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.

Deborah's Past

6

London

The past month had witnessed an unexpected turn of events in Dawson murder case. Thomas Edwards, from the Anglican Church, strangely, decided to represent Deborah in the court. Deborah accepted it despite her being a catholic. 

Participation of a high ranking church official in a murder case, as advocate for the suspect ,increased the controversy surrounding the case. The Archbishop himself was under a heavy stress regarding his decision. Every time he thought on reversing the decision, he somehow opened the same page on the bible instructing him to go on.

The first day of the hearing was rather uneventful. 

The persecutor dominated the scene throughout the hearing. Thomas had picked up the wrong thread, He tried to prove that Deborah could not have had sex with his uncle, and the idea of her being involved in the murder was far fetched. It made a weak point, naturally.

The second argument that Thomas gave was that Deborah was at his friend Cicely’s home all the night. This was a considerably strong point, but lacked enough proof; as Cicely had traveled that night to her boyfriend's home after leaving Deborah.

By the end of the first hearing itself, both Deborah and Thomas saw darkness at the end of the tunnel. It had become a difficult case to tackle.

Thomas usually took the bus to Harrow after supper and discussed the case with Deborah. He usually stayed there longer to make notes and study the case in greater detail before taking the bus back.

As the case had become rather difficult to handle, he missed the supper and reached at Deborah’s place a little early.

Thomas asked Deborah as he sat in her living room, recording into his chip-set, the proceedings of the day:

  “Deborah, could you relate to me when, exactly, can you say, that your relations with your uncle were ‘not fine’? I remember you saying that your relations were good except a couple of minor episodes that are always there in all relations.”

“Reverend, why do you want to ask about this? You know these episodes are not worth remembering, especially for a deceased individual.” Deborah was mild in her words.

“Deborah, this has no longer remained Dawson murder case. The reputation of the church is at stake. This is the most talked about thing in Britain these days. I don’t know what the God wants, but the things are getting really complicated and you have to be as clear to me as possible.” Thomas explained.

“Reverend, do we really have to talk about this? It is a really uncomfortable topic.” Deborah said.

“Yes, I would insist.” Thomas replied.

Deborah started, “It was when I was fourteen years old, before I went to Portugal that..”

“Was your trip to Portugal an important turn of your life?” Thomas interrupted.

“It wasn’t a trip reverend. I stayed there for five years.” Deborah answered.

“Lisbon?” Thomas asked.

“Fatima, at Sanctuario de Fatima. Basilica de Nossa Senhora do Rosario.” Deborah said.

“You stayed at Fatima for five years and you didn’t tell me?” Thomas appeared annoyed.

“I thought you knew when you knew of other things.” Deborah replied.

 “This is amazing!” Thomas sounded a bit irritated. “Anyhow, continue with what you were saying.”

Deborah resumed, “After father died, I lived with uncle. Everything was fine. He was really caring. I cried sometimes, but now that I reflect on my past, I realize that he never actually let the void seem so big. With aunt it was a different story. I used to share my friends, my problems and my joys with her."

She continued, "One day, things changed. I was a young girl. Like all others, I was curious about the changes in my body. After bath I often used to watch myself in the mirror - my newly grown womanhood. I had left the room door unbolted by chance.” Deborah stopped. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.

After some time Thomas cleared his throat and tried to break the silence. “Was it your uncle?”

Deborah answered, “It was my aunt.”

“Oh…” Thomas said. “Did it occur again?”

Deborah nodded. “Every day.”

“You felt guilty about it?”

“No.” Deborah answered. “I feel sorry for her.”

“One day, when we were in……uncle dropped in. 

The problems for my aunt stared from that day. The relationship between him and aunt deteriorated. He would not talk to her, neither to me. He would often rebuke her and shame her. Aunt started becoming more and more miserable day by day. She would cry alone. There was no doubt that she was a good wife. She loved uncle. I tried to approach her and talk to her, but all I could get from her was tears. She just stared at me whenever I went to her. All I could feel was hatred.

One day, I went to uncle, and I told him that he was wrong. He remained silent for sometime and then said – ‘I know little girl. The mistake is not yours.’ I burst in tears and hugged him. He patted my head.

After a few days, he told me that we are going to Portugal. We went to Lisbon and then took a cab to Fatima. He handed me over to Sister Clara at Fatima. This was to be my home for next five years and Sr. Clara, my mentor. Uncle mailed me often and talked to me. I never talked to my aunt, nor about her.

It was when I returned to Britain that I came to know that the relationship between both of them had become really turbulent. One day, she went to the riverbanks; or so goes the story – and committed suicide. She was never seen again.”

There was silence. It was broken again by her sighs and sobs – tears rolled down her cheeks. Thomas came around and held his hands gently.

“It’s alright Deborah. It’s ok. The god is with you.” He said.

He waited for her to stop. As she normalized, he spoke to her softly – “Don’t worry Deborah, lets pray to the god. He held her hands and closed his eyes. She followed Thomas. He spoke:

Our Father, who art in heaven.

