Satyayoddha Kalki- Eye of Brahma Read online

  Because of her, Arjan had been kidnapped and might have been killed or worse, eaten. He didn’t know what fate had been meted out to him by Kali. The very thought of it jolted a flash of anger and grief inside him. He was now overwhelmed with so many unfamiliar emotions.

  “He is one of them. The Simhas,” Kripa added jovially, “were once the unknowns, like the grand tribe of Suparns. They were proud beings and even had heroes amongst their ranks. Narsimha, as the legends say, defeated an Asura, when no one could. The Simhas, who are considered devotees of lions, wear their skin as protection and grow facial hair like a lion. Most of them went mad after the genocide. The survivors went missing.”

  “What led to their extinction?” Kalki asked.

  “It was the battle with the Manavs, where the Tribals had lost. But this, again, is during the Mahayudh.”

  “Simhas are that ancient?” Padma asked, wondering about the war. That was way before their time, when the Ancients fought against each other. Back then, a plague had ravaged the land known as the Breaking, an aftermath to Mahayudh, as Kripa had stated earlier. Ancients had lived before Lord Govind and others like him. All of it was explained to Kalki, but that strengthened his suspicions even further. He wondered how old Kripa was. He had said that he was hundred years old, but the Mahayudh predated a century. Deep down, he knew it was not true. This was Kripas’s version of events, and he didn’t trust him much. History was convoluted and he better not dwell on that now. Otherwise he’ll end up believing a lie.

  “Their lineage is quite old, mate,” Kripa said. “They were warriors, worshippers of the sun, and now look at them. They have gone mad with time. This one must be a surviving descendant,” he signalled at Darooda. “He has forgotten his proud heritage, and yet he exhibits the remnants of his bloodline’s regality, ergh, the poor fellow.”

  Kalki asked, “How did they go mad?”

  “During the Mahayudh, radiation was used—”

  “Radiation?”

  “Bombs,” he snapped at Padma, glaring at her, “the one you took for your personal cause.”

  Kalki saw her hand slipping into her pouch, as if she was shielding them from Kripa’s words. Perhaps she was still carrying them.

  “They were used in heavy quantities, while the ones I gave you, lass, are pretty ordinary. They are damaging enough to a man, but not one to cause massive destruction,” he clarified, noticing what she was doing.

  “The ones used during the Mahayudh were horrible. The aftermath of the radiation was terrible, causing many to go crazy. Lands had become inhospitable. The kings had come after that, but none had survived. The survivors of the war had left for the mountains and died of starvation.”

  Kripa’s version of the grim past spoken in a nonchalant tone was something Kalki was not really fond of. But after seeing enough bloodshed, he was used to it.

  “What should we do then?” Kalki asked, concerned about Darooda. He figured that this creature must have seen enough evil for a lifetime.

  “Do? We go north, as we were supposed to.” Kripa reached for the horses, trying to manoeuver them to the opposite side, and go back to where they had come from.

  “What about him?” He pointed at the creature.

  “Let’s stop here. It has started to rain,” Padma intervened.

  Kalki ignored the pellets, and Padma’s existence.

  “We go back!” Kripa said. “Mate, our mission is not helping bizarre creatures on our way, just so you know.”

  “Do you really have a heart or do you just want to let everyone die for your mission?” Kalki blurted.

  “It’s going to rain hard,” Padma intervened again. She wanted to clear up the tense atmosphere. Kalki could hear the blazing, somersaulting clouds approaching. They had begun to make retching sounds.

  Kalki had touched a nerve. Kripa balked. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You know what I mean by that.” Kalki’s voice had a menacing tone. “Arjan told me something. Before he left, he told me about you.”

  “So, you have started to believe in hearsay.” Kripa refused to budge.

  The rain was now armed and was throwing bullets of drops at them. None of them deterred Kalki as he confronted Kripa with glaring, pale eyes.

  “YOU TWO!” yelled Padma. “It’s raining, we need shelter.”

  “We go through the rain,” Kripa announced solemnly, “for it’s not fire that we have to stay away from.” His gaze wavered a little. Kripa sized himself up, an old man, with nerves pushing out of his fragile skin. With a stinking mouth and greasy hair, his body exuded the smell of blood and suras . But he had retained his nerves of steel.

