Gods of Power - Part 1

1

The temple shrine rose majestically above the ancient foliage of the Nilgiri forests, shining brightly in the backdrop of the rising sun. The shadows of the numerous statues on the shrine depicting the glory of the forgotten civilization, gave it an eerie look. Hymns in the strange language filled the morning calm yet formed a melodious harmony with the sounds of nature. The thousand year old temple complex is the only structural remnant of a fervent religion, which at its popularity peak, walked apace with Hinduism in the Indian subcontinent. The complex spread over an acre, remained unfazed by the modern spoils, mainly owing to its uninhabited surroundings and the hard unforgiving terrain that stood between it and the nearest town, Himapur. Built of stone with most of the walls giving way to creepers and shrubs that sprouted everywhere, nature provided most of the complex with a perfect camouflage to blend with the green surroundings. The immediate area around the temple, for a radius of about a mile, is the hardest to pass through, even for the natives of the forest. It is filled with the most venomous cobras, the fiercest panthers and the thickest undergrowth.



The area witnessed rainfall almost throughout the year making the terrain slippery and muddy, compounding to the isolation. A native tribe of Dravidian origin, Ekavamsas, lived about fifty miles from the temple complex in a hamlet. They followed the religion and are fiercely possessive of the temple and any exploration attempts are seen as intrusion and invasion of the sanctity of the gods. Although the temple complex was discovered twice, first by Devasimha from the time of Pallavas followed by Mike Cottons, the colonial explorer in the eighteenth century, the discovery was soon forgotten on both occasions. Cottons returned twenty years later much like the Spanish crusaders of the Americas, in search of the enormous riches of the temple but never went back. His fate followed either of the rumours that surfaced, one being that the natives found out his motives, killed him and had eaten him and the other that he found the treasures but also witnessed the miracles of the temple and joined the natives.



         Monish opened his eyes as the morning rays pierced his skin through the window of the room in the only hotel in Himapur. Every muscle in his five foot eight inch, seventy kilos ached from the journey he undertook over the past two days to get to Himapur. The hard bed and the aggressive mosquitoes didn’t help the cause. He got up from the bed, stretched his limbs and looked around for the door to the bathroom. Obviously there’s just one door and that’s to enter into the room. He grabbed the essentials from his backpack and wandered out. The dusty dark corridor opened into a ten by ten foot lobby area. The main door facing the corridor directly led onto the road. The manager’s desk was empty and an old lady was sweeping the floor. Sensing him approach she looked up. Her eyes made no attempt to hide the anger that burned like molten lava. Before he could ask, she signed towards another door to the right. He smiled at her and went towards the door. As he was about to open the door she said, ‘You will die like the others - in the forest’. He turned around, smiled again and went inside the common bathroom of the hotel.



         When he returned, the manager greeted him with a broad smile. The lanky dark man stooped behind his desk shaking his pen between his long fingers expertly like a magician performing a routine trick.



         ‘I would’ve thought you were a traveler making a night stop at my hotel, but the jeep that brought you here had left’ said the manager, ‘Neither are you from Himapur. I know most of the families that live here. And I don’t think you are here for a job.’



         Monish leaned onto the desk and said, ‘Nice observations. But you wouldn’t want to know what my purpose in town is or outside it.’



         ‘It doesn’t matter to me as long as you pay for the room. I have a hunch you are a crazy nutcase who wants to make money from the artifacts of the temple’ the manager’s eyes narrowed and his voice lowered as he said, ‘And if my hunch is right, you’ve already dug your grave. There are no artifacts in there. There is no treasure. There is only death.’



         Monish stared into the eyes of the manager for a few seconds before turning his head away. He pulled out a wad of notes from his pocket and threw them on the desk. He turned away and walked towards his room. He appeared back in the lobby in a few minutes with his backpack hanging behind. As he went out, the manager was all smiles again confirming the money was good enough, actually, pretty good enough for the stay. Monish turned back one last time and said ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’ as he left the place. The manager dropped the pen from his fingers and fell into the chair behind his desk. He kept looking at the doorway with his eyes not making any attempt to hide the fear. After a few minutes he wiped his brow and looked at the woman who stopped mopping the floor hearing what Monish said. She put her trembling hands together, closed her eyes and said, ‘Morrakkai! Morrakkai!’