She followed in Latin:

Pater noster, qui es in caelis:

Hallowed be thy Name.

sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven.

adveniat Regnum Tuum;

fiat voluntas Tua,

sicut in caelo, et in terra.

Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us.

Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;

et dimitte nobis debita nostra,

sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;

And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.

    et ne nos inducas in tentationem;

    sed libera nos a Malo.

Amen.

Amen.

They opened their eyes. There was peace.

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.

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.”  

The housekeeper of Kolkata

3 Karunamayee, Kolkata

Rajat wanted to be as close to the city centre as possible. He bought himself a small home at Karunamayee. He would take a bus to Rashbehari where his office was located. Kolkata healed him a bit. He was away from all the old faces in Bangalore, and moreover, he felt closer to the goddess. Kolkata was the city of Kali. Rajat often took the monorail from Rashbehari to Kalighat. He would sit there in front of the goddess, and then they would talk. No one saw them talking, but in course of time, he felt that answers came more often. Was he blessed? Was he cursed? He didn’t know! It became confusing at times, but he felt happier day by day. Company of the goddess was far more secure than that of a human being.

He had a servant named Biswaroop Das. People knew him by the name Biswada more than the original name. The only thing worthwhile that he cooked was Bath-Macch – the Bengali fish curry with boiled rice. Rajat tried teaching him how to cook Curd-rice, Besse-belle-bath and sambar through the internet, but he himself learnt it better than him. Often, when he was fed up with Biswada’s Hilsa and rice – he would cook for both of them. Biswada would tell him weird historical stories from Kolkata’s past.

“Kolkata was the city which the world was searching. The Europeans came here and kali gave them refuge. She had pity on those fair skinned people, but they betrayed her. They betrayed her sons and daughters, and then they were kicked from here, and from India.” He would tell Rajat.

Rajat would often correct him. “Biswada…. Where did you learn your history from?”

He would then click a huge volume of ‘Day’s Comprehensive History of Medieval Bengal’ and watch the things happen in front of them. He would keep the volume high and turn Bengali text for Biswada.

“See Biswada, the British found Kolkata, and an Indian cheated the king of the Bengal and helped the British win. From Bengal, they went to take over whole of Indian subcontinent, which they ruled for two hundred years. After that, during the time of the goons rule, the city changed its name from the then Calcutta to Kolkata. The city was thrown into dark ages and degradation. It was during the rule of the buddhijivis that the Bengal was reunited and the prestige of the city was reinstated.”

Biswada often told him interesting stories about Kali, authenticity of most of whom was questionable, but Rajat enjoyed these stories a lot. He would somehow connect the historical facts with Kali. Rajat would smile at many of his innocent mistakes, but not interrupt him. Kali was the good part of his life too.

One day as they were having dinner, Biswada asked him for a day’s leave.

“Do you have a family Biswada?” Rajat asked.

“I had one.” He said somewhat indifferently. “They became ascetics.”

Rajat almost choked at it.

“They might be happy wherever they are.” Biswada continued. “I didn’t want to become ascetic because I wanted to be in this world at the feet of my goddess.”

Rajat was looking straight at Biswada’s face. He couldn’t find the right expressions. He was surprised and amused at the same time.

“You didn’t stop them?” Rajat asked.

“No. The ascetics from Himavant took them.” Biswada said.

He was both surprised and raged by now. “You allowed some ascetics to take away your family Biswada. You didn’t do anything?”

“Not some ascetics Rajat Babu.”

“Then?”

“Four of them.”

“How does it matter if they were four or even four hundred?”

“Yes, that doesn’t matter.” Biswada said. “What matters is that who they were.”

“Who were they?” Rajat asked. There was inquisitiveness in his eyes, and impatience.

“The Kumars – Sanak, Sanad, Sanaatan and Sanat Kumar.”

His eyes opened wide. He felt they would tear off.

“What?” was all he could say in a hoarse voice that his throat was capable of producing in that state of shock.

The Kumars were the mind born sons of Brahma – the creator. The eldest and forever young ascetics, they wandered among the heavens and the earth at their own will – forever chanting – Hari sharanam – we are in the refuge of the God.

They were famous for remaining at the doors of the householders only for the time equivalent to that in which a cow is milked. They would ask for alms, but would give salvation in return. If they didn’t get, they would just move on.

“Please Biswada, don’t be stupid.” Rajat said, wildly in a tone of protest.

“It’s true Rajat Babu.” Biswada emphasized his truth.

“How did you know?”

“What?”

“That they were the Kumars?”

“Children don’t vanish into thin air, or cause others to vanish. Moreover they introduced themselves.” Biswada explained.

Rajat’s hairs were standing at the end by now. “What did they say?” He asked.

Biswada sighed. “I’m going to Dakshineshwar tomorrow. I met the Kumars there. Come with me if you want to know.”

“Dakshineshwar, where is that?” Rajat asked.

“A little distance from Kolkata, there is a huge temple of Kali there. She is called the Dakshineshwari.” Biswada answered.

Rajat closed his eyes momentarily and then said calmly – “Biswada, I’ll go with you.”

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.