies of the forest, the mermaids and the celestial nymphs entered the religious folklore with the wandering ascetics. It was so inaccessible and so impermeable by human beings that it came to be believed as the land of the pure – where no soul entangled in material longings could enter. The Government of India tried to make it accessible once again, but every time it tried to do so; some natural calamity would bring all the work to a rumble. The adventurers, who tried sneaking in, were either stalled or annihilated. The only ones who could enter, or at least claimed to, were the sages – who were said to have seen the wonders of the land across the Bhaskara. They talked about a lake of undisturbed water that looked like a mirror kept on land. The celestial nymphs used its waters for washing their tresses – an act that left the water fragrant with their unearthly perfume. Golden lotuses bloomed in that lake and the dust of its pollen that splattered on the river invited drones to feed on them and make a pleasing echo in the air around the lake. The lake was surrounded by beautiful garden full of plants that bore flower and fruits around all the seasons and which were scented with unearthly aromas. Various birds and wild animals lived in those gardens. The sounds of the birds and the animals gave the whole scene a magical and melodious voice. With fresh flowing air, soft green grass and crystal clear water – the whole area was no less than a paradise. The ascetics called it Devamandapam – the alter of the gods. No one knew if it actually existed or not.

 

 He had emerged from the river-bed at the Yamnotri four days back. He had always heard that entering the Hamavant was a second life to the ascetic. It had actually been a similar experience. He had thought that he would starve for air, just at the time when the surface of water started appearing to him. Then an old temple appeared to him, with red flags on its summit, and beyond it – endless white glaciers. He moved westward across the mountains, when after four days he came across a landscape that he had heard of since his childhood – the valley of flowers. There it lay in front of him, stretching in its full bloom, filled with bright colors. He moved westward.

“Gorakshak” He heard a voice from the flowers.

He turned around and saw an old ascetic with white flowing hair, white beard and white clothes. His face exuded grace and glow. He stood amidst the blue flowers. Gorakshak stood there with his gaze fixed on him, and then slowly folded his hands and bowed to him.

“How do you know my name, milord?” he asked in a suppressed astonishment.

“Who in the Hamavant doesn’t?” He answered.

“Give me the opportunity to have your introduction, sir.” Gorakshak asked.

“I am the Bhargava, Rama Jamdagneya - the son of Jamdagni.”

Listening to this, Gorakshak immediately fell down on his knees. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he prostrated to the great sage’s feet.

“Lord Parashurama. Praise be unto you milord!” He cried.

Parashurama raised him up with both his hands. A touch of his hands shook him with divine vibrations.

“Get up son. My hermitage is across the mountain in the west. You need some rest.”

Both of them walked towards the west. Parashurama’s aura exuded positive energy all around. It felt like a wave of joy in his heart.

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.

End of an era

Bamiyan

It was the year of power transfer. The Bamiyan Assembly held an election every four years in which the general public elected its representatives. The assembly had two limbs – the residential corporation and the commercial corporation. The residential corporation was elected by the people based on the geographical locations. Each location had a member who took care of the interests of the residents. The commercial corporation was elected by the trade guilds based on various registered professions. The trade guilds were elected by the professionals. The main work of the commercial corporation was regulation of the professions. Elected members of the residential corporation were simply called corporators, who were headed by a mayor, while those of the commercial corporation were called ministers. The ministers were headed by the chancellor. The mayor and the chancellor were integrated by the Convener of the assembly. The mayor, chancellor and the convener made the board of the governors, who also took care of the home office, the treasury, and the external affairs respectively. A shadow government was, likewise, made to represent the minority voice in the assembly. The shadow assembly had half the vote of the actual assembly. Every resolution was passed on a three fourth majority. As a result a second choice poll was usually conducted.

 

In the Grand Hall which was the office of the Convener of Bamiyan Assembly, Wazir Ali Khan signed on the sheet of parchment with his traditional fountain pen. As he ended his signatures with a dot, he broke the nib.

As was the tradition, the last sermon; as the law was called in Bamiyan, would be issued by the Convener in the Grand hall in presence of the mayor, the shadow mayor, the chancellor and the shadow chancellor. Over a period of time, the Conveners had made another unwritten rule of breaking the nib on the last sign.  