Himapur is a small town that flourished on a market mainly based on products that the denizens collected from the jungle. As Monish walked through the small streets lined on either side with shops, he was amazed at how little things changed. Fifteen years couldn’t bring any change to the little town or its people. He recognized every corner, every house he passed by but nobody knew who he was. Some watched him with interest as he passed by because of the way he dressed and his backpack but nobody gave a worried look. He quickly reached the edge of the town and noticed the crowd dwindling around him. As he reached the first bushes of the forest, for a second, his heart leaped. Huge trees stood at a little distance that seemed like a fortress wall. He could hardly see two meters beyond the first row of trees.



As he entered the shade of the trees he took out a shining samurai sword from his backpack. He held it like the master he was at the art and quickly swept through the undergrowth that came in his way. He walked swiftly yet cautiously, well aware of the dangers that lurked all around him. As he reached a small clearing he heard the gurgling sound of the stream he knew so well. He quickly changed his direction towards the stream and as he approached the water, couldn’t stop smiling at the sparkling water. He bent down to drink a little when he felt a swift movement close to his ear. By the time he could realize what it was, a second dart hit his backpack.



He quickly stood on one knee, lifted his hands towards the sky and shouted, ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’. Seven men came out from the forest cover on the other side of the stream. Dark and naked but for the two foot bows they carried, they fell to the ground and bowed to Monish. Monish drank the water, filled his bottle from the backpack and waded through the knee deep stream. He didn’t give a second look at the natives who didn’t move as he passed them into the forest beyond.



Noon was signified by the first rays of sun that sneaked through the canopy. The constant buzz of the insects added to the eerie feeling around the place. Monish suddenly stopped walking. He listened with intent. He stood very still clutching the sword harder. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds around him. He sensed the danger approach and then it stopped. The world seemed to stop around him. Nothing moved and he heard nothing. He knew better than to make the first move. He held his breath and waited for the danger to engulf him any second. Ten more seconds and nothing changed. And then it moved. Not a flash strike that he anticipated but a steady slow jog from his left to the right in front of him. The black panther kept its green eyes locked on him as it passed. It then disappeared into the undergrowth as quietly as it approached. He let his guard drop but waited for a few more minutes before he resumed his march. He avoided the Ekavamsa hamlet and took a longer route around it. He knew the patrol party he encountered would’ve alerted the tribe and his visit to the hamlet would only make the place tense and uncomfortable. He survived the rest of the day on Snikers from his backpack.



He arrived at the stone laden path as the sun was beginning to set. He walked along the path till he reached the clearing and saw the temple shrine. The temple looked deserted and in ruins. He stepped onto the platform, put his fist against his heart and shouted ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’. It loosely translated to ‘Morrakkai has arrived home’. About a hundred naked men seemed to come out of the temple walls in the distance. They ran towards him in two lines about ten meters apart along the edges of the platform. Their faces were painted with jungle dyes that made them look savage and fierce. Once they reached their marks the two lines stood facing each other as Monish walked towards the temple. The setting sun painted a deep grey picture of the surroundings. The platform was moist from the previous evening’s rain and as he reached the walls Jallaro came out with open arms.



Jallaro is the chief priest of the temple for the past forty seven years and looked like he was in his thirties. Tall and hefty he carried a thirty pound scepter in his hand. His forehead is smeared with a paste created out of mixing panther’s blood with a forest herb found only in the Nilgiris.



He wore a mask of solid gold that began along his eyebrows, had two straight small openings for his eyes, narrowed along his nose and ended just above his mouth. Nobody saw his real face ever since he became the chief priest. Not because it was just tradition but the ceremony of his priesthood involved a religious practice where the chief priest who was stepping down would cut the successor’s face along the nose and cheeks to peel off the skin and put the golden mask still hot from the mould onto the peeled area. The mask with its coating of the herb Velara, ensured the pain was minimum and the face was healed in fifteen days with the new skin permanently fixing the gold mask onto the face.