  Kalki shook his head. “No. We stay right here. We stay with Darooda,” he gestured towards the creature, who had started fidgeting by now.

  “I’m not staying with a madman!”

  “Food,” cawed Darooda, quietly from the corner.

  Padma pushed both the men and holding their horses by the girdles, dragged them towards the cave. “While you two imbeciles quarrel, I’ll rest in the shelter. A pleasure to meet you, Darooda,” she grinned at the bewildered hairy man as she entered the cave, finally getting out of Kalki’s line of sight.

  Kalki stayed rooted to his spot for a moment before he shrugged and said, “We both know you are more than what you show. I don’t expect answers, Acharya. But I want to know if you still uphold your morality. I will not have innocent blood over me. I am important to you, which is why you keep me safe. But in time, I will find out why.”

  With that, he left the senile, old man in the rain. He’ll surely not die of cold or rainwater illness. Kripa was an Immortal, blessed by the last Avatar.

  Kalki had the power to make someone Immortal as well, but he didn’t know how it worked. Endowing someone with immortality can be a gift or a curse and in this case, Kripa surely was cursed. He had gone mad like Darooda, but at least the Simha was kind and generous.

  Shuko, his parrot sat down over his shoulder and began to caw, “Pisach! Pisach!” which Kalki didn’t understand. He had sent his bird to sprawl its wings and locate any danger lurking in the vicinity. The foolish bird had ended up speaking gibberish and possibly alerting any threat trailing them.

  Kalki entered the cave to find Padma standing at the entrance, frozen at her place. He looked at her pale, dilated pupils, lost into the distance. He knew something was amiss. He looked up. The cave, like any other mountain cave at this altitude, was filled with dirt, mud, and garbage strewn all over. And yet, unlike other caves, this one held people. Three people, seemingly alive, had their mouths gagged by dirty rags. Their knees were bruised and all of them were women—one bald, the second one had matted hair, and the third one had a strange inked pattern over her left eye in the shape of an arrow. Perhaps a Manav. Kalki couldn’t figure it out.

  “Food.” Darooda Simha began to jump, clapping his hands, beating his chest.

  “Them?” Kalki swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “No,” he shook his head as if Kalki had misunderstood him all this time. “ You .”

  Out of all the things in the world, Arjan had never believed himself to be a wrestler. And here he was, being shown as entertainment for the nobles and the aristocrats who were dining with the best of meat and wine, laughing with their women seated on their laps, and watching two hulking figures amidst Manavs and other races fighting each other.

  Arjan realized he was next. With his hands chained, he watched the wrestlers, bound with the rest of the prisoners, as the contenders grabbed each other, their feet rooted to the ground, while trying to topple each other. One finally threw the other on the ground and broke his neck in an instant. This was a game where no one cared who lived and who died. Arjan breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to head out now and fight. He needed to wait, and learn from his would-be opponents.

  The entire chamber was thronged with spectators. In the front, with his guards sat Kali. He had a satisfied expression on his face as an Apsara sat
over his lap, with wine spilling from his glass, as he laughed and cheered. The nobles put bets, coins of unimaginable value were tossed and flipped towards the arena. All the nobles looked greasy and dishevelled.

  Arjan felt like retching. All this drinking and whoring was happening in front of a huge Vishnu statue symbolizing purity. This sacred place was the outskirts of the city of Indra.

  But none of this was Kali’s concern. Gambling over life and death was the new routine now.

  “Shh,” a voice came from the back.

  Arjan was standing in the middle of a huddle of sad, petrified faces. He carefully scanned all the topless, shackled men, wearing nothing but scorched loins. They were barefoot, had bloody bruises, and their backs were being flogged by a leash made of tiger skin. Master Reddy, their jailor and trainer, was leading them. Arjan hadn’t learn a lot from him. His body was not ripped, unlike the other wrestlers, and his height was relatively short as well. Though he was incharge of the prisoners, they never took him seriously.

  Arjan turned to see a boy, perhaps a little older, with wide eyes. Bangs covered his forehead, and he was a little plump unlike the others. Arjan was confused as to who fed him, since in the prison, the prisoners only got some potatoes and milk that smelled like the sweat of a hag’s breast.

