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.

To The Mountain of White Flower

The Himalayas, India

Lord Parashurama called Gorakshak early. He usually met Gorakshak after having discussed religious and spiritual methods with the older sages. Parashurama would call him under the large banyan in the courtyard and ask him about his spiritual advancement. An elaborate discussion would ensue that the other sages would often gather to listen. Gorakshak often wondered if he was still in modern times!

Today as the news of an early invitation to Gorakshak spread, the sages started gathering around the Banyan. Today, however, Parashurama wasn’t at the Banyan. He had invited Gorakshak in his own hut.

Gorakshak was excited by the invitation. It was the first time that he would enter the sage’s hut. The hut had always looked a little bigger than the others’. It planted a doubt about the sage’s concept of equality that many secretly shared, but no one asked. Today, however, the doubts resolved as Gorkshak entered the hut. It was almost bare, except a mat, some clothes and his battle axe. It was built higher just to accommodate Parashurama. He was a huge man!

As Gorakshak entered, Parashurama asked him to sit. He was pacing along the small window on the other end of the hut. Gorakshak sat reluctantly.

“Gorakshak! What is my age?” Parashurama had a deep, grave voice.

‘What kind of question is this?’ Gorakshak thought in his mind. He contemplated for a while and answered. “My Lord! You are known to be an immortal”

“Touch me!” Parashuram said.

Gorakshak looked at him. He looked serious about what he said. Gorakshak touched his shoulder mildly. A chill spread through his body. He couldn’t touch Parahurama. He had no skin – all he could feel was a pressure, as if he had touched the surface of water. He withdrew his hands immediately.

Parashurama laughed loudly.

“It isn’t that I’m immortal.  I just don’t live as you do.” He said.

“I immolate myself every two months. This skin of mine is the material belongingness that gathers in these two months. I free myself of all the burdens and roam freely for a month before I build an Ashram – for the benefit of the sages, just to immolate it again.”

Gorakshak was too stunned to respond.

Parashurama continued. “Today is my last day. All the ascetics would leave by the afternoon. By the evening everything you see around you would be in flames. I will set myself free.”

Gorakshak looked around. He couldn’t believe what the sage was saying.

“Where should I go?” An involuntary question of his thought came loud on his lips.

There was a smile on Parashurama’s face. “I want your company Gorakshak! I won’t go alone this time.” He was looking straight into Goraakshak’s eyes.

“I want to purify you for a special journey together.”

Parashurama’s eyes were intense. Gorakshak closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t run. The sage was asking him for what the world would consider a suicide.

“Where is the journey to?” He said in a trembling voice.

Parashurama replied in a clear and loud voice.

 “To the mountain of white flower.”

The Road to East

Mecca, Arabia

Wazir Khan had heard this somewhere else. Sitting with him on the coach to Medina was a gentlemen of apparently Middle Eastern descent, but what he spoke reminded him of some place else.

“Where do you belong to, Sir?” He asked the gentleman politely.

“I don’t know?” The answer came back, short and crisp.

“Oh. I am sorry.” Wazir realized that it’s best to be courteous, even to the rudest, when at Mecca.

The gentleman continued his chant. He kept repeating the same sentence again and again. He seemed to be in trance. Wazir Khan could not resist and asked him again.

“Sir, as you are in Mecca – I believe that you have to be a Muslim.”

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask this?” The man replied - a bit puzzled.

“Because of your chants.” Khan replied.

“It might be a verse in a heavenly language! God konws!” The gentleman replied.

Wazir Khan smiled and then enquired. “Oh, is it? Are you from India, sir?”

The gentleman looked frustrated. “India? Is it east or west?”

“Oh I see, you don’t know where India is?” Wazir was clearly being sarcastic now. “Where are you from, then sir?”

The gentleman opened a folder lying on his side and took a notebook out. He read. “This piece of paper tells me that I belong to Turkey, but I haven’t been there since years. I went to Armenia, Azerbaijan, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Cyprus, Israel, Egypt and Arabia. It does not mention about India. I don’t understand why my chants amuse you so much.”

“Wazir Khan looked at the document, rather surprised. It clearly showed that he was a Muslim. Further it testified that he never even visited India. His name was clearly spelt. BURAK ASKER.

“What does your chant mean?” He asked.

“I do not know. I heard them in a dream. I got hooked since then!” Burak answered.

By now Wazir Khan was sure that he wan’t dealing with a normal phenomena. The man was either mad, or too clever; either he was the devil or he was a sage.

“Sir, do you have any idea what your chants mean and what they are?” Wazir Khan asked.