He wore a long robe that hid his sword underneath. He stood barefoot on the stone floor and smiled at Monish. Monish closed the distance between them and held him in his arms. He then fell to his knees, raised his arms and shouted ‘Jaxan Rudhrowera’. Jallaro smiled, held Monish by his shoulders and helped him to his feet. He then turned around and walked inside with Monish following him.

The temple is dark inside but for the torches that burned on the walls of the passage. They walked without a word till they reached a central chamber which had a golden door that stood fifteen feet high. As Jallaro approached, the guards at the door opened it. Monish had witnessed the inner chambers many times before but he couldn’t help marvel at the structure infront of him. The seventy foot idol of an eight handed naked woman holding a sword, with a face that was so fierce Monish had to look away, stood majestically in the center. He fell to his knees, folded his hands and closed his eyes. He didn’t rise till Jallora lifted him again and then his eyes fell on the bed close to the idol. His father Mirradhora was on the bed looking at him. As soon as Monish realized his father’s condition he fell down beside the bed and started crying uncontrollably. Disease had eaten away six of his fingers and he couldn’t move his legs anymore. His skin had boils all over and everytime he coughed he spat blood. He couldn’t speak and didn’t try to either. He just looked at his son. His eyes spoke the rest.



Monish got up, turned away and asked Jallora to follow. Once in the next room, Monish said, ‘Jallora, I won’t ask what happened to my father or why I was not informed of his condition earlier. I only need to know what will cure him.’



Jallora looked deep into his eyes and responded, ‘There is no herb that can cure your father. There is no medicine that can bring him back. Your mother went the same way, so will your father. And then you.’ Monish looked impassively. Jallora carried on, ‘The only thing that can save your father and your family from the curse is divine intervention. For that to happen, you’ll have to perform a sacrifice that has never been attempted before. A sacrifice that will compel the spirits of the jungle to come to your father’s aid and help in the divine intervention. I know you will succeed. Waste no time and start immediately. The sacrifice that is to be performed is… ‘

2

The little black alarm clock continued to blare causing visible disturbance to the sparrows on the window sill. It’s been blaring for over a minute now. There are much smarter ones in the market, the ones which stop at the touch and others which stop at a command. Not this one though, Zina didn’t want one that would obey her devilish spirit that will destroy her ambitions and her happiness at the first available opportunity.



Zina pushed her head out of the bed and tried reaching out to the clock. Her long fingers missed the button and the clock tumbled down from the bedside table and fell with a bang. Glass splintered around but the noise didn’t stop, it just turned screechish and somehow – louder. Zina went back into the covers and put her head under the pillow.



“Zina!,” thundered a voice outside the room, “If you do not stop that irritating alarm right now, I’ll break this door open, break the clock and finish with your legs.” For Mr. Johnson this is almost a routine morning task but this time he was determined to put an end to the mess. The mess that Zina creates around her, round the clock. His six foot four inch frame puffed outside her room as his mustache twitched indicating he was in deep thought wondering how to get rid of the mess, how to get rid of Zina. He never came out in his pyjamas unless when he took his pomerian out at nights. And to stand in front of the door, in the corridor of his working women’s hostel, in that attire is considered by him an insult that Zina manages to get him into, on more than a few occasions.



He thumped her door again with his fist pounding the wood four times in three seconds. The covers came off in a swift movement. She put her feet on the ground and stood up. She adjusted her shorts and her night shirt and walked to the door. A few hair from her boycut fell over her left eye as she opened the door at the same moment as Mr. Johnson was getting ready to break the door open. “Mr. Johnson, how dare you knock on my door at this hour?” started Zina even before her eyes could fully open, “And why are you dressed so filthily? How many times did I tell you that I’m not attracted to you, so please do not try showing yourself in these obscene attires to me.” Mr. Johnson’s face grew red, a deep crimson red and he clenched his fists as she continued, “You want to break my alarm clock? Go ahead! But for heaven’s sake, manage to stop it. I’m sick of hearing that noise myself. And for your information, I am joining as assistant photographer at Nature & You today. My first paycheck of Rs. 20000 is just around the corner and I’ll throw the money on your face the moment I get it. Now get your stinking frame out of my door and get lost. And yeah, I’m serving you my notice period beginning now. I am vacating next week. To hell with your tiny viny room and I am leaving behind my broken alarm clock. To remind you of me.”