  “My name is Vikram,” he said. “How do you do, fella?”

  Seriously?

  “I had seen you out there, on the flying thingy, during my trial.”

  Arjan hesitated to take the conversation forward.

  “Didn’t get a pardon. I was flogged and sent down here for a few more years.” He grinned as he tried to explain his situation. “But that was a wonderful sight. How did you operate that, fella? Need to know. Sooner or later, I’ll get out and find meself a nice barn where I’m gonna work out my latest inventions.”

  “I hate to be blunt but we are looking at our potential deaths and you are worrying about the flying thingy?” Arjan interjected his enthusiasm.

  “Oh, they just intend to scare us.” The chains rattled as Vikram waved his hand, dismissing what Arjan had said. “They will only show the best fights while the rest of us just dawdle and train. We don’t have to go to the arena. No one wants to see a boring, one-sided match, you know.”

  “Things will change soon,” Arjan said, gritting his teeth. He could feel it. Ever since Kali had assumed the throne, the Nagas had mysteriously vanished overnight, and the Manavs had been appointed jailers and officers in the prison. He even held power over his predecessor’s fort. If it had been up to Vedanta, Arjan would have been executed for trespassing into the royal grounds with the silver-haired girl in tow. But he had been brought in front of Kali, and the new king had different plans for him.

  The fight had ended and Kali came forward, declaring the winner. The announcement met with applause and hoots from the side who had bet on him. The fair-skinned champion had a stern, straight face with broad, dark features and a set of angry, stubborn eyes black as charcoal. He was handsome, but something about him churned Arjan’s stomach which he dismissed. The last thing he wanted was to fancy a fighter he would end up battling to death. But he knew that in a duel with the champion, Arjan would be smashed to a pulp, his head would burst, and he’ll be nothing but a crushed carcass, just like the potatoes for his daily ration.

  The champion went by the name of Rudra, which was one of Lord Shiva’s names.

  “Our best fighter,” Kali spoke in a sleek voice. “No one can beat him, and none ever will.” He held out Rudra’s arm up into the air. “You feast with me today, boy,” he said and slapped Rudra’s back proudly, who nodded with a grunt before moving towards the horde of wannabe wrestlers. Arjan was one of them.

  Arjan kept praying. He didn’t want Kali’s slithering golden eyes to find him amidst the crowd. But then, Kali walked up, passing and patting the wrestlers’ arms as he said, “All of you are going to be trained—to fight, to continue the legacy of the great Lord Jarasandha, to keep his spirit alive!” There was great jubilation in the crowd. Lord Jarasandha was the megalomaniac emperor of Udaiyas. Being an Ancient, he had ruled before the Breaking, even before the Mahayudh. He had died horribly, courtesy to Lord Govind who with Vrikodara’s help had set up a wrestling match. Jarasandha was an Asura, a race that was now extinct. He couldn’t die because he had been drunk on Soma, or that’s what Kripa had told him while they were travelling towards Indragarh. Kripa had talked about these stories of Mahayudh as if he had lived through it. One of the Ancients was an ancestor of Arjan, though he didn’t know who.

  Jarasandha was finally killed when his body was sliced into two parts and thrown on opposite sides. Confused, he couldn’t form himself again, dying of blood loss and a prolonged state of mutilation.

  When he had listened to this story for the first time, Arjan had gasped for breath, letting out a nervous laugh. The nature of Jarasandha’s death was too fantastical for his sound mind. None of these things happened. But then he had seen Kalki. He had seen his brother in action.

  Kali stopped at Arjan’s side. He glared at him, his eyes narrowing and widening in recognition. Arjan could feel his breath, but he showed no fear or anger for that was exactly what Kali wanted—Arjan to react. He controlled his impulses.

  “You,” he grabbed Arjan’s shoulder, pulling him from the crowd.

  Arjan was forcibly taken away and put in the midst of raving gamblers. With their tongues lolling, they were scampering and shouting at him, spilling their drinks while amorously engaging with their women. Arjan was helpless, his hands were still bound. He couldn’t understand why he was being pushed into the arena when he wasn’t even trained. He was just another prisoner. Rudra stood still, watching Arjan with a look of disdain.