“Indeed, this era would be written in golden words in the history of Bamiyan.” Muzammil Hussain said holding Wazir’s hands, kissing them, and touching them on his eyes.

“Definitely sir! You make us proud.” The other voices added. There was an overwhelming atmosphere in the hall.

Wazir Ali smiled gently, took a seal out of his drawer and put it under his signatures. The seal bore the emblem of Afghanistan and under it was written:

W. A. Khan

Convener, Bamiyan Assembly

The sermon pronounced the dissolution of the Assembly and passage of all the powers to the chair of the highest power - ceremonial chair of the god kept under the golden dome in the central hall of the assembly. The chair would, thereafter, bestow the powers to the peoples’ representatives after elections. He passed the parchment over to his clerk. The clerk would later broadcast it and digitalize it for its use for all practical purposes. As for the parchment – it would be laminated and kept in the Assembly Achieves like all other sermons.

Wazir Khan folded his spectacles into his case. His Durban took hold of the case and followed him. As he moved on to the corridors, his staff had gathered on both the sides to see him off. He had been there for eight years – two consecutive terms. He had denied contesting for the third time.

Wazir took the stairway at his right that led to the central hall and stood before the chair of the highest power. He closed his eyes and said:

“Allah! Let there be prosperity and peace!”

All the people repeated the phrase. The only difference was that everyone prayed to his own god. The Chair of the hisghest Power was the place where the god sat – the one god, called by innumerable names. He protected the city and the world through ages. In this age of decline – Bamiyan was verily a heaven.

Wazir Khan left the building through the northern stairway that led straight to the Republic Street. People had gathered at the Assembly Square to see Wazir Khan leave the office. He was, perhaps, the most popular face in Afghanistan, and one of the world’s most important persons.  Just as Khan came out of the high door, there was a massive applause from the people at the square. Khan waved at them shortly and then descended the stairs onto the official wagon waiting to drop him home for the last time. He sat on his wagon and took a sigh. His work wasn’t over as yet, though.

A History into the future.

4

Bamiyan, Afghanistan

  

When it came to controversy, or the matters of faith and pride, last three centuries saw a shift of geographical favoritism to the central Asia. Bamiyan had become the Jerusalem of the east. It was hotly contested by various faiths and nations. Its development over the other greater cities of central Asia like Kabul, Samarkand, Tashkent or Kandahar could be chiefly contributed to the symbolic presence or absence of the giant Buddhas there. So intriguing was their effect that every community in the world tried to make its presence felt in Bamiyan; turning it into a mixed and shortly even the most inflammatory city in the world.

The city was initially in control of the Arab s, who built the white mosque with its blue onion dome. Towards the end of the twenty first century the predominantly Shia Iranis captured the city and established a higher centre of Shia spiritual learning that centered on the Farsi Mosque. The Farsi Mosque and the Farsi University still formed an exceedingly Persian majority area of the city. The Persians had the hold on the city for almost 100 years. This led Bamiyan to peace and prosperity. This was the time that a majority of Hindu traders settled in the old city. They still have a strong control over the trade of the city. The Hindu areas of old city were established. It was the Hindus who established the Taksalkhana which still holds a lot of influence over the commercial markets of the region. When the Americans and Jews overran Iran, Bamiyan fell into Jewish hands. The Jews replicated the Temple of the Rock at Bamiyan as the easternmost outpost of their influence and developed it as a seat of the Rabbi of the orient. The Christians were still conspicuous by their absence from the city. It was not till the Russians ousted the Americans and Israelis from the city that the first church was built. It was the Russian Orthodox Church of Jesus the Apostle which was later upgraded to the status of Archdiocese with the reigning Archbishop of Bactria. There was a brief re flourishing of the Buddhists with the coming of the Chinese whom Russians recruited in a large number in order to have a greater control over the city. The Chinese brought back Buddhism with them and reconstructed the lost Buddha of Bamiyan and built the Pagoda to Avalokiteshwara the Bodhisattva.

By the end of the twenty fourth century the Hazars and Pathans from Bamiyan and the surrounding parts of Afghanistan had approached India so that the power could be restored to the natives.