“I truly don’t know, brother.” Burak answered rather simply.

“The chants are religious, yes, but not in Islam. They are religious chants of the archaic Sanskrit – their holy tongue of India.” Wazir Khan disclosed. He had heard them often at Somapuri.

“Are you from the East?” Burak suddenly shouted.

 “Wazir Khan turned his eyes in a partial disgust. “Where do you intend to go?”

“East.” Burak answered

“East where, sir!” Wazir Khan asked.

“On the high mountains” Burak answered.

Wazir looked towards him; even more amused. It was meaningless to explain him that how ‘big’ east was. He just said. “I go to east as well. Be my guest.”

Burak smiled. “Inshallah. God is great!”. This was all he said.

The Clash and The Crash

Saint Paul’s, London: Same day in the evening

A group of Christians gathered for a silent protest in front of the Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The protest demanded justice for Deborah and the word of the God. About two hundred people gathered – mainly Christians and most of them ethnic British or Europeans. The protest ended late in the night with a resolution of massive demonstration next day at the Hyde Park, and a silent march to the Buckingham Palace. A group of Catholics, Protestants, Anglicans and other Christians by the name – ‘The Children of Our Lady’ resolved to present a request to the monarch to look into the matter personally.

Hyde Park, however, was to be the venue for a popular concert by a Turkish orchestra on the same evening. The request for allowing protests at Hyde Park were denied, keeping in view that all the arrangements for the show had already been made. The venue for protests was shifted to the gardens beside the Mall.

The word couldn’t spread fast enough, though; and by the evening, the protesters started to gather around the Hyde Park. They were naturally asked to stop. There was utter confusion as the crowds saw ethnic Arabs and Turks being allowed to enter the Hyde Park and whites and Christians being stopped. Resentment grew among the protesters.

Soon, a group of protesting youth tried to stop the entry of an Arab couple to the park. A brawl ensued and the lady sustained some significant injuries. A group of Arab guys who had come to watch the show got involved in the brawl and a white guy was beaten up rather badly.

Rest was all rumors, but they spread like wildfire. Soon there were riots in Wembley, Kingston, Wimbledon, Hillingdon, Luton, Ilford, Surrey….. From London, the riots spread to Southampton, Dover, Bristol, Birmingham, Coventry, Manchester, York, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Inverness….Soon, whole of Britain was burning. There were rounds of protests and rounds of riots. A newly formed organization called ‘The Brothers of Rationale’ comprising mainly of ethnic minorities now launched a series of counter protest with the slogan : ‘Deborah the Fake!”

Very soon, keeping Deborah home had become a greater headache for both the government and the Scotland Yard. The government finally asked the King to grant a personal permission to Deborah and Thomas to fly to Portugal under an arrest. The Scotland Yard had, however, hatched a deeper conspiracy. They had inducted an ethnic Arab into the cabin crew, who was trained in hijacking. The plane would be hijacked and flown to a neutral territory. Deborah and Thomas would be killed, and the Yard and the government would bury this whole episode, and as a side effect, tackle some more Arabs in Britain.

Everything went as planned. The plane got hijacked over Spain and then crossed Europe; but then – problems started. The plane needed refueling. The Middle East denied the use of its air strips. The plane moved ahead and finally crashed on the sandy plains of the Indus

Chapter 3: The Turbulence

Special Courts

Shepherd’s Bush, Greater London

William McGregor was one of the greatest names in criminal law in England. His law firm Malcolm Associates based out of Edinburgh had become one of the largest law firms west of Bosporus. He himself was an advocate in many major courts in Britain, Europe and America.

The rumor had it, that the Scotland Yard paid him a huge sum for taking up the Dawson case. Both the Scotland Yard and Malcolm Associates declined this. However, the media kept getting regular ‘inputs from confidential sources’ that some people placed at high levels in the Scotland Yard, mentored by people in the government, were wielding both influence, and the people’s money for this case. Even though the denial game continued, it was clear to all that what initially seemed to be an ‘open and shut’ case had kept on lingering unduly and had lately begun complicating.

The latest complication was the petition that Deborah be allowed to visit Portugal as the ‘God’ commanded this by scribbling words ‘clues are in Fatima’ on her back during the episode of ‘stigmata’.

“Milord! The video could be edited.” McGregor said.

“Kiddish.” A voice came from the jury. “It was sent real time.”

“William, what do you want to prove? Has the standard of legal practice has declined so much that a lawyer of your standing gives us these senseless statements?” One of the judges said furiously.

“I’m sorry milord!” McGregor said, rather ashamed.