  “You are weak!”

  “Why are we sending off an amateur? Train him first!”

  “He doesn’t even have muscles! Throw him out!”

  All the spectators started yelling.

  Kali grabbed Arjan by the shoulder, locking him in his grasp. For a king, Kali was strong; his biceps were thicker than Arjan’s.

  “Why don’t we have a little fun, eh?” Kali grinned. “Why don’t we let Rudra, our star, fight with someone untrained? Someone who has yet to rise through the ranks.”

  Arjan’s heartbeat rose.

  No.

  Master Reddy, the stout, snarky man with betel leaves in his mouth came forward, trudging carefully. “My lord, the boy has no idea how to defend himself. It won’t be a fair fight.”

  Kali looked at him as if he had made an ill-timed joke. “What about it? We need a change in the competition. This is about survival, not fairness!”

  Everyone began to clap and hoot.

  “But my lord, I have others Rudra can compete with. Others who are fit and fine.” He paused, frightened. “Let me train him first and you can then do what you want to do with him.”

  Kali came to Master Reddy, who immediately backed off. “Leave!” he coldly rasped and the jailer slowly scurried towards the back. Arjan had nothing against the man. He desperately sought his help; he needed the jailer to defend him.

  People clapped loudly, laughing. Arjan couldn’t see Vedanta or Kuvera amongst them, but then the audience only had nobles, merchants, and a few foreigners, including some senior officials.

  “Let’s have a bet,” yelled Kali to the people. “Who do you think will WIN?”

  Everyone took Rudra’s name. In fact, Rudra sniggered at the question, glaring at Arjan who chose to remain silent and impassive. Deep in thought, he began to think of a few strategies to defeat Rudra, recollecting all the instances from Rudra’s previous fights. Rudra always locked the enemy under his deadly grip, grabbed his opponent’s neck, and then twisted it. Sometimes, he would force the body to plummet down on the ground, let the mud sweep in, and then break the bones one by one. Horrible as it sounded, those were the things Arjan could recall at that time, as his head slowly swivelled towards Vikram gulping in tension.

  The p
lump man had previously told Arjan that only the best fighters enter the arena. Ah damn well. Arjan knew Kali would take his revenge for stealing his Soma and burning the entire stock. If one thought about it, Kali was being generous in not just feeding Arjan to the lions. But then, the first look of Rudra was no less than a hungry lion approaching its prey. Arjan was shivering with nervousness as he knew he was going to bid farewell to his life.

  The Manav guards came forward, unlocking Arjan’s chains and then tossing him on the ground. Arjan felt the mud slapping his face, as he looked at the chamber, the recess he was in, under the open, bloody sky. The entire place was small. The logs had been kept over the pedestals for the audience to sit and cheer the fighters as they marched to their gruesome deaths. The arena was situated away from the actual fort, Rajgirh. This was in the outskirts of the city. Ideally, a king would never make the effort of being a part of such an establishment. But Kali had travelled all the way from Indragarh to see this spectacle. His smooth demeanour outlined with his fascination for torture, it was hardly surprising that he had desired to witness it.

  Arjan stood up, cracking his knuckles and taking his battle pose. Rudra was in front of him, grunting, with a playful smile dancing over his lips. Arjan glanced at Kali who was seated behind his favourite guards, Koko and Vikoko. Kali rubbed the top of his nose and then with a sweep of his arm signalled the fight to start.

  The trumpet’s sound shook everything in the arena. Everything went blank for Arjan and when his visual senses came into focus, he was pushed violently and rammed to the ground by a basilisk of a man. His back brushed harshly against the ground. The enormous surge of pain made his eyes tear up.

  Horror seized Arjan as Rudra tried to grab his neck. Arjan dodged him, deflecting his bulky arms with his hands. Whenever Rudra would come forward, Arjan would sweep his hand and knock it aside. Rudra saw an opening in his stance and finally wrapped his legs around Arjan’s, coiling them tightly, and turned his upper body on the other side while twisting Arjan’s hand at the back. Rudra leaned forward casually as he began to nibble his ear, and he whispered, “Liking it much?”