She banged the door on his face even before he could react. He looked down the corridor and saw the girls from the other rooms had come out and were giggling among themselves, obviously at his state and his fresh humiliation. He turned the other way and stormed towards his rooms.



Zina bent down to pick up the broken alarm clock and managed to stop it. She picked up the glass pieces and put them carefully in the dustbin in the corner. She made her bed and went to the little stove by the window. She made coffee and had it with the newspaper. She always turned to page eleven first to look at the animal section and the photographs. Then came the sports section and as she was about to return to the main page, there was a knock on the door. She knew who it was even as she enquired, “Who’s that?”



“It’s me Eva. Let me in cockroach,” shouted her best friend for fifteen years. Eva was five foot four inches, wheat fair with beautiful big eyes and lovely full lips. Her slender frame meant she could get away with the smallest of dresses, on this occasion, a tshirt that just about managed to cover her hips. In contrast, Zina was five foot seven with broad shoulders and well built. Her high cheek bones accentuated her deep face and her dark skin gave her a diva look right out of temple walls. Zina threw the newspaper aside and opened the door. A smile danced on her lips as she welcomed Eva into her arms and they kissed for a brief moment. Zina then moved out of her hug and went into the bathroom saying, “I need to reach MG Road by ten. Get lost before I come out or you are a dead duck.” Eva laughed and smirked, “Yeah sure honey! Your animals mean more to you now than me.” Zina put her head out of the bathroom with the toothbrush dangling from her mouth and shot back, “You pose nude for me like the animals do and pay me my salary. I’ll stay with you all day.” Eva threw a pillow at Zina that didn’t even reach the bathroom door. Eva got into the covers and switched on the television. She put her hand under the pillow and got out the five star chocolate bar. As she munched on it, she read the newspaper. Zina walked out of the bathroom half an hour later in a towel wrapped around her torso. She went to her cabinet and dropped it as she picked up her dress of the day to wear. A whistle came from behind her which she knew better than to respond to.



“Nice figure. Perhaps I can take pictures of you this way and sell them,” giggled Eva. “You wish. The only problem would then be that I’ll have to take two buses to visit you everyday at the hospital to laugh at the leg I would’ve broken,” replied Zina as she got into her white formal shirt with a self design and a tight fitting dark skirt that made her look right out of the fashion magazines on urban businesswomen wear. She picked up her Nikon D3x camera and lens from the closet put it into her backpack and came to the bed. “Come on, I’m going to be late because of you. Go to your room and get to work,” said Zina as she pulled Eva out of her bed and dragged her outside her room. Eva leaned onto the wall beside the door in the corridor and pulled out a cigarette. As she lighted it Zina locked the door, checked the handle and turned towards Eva. Her lips showed her dissent as she remarked, “Eva, you got to stop this annoying habit of yours. Amit will never marry you if he knows of this and neither will his parents approve of the alliance. And you know how important it is for your father that you are married into the Mishra household.” Eva gave her a ‘whatever’ look and inhaled deeply. Zina pulled her close, kissed her cheek and started walking in the other direction. “I love you. I’ll be waiting for you,” shouted Eva as Zina disappeared around the corner. Zina wished Eva was more mature, had more control over herself and learned to respect life. She hoped that the Mishra household will help her grow up. At least it is one place she knew Eva couldn’t get worse at.



She walked out of the gates and looked up towards Mr. Johnson’s balcony. She knew he would be there sipping his coffee, enjoying the park view in front of the building. She smiled at him and he returned the gesture showing her the finger. He knew it wouldn’t make a difference to her and if anything, will only satisfy her that she managed to irritate him again, yet again. He returned to his coffee and she called a taxi.