“Anything else you want to say or ask, William?” The judge asked.

“Sir! My only point is, that I want to confirm that this was a stigma. I have the doctor’s reports of her normal mental status immediately after the episode and a testimony that her wounds miraculously healed on application of the holy water, however, I want to confirm that it is a word of the God. Ms. Dawson is a catholic. I want the Catholic Church to confirm that this was an episode of stigmata. How can we otherwise rely on what is just a supposition and give the verdict.” McGregor came out, rather triumphantly.

The jury nodded in affirmation. McGregor had started doing his job well.

“Further, milords! The ‘message’ does not in any way make it compulsive for Ms. Dawson to travel to Portugal. It just says that the clues are Fatima. Why does the defense want Ms. Dawson to leave the country?” McGregor added.

The jury nodded once again in affirmation.

“Does the defense have anything to say?” The judge asked.

Thomas got up.

“Milords! The persecution should note that the bench itself represents the Anglican Church.”

“Objection Milord!” McGregor jumped up at once” Offensive, coercive.”

“Sustained.” The judge said. “Mr. Thomas, please make relevant statements.”

“Sir! I want to plead that the certificate of the Anglican Church be accepted for this.” Thomas said.

“…so that the defense may influence the decision of the church?” 

McGregor jumped up again.

“Please stop Mr. William; you would be given enough time to speak.” The judge said.  

McGregor apologized and sat down.

“Defense.” One of the judges said. “You may proceed.”

“Milord! I also want to state that the clues in the message were for Ms. Dawson, so she is the one who is expected to find them in Portugal.” Thomas submitted. “That’s all I want to say Milord’s!”

“Does the persecution have anything to say?” The judge asked.

McGregor stood up and said, “Milord I just want my concern about the possibility of the defense influencing the Anglican Church in its decision be kept in record.”

He sat down.

The judges discussed for a while and then pronounced.

“The petition was to allow Ms. Dawson to travel to Portugal as the message directs her to travel. However there is no such direction in the message. If the defense wants to plead on some other grounds they can put up another petition. The persecution can also put up a petition of request of certificate from the Catholic Church. 

The present petition stands rejected.”   

The Turkish Sufi

5

Jerusalem, Isreal

Burak Asker had donned on the Ihram. His past was now another life. The small Turkish village of Durak in Adana was far away now. Burak had wandered. He had lived outside the cities for 20 years now. He would just stand up and walk or sit down and meditate. He would eat outside the mosques.

When he was young, he just left Durak, his family and his life there. He had been in a spiritual quest since early age, but he needed answers. Did these answers lie in the world? If so, where did they lay? He asked his village maulwi. He told him that the answers were in the Koran. He read the Koran – his eyes stopped at Al-Ankaboot:

Say: "travel through the earth and see how Allah did originate creation; so will Allah produce a later creation: for Allah has power over all things.

He walked west to Diyabakir. He stayed for 6 months near Kozan. He would pray five times a day and read the Koran. Slowly, people started coming to him, though cautiously. He would avoid talking to most of them, except an old man. Some would come to him carrying their requests so that he could endorse the god to mediate. He wouldn’t say anything. Just keep reading the Koran again and again. Some people sought on constructing a small house near the place where he stayed. The government agreed and a small home was constructed. He never entered the home. People came to him. They might have felt some peace. One day he just went off. Some people followed him for some distance, but he never turned back.

He stopped at Karahan on the banks of Van Golu. Here he stayed for three years. Thereafter, he traveled on. He stayed at Tsovinar near Sevan Lake in Armenia, near Khanbulan reservoir in Azerbaijan, Bandar Anzali on the Caspian sea, Sulemaniyah in Kurdistan. From Iraq, he went on to Latakia and into the Mediterranean Sea into Cyprus and then to Jerusalem. He stayed near the temple mount for 3 years and prayed at al Asqa five times a day. When at Jerusalem, he had a dream one night.In the dream, he traveled south into the Arabian Peninsula to Medina and was now at the hajj in Mecca.   

He walked unto the Masjid-al-haram towards the holy kabaa doing the talbiyah and repeating the verses aloud:

    

Here we come,
O Allah, here we come !
Here we come.
No partners have you.
Here we come!
Praise indeed, and blessings, is yours---
the Kingdom too!
No partners have you!

As he entered through Bab-as-Salam, he prayed to the Allah and put his right feet forward into the mosque. In front of him lay the holy Ka’abah . With his feet firm on the ground and eyes fixed at the Baitullah, he started reciting:

Allahu Akbar –God is great

There is no god except one God.