In year 2374, Indian forces crossed the Suleiman and captured the city of Kabul. By the end of the year the united Baloch and Indian forces entered Iran and toppled the western forces at Yazd in the middle of Dasht – e – kavir. By the end of the year two armed groups were marching towards Mazar-e-Sharif. The Chinese forces got no re-enforcements from the Russians.

The Russians, who were always wary of the Chinese had entered into a secret treaty with the Indians at Baku whereby they would not reinforce the Chinese military and let the natives ovetake Mazar –e- Sharif,  and later Bamiyan with the help of Indian forces, if the Indians could ensure that the Christians and the Archdiocese remain safe, and that the Russian companies, and traders were given a special status. In fact they offered help to India in case China starts any military operations on the Indian borders.

By the year 2376, the Chinese had retreated from Afghanishtan and Bamiyan had fallen into combined Indian and Afghan forces. An Indian cantonment was constructed at Bamiyan and two great Indian style mosques were constructed – The Akbari Mosque in the east and Jama Masjid in the south. In the north-eastern corner of the city a new Indian enclave was constructed in the traditional Mandala design and was named Somapuri as Afghanistan was considered the traditional land of the Soma and the temple of Somnath was built – the largest Hindu temple outside of India. This made the religious diversity of the city complete. By the year 2377, the Indian army had moved back and Afghanistan was rendered a republic with Bamiyan having a special status and the Bamiyan Assembly representative of all the communities taking care of its legislature.

O1:02 - Deborah

2

London, United Kingdom

It was a sunny day at Paddington. She had boarded the zero gravity tube from Coventry just some time back. London was hardly 10 minutes from The Midlands, but it was still a world apart. Deborah always preferred hitting the tube when in London. It was traditional, usually quieter than the other means of transport, and more dependable; even though a bit slow. She had all the time in the world anyways. How did it matter?

It was Sunday morning. She didn’t need to be in London till the evening, but the life in the midlands was getting on her nerves! She decided that it was better to be in London and do something rather than be there and do nothing. She headed straight away to her home in Harrow, the congested borough in northern London. It was a small terraced house, but it was good for her. She lived alone. An year back, she had a poodle named Butter, but it had died silently one night without a whimper. She discovered it next morning when she called Butter for the breakfast but he didn’t respond. She was sad.  Butter had been with her for many years now, and additionally, there weren’t many people apart from him whom she knew. She thought that people were vein. She usually gave the example of a lady she met at the Kings Cross station who demanded money after putting an unasked weird green fern on her jacket. “What would the fern do to me?” she used to say, “And besides, I never asked for one. Well, if it were a gift it would have been another thing, but I wouldn’t forcibly buy a fern that I didn’t need!” There was always a look of bewilderment on her face as she ended the sentence with a stretched syllable at the end as if she wanted an answer.

Most of her students in Harrow College where she taught History thought that she was sexy rather than learned, but then that was fine for most of them. Despite all her clumsiness, she had a flair for history of humankind, and a thorough knowledge of her subject. But more than everything, she was stunningly beautiful. This usually overpowered all her negatives and positives alike. Most of the males wanted her to be on the next cover of The Playboy, while the females simply wanted her to be out. She cared about none.

She entered her home and after removing the shoes and overcoat, she called for a pizza delivery straight away and went to the kitchen to have some water. She switched on the fireplace heater and sat on the sofa in the living room, watching the news on the BBC. The pizza delivery boy had come. She took the pizza and as the TV continued to blare on, she went to the bathroom to plug the bathtub and switch it on for filling warm water. She undressed into a bathrobe, and came back to finish the pizza with the BBC news.  She loved to get herself into doing a multitude of things at once.

Just as she got up to go for the bath, a news flashed across the TV. The Newsroom anchor was breaking the news – “It has been reported that Mr. John Dawson, renowned social worker and ex MP from Coventry has been found dead at his home. The time of death has been uncertain, but experts say that it might have taken place early in the morning. The reason of death has been stated as asphyxia due to airway obstruction. The death is supposed to occur after what is being called as an orgy sex session as hints of presence of more than one female partner are present. The police have yet denied giving any statement on the matter. The forensic and crime teams are working on the matter. We would keep giving you live updates on this matter. Mr. Dawson was a renowned public figure in Coventry…….”

Deborah sank in her sofa, her face flushed pale. She had just met her uncle yesterday night.