The drive to MG Road took her over an hour and she didn’t want to be late on the first day especially after she proclaimed punctuality as one of her core strengths during the interview process. She let the taxi driver know of her concern and her promise of extra tip if he could reach in forty five minutes triggered new adrenaline through him and the taxi zipped through the streets constantly touching, if not breaking the speed limit.



She dreamed of how her career is going to take off and replayed her answer to an interview question in her mind on where she wants to be in the next five years. Shooting the lions of Africa as they hunt their prey as the head of a special project that will be so good that National Geographic will want to publish it as a guest feature. The interviewer had raised an eyebrow and wished her good luck although his real underlying remark was more like, ‘Yeah sure and I wish to be the President of the United States’. She knew she would prove that bugger wrong even if it means slogging her bottom off.



The taxi stopping at the entrance of the posh building on MG Road brought her back into reality. She checked the fare and paid the amount. She then checked her watch and paid hundred bucks more and the cabbie almost yelped like a puppy that just got a new bone to chew. She smiled and got down. She looked at the skies, closed her eyes in a silent prayer that lasted six seconds and marched confidently through the revolving glass doors. She went to the lift lobby and quickly walked into one of the lifts just about to take off. She was the first to get out on the sixth floor and was surprised to realize Nature and You actually occupied the entire floor for themselves. She walked to the reception and almost shouted ‘Hello, this is Zina Pathak. I’m the new photographer joining today at Nature and You.’ The receptionist looked up gave one of the best artificial smiles Zina has ever seen and pointed her to a seat in the far corner. Zina slipped into the sofa and waited anxiously for her turn, for her moment.



A lady came up to her and introduced herself as Sharmila. ‘Welcome to Nature and You. I’m one of the technical directors here and will be your mentor for the next few weeks. I shall now introduce you to our team. Please follow me’, said Sharmila as she moved towards a ‘Staff Only’ door. ‘Introduce to our team. So, I am part of a team. Interesting!’ thought Zina. As she was getting up from the sofa it happened. Earth shook under her feet and she felt as if she was pushed back into her sofa with enormous power. The sound was so fierce she felt she would go deaf. And everything happened at the same instant. She thought of her father before she lost consciousness.



MG road looked like a scene from a war zone. The crater created by the explosion was so huge it could’ve easily taken in an entire bus. The thick black smoke all around made it impossible to see beyond a couple of feet. Human cries could be heard everywhere. Buildings on either side looked like shattered glass boxes with broken glass pieces hanging from steel frames. Mangled remains of cars on the road with disfigured burnt bodies hanging out, some of them still moving, still calling for help against hope reminded one of how vulnerable humans are, not against forces of nature or other species, but against their very own. Few of the less hit, more fortunate people started to help around, trying to get people to safer, more comforting sections of the perimeter, not caring for their own condition – a typical scenario that sees heroes emerge out of ordinary humans. Emergency services stepped into action within minutes of the disaster with personnel moving swiftly checking for active pulses and any signs of life among the tragedy.



Among the doctors at the site was Ravi Shankar. He woke up that morning looking forward to the well deserved holiday to spend with his family. His first thought was that his wife will be waiting for him at the airport with his little son. He was just done with packing for the holiday when he heard the blast and a minute later, got the phone call. The proximity of his house to MG road helped him reach the spot faster than his colleagues who had already started their shifts at the hospitals. He had the presence of mind not to try to drive his car to the spot else he would never have managed to reach as nothing moved within 800 meter radius of the explosion. He ran all the way and yet was hardly out of breath, thanks to his daily jog of ten kilometers, by the time he reached. When he turned the final corner that opened directly onto the crater formed, he could hardly see anything. He felt his way around with his hands following the cries of the survivors. The first person he saw was a middle aged woman whom he identified only from the remains of her skirt. Her face and upper body was charred beyond recognition and blood had already dried up around her left knee with the rest of her leg missing. He guessed she would’ve died instantly. He moved her body a bit to discover a little girl underneath her. She seemed unhurt but for the burns on her hands. Her schoolbag bore the brunt of the impact with her books protecting her, thanks to the enormous loads schools insist kids carry. He quickly felt for her pulse and smiled. He lifted her and was wondering which direction to take when he heard the ambulance sirens. He went in the direction and forty feet later he handed her over to the emergency services. He turned around to find the next survivor when the second explosion ripped through the region. He was thrown away and hit the ambulance side and then fell to the ground. He resisted the sudden urge to drift into sleep as he felt his body with his hands. There was definitely no pain but his hand felt something when it touched his stomach. He looked down and saw a big piece of metal had pierced his stomach and blood was flowing out. He tried not to panic and gathered all his strength to get up. He couldn’t. He looked around and saw the ambulance torn apart from the strike and there was no sign of anybody, at least anybody moving. He tried to pull out the metal piece but he had nothing to stop the blood flow. His AIIMS masters degree in medicine wasn’t necessary for him to foresee his fate. He closed his eyes and his final thoughts were that his wife would be waiting for him at the airport with his little son.