He repeated it and then paid his respects to the prophet. He moved on towards Hajar-e-Aswad and as he kissed it, he felt a vibration overtake his heart and a cooing sound dominated his mind. All other sounds dimmed off. As he started Tawaf, he felt getting farther and farther from the world, going into a wormhole.

He started repeating aloud, the Arabic chants:

"Subhan-Allah wal-hamdu-lillahi wa la ilaha ill-Allah wa-Allahu Akbar wa la haula wa la quwwata illa-billah."

He suddenly found himself somewhere else. He was among the mountains. There was sweet smelling air all around and trees and birds. There were streams of clear water and soft grass beneath his feet. He saw himself entering the dome of the rock and as he entered it, it melted away into thin air. He heard Arabic chants. A group of people passed by him led by an extraordinarily gracious man – all chanting the holy Arabic chants. Suddenly the chants drowned into the din of some other chants. At Jerusalem he had heard these chants near the church of the holy Sepulcher. These could be Christian. The chants changed to Hebrew and then into completely unknown languages as people passed him by on his sides. Soon all the chants mixed and there was just one single sound – an echo. At last seven graciously grey haired men of amazing grace passed by him. He saw that all of them entered a light in front of him, and soon as he entered the light, he suddenly found himself at Masjid –al-Haram once again – performing Tawaf. He completed the Qudum. Burak went ahead to perform Sa’ey by running between Safa and Marwah on the footsteps of Hagar in search of water. The Hajj was to start tomorrow.

As if it were a reality, the dream continued next night too.

Mount Arafat, Arabia

9^th of Dhu’l-Hijjah

Burak reached Arafat in the first batch from Mina. His fellow countrymen at the tent were all excited. He was thankful. At Arafat, he took a place high up on the mount. From the brown mountain, he saw around at the vast expanse of the Arabian Desert.

He raised his hands and slowly began praying to the almighty. Slowly, his life played on the curtain of his mind, slowly as he was in the prayer. He recollected his childhood, his travels, his stays – everything. He visualized the agony that his parents and those who loved him might have felt when he left them alone. His heart cried. There was water in his eyes. His sobs in time turned into loud cries in agony of those he had agonized – those whom he remembered got blessed while he himself got cleansed of his sins. His mind felt peace.

 He felt a cool moist wind on his face. He opened his eyes. He saw the desert underneath change into green pastures. Where had all the people gone? They were no longer there. He saw a flock of grazing sheep. A shepherd was controlling the herd. Suddenly, it was dark – a huge cloud descended down on the pastures. There was an excitement in the herd. It went dark. There were voices of howling of wolves and the distress cry of the lambs. It continued. Then there was silence. Sharp rain belated against the earth. Suddenly there was a cry:

"Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani?"

There was a thunderous thud and a lightening. Burak closed his eyes tight and shut his ears with his hands. He kept his eyes and ears closed for sometime. He felt warmth. His nose felt a fragrance of wet soil. He slowly lifted the hands off his ears. There was a sound of water, of tinkling of bells. He opened his eyes and found himself in a beautiful garden where streams flowed and there were fruit laden trees, flowers and butterflies.

There was a herd of cows and a beautiful cowherd boy. The dark colored boy was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen on the earth. He was playing flute while the calves were grazing near him on green grass. There was a call from far away. “Come on O child! We need to thank the rain god.”

The guy turned around and answered. “Why thank someone else when the true god is the one who has given us everything? From today we would just thank him and no one else.”

Suddenly there was a huge storm, and then it rained – like he had never seen before, the streams started flooding. The cows ran haywire to seek shelter. People cried – help me help me! The child ran toward the mountain and called out to all – “Come, the god would provide you shelter.”

With one hand he lifted the mountain – just like umbrella and people gathered from all around under it. The rain did not affect them anymore. The rain intensified and then stopped. There was sunshine once again.

Burak looked beside him. He was on the Jabal-an-noor. He looked toward the cave of Hira. There was a gentleman in meditation with his hands open toward the sky. Suddenly a man in white linen appeared before him. He had beautiful white wings on his back. He asked him to recite. He repeated and the third time when he said the gentleman opened his lips:

Proclaim! (or read!) in the name of thy Lord and Cherisher, Who created-

Slowly, the spiritual being approached Burak. There was a chanting of the Holy Quran in the background. He approached him and stood in front of him.

“I am Gabriel – the Archangel. Go east to the mountains where the holy men live. The father needs you.”

He heard the sound of azan in the background. He has just woken up. It was dawn.

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.”

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.