3

The blue and grey walls of the room were lit by dim fluorescent lamps. The silence around but for the slow humming of the air conditioning ensured Zina slept well. As the nurse administered the injection, Zina got her consciousness back and tried opening her eyes. Even the low luminosity of the hospital lights hurt her and she closed her eyes instinctively. She tried again and managed the simple task in just over ten seconds. She looked into the calm smiling face of the nurse. She looked around the room and observed someone sitting by the bed. She focused slowly and saw the big frame of Mr. Johnson. His disheveled clothes and untidy appearance made her believe he didn’t sleep much for quite some time. She wondered for how long or for how many days she’s been on that bed. It certainly felt like a month. Johnson smiled at her for the second time ever, the first time being the time when she acted like the sweet little girl she wasn’t, when he rented her the room. ‘Do you want to have some water ?’ asked Johnson. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She slowly lifted her hand and showed him the finger. Johnson laughed. He didn’t remember when was the last time he laughed at something that Zina did. He brought her a glass of water anyways. He helped her to a sitting position and she drank a little. Her throat burned. It felt like she had bits of paper stuck all along her esophagus. ‘What happened?’ asked Zina.



‘There was a twin bomb blast on MG Road last Friday. The blast killed over two hundred people. You were lucky to get into the building by then. I’m happy you are alright. Let’s just get back soon as I’m tired of spending all my time in this stupid room’ explained Johnson. She smiled at him and slowly closed her eyes. Her thoughts raced back in time. The explosion, Sharmila, the best artificial smile she had ever seen, the lift, the crazy taxi drive, Mr. Johnson in the balcony, Eva. Eva. Where is Eva? Why isn’t she here ? She opened her eyes again and asked, ‘Where is Eva?’ She sensed the answer even before Johnson responded, ‘Eva died in the blast. She said she forgot to wish you on your first day at work. I should’ve stopped her. Only if I knew.’ He wept like a little child. Zina closed her eyes and tears trembled out of the corners. No. Not Eva. God, not Eva. Please. The machine behind her started beeping and the nurse came in running. One look at the machine and all her training came into practice as she injected a quick dose of the sedative into the bloodstream and Zina drifted into sleep. And she didn’t want to get up. Ever.



Zina slept for another fifteen hours before the memories flooded back. Eva came to the city to study economics but that was just a cover up for her real intention of spending a couple of years with Zina before she got married. Zina mused if she was the reason for Eva’s untimely end but quickly brushed aside the thought. It’s only going to make her more upset, if not drive her into a depression. She needed to pull herself through this. She thought of happier times, like the time when Eva tripped Mr. Johnson over the stairs. And Zina stepped up and took the blame that caused Mr. Johnson more pain than the fall itself, especially when he knew quite well who the real culprit was. Eva was a true best friend, they shared everything. She wanted her back. She wanted her back in her life so bad. If not, she wanted to meet the bomber. If only, she had the power, if only she had the means, if only she had the opportunity. Perhaps the police cracked the case, perhaps there is a chance they captured the bomber, perhaps she can find a weapon, any weapon and kill the bomber herself in the courtroom. She hoped it wasn’t a suicide bomber. She needs to know more about the case, she vowed she would.