Nine: Vengeance of the Warrior (2 page)

Sitting there in that hut in the middle of a small insignificant village in the Brahmaputra Valley, Tejaswi was determined to plug the panic convulsing in the pit of her stomach. She did not quail when she felt the tendrils of something cold caress her skin. It sent chills up her ankles. What she faced now was nothing compared to what she had experienced in the last month. Tejaswi would have been a trembling mass of flesh before her father was brutally killed, but now, she carried a dead weight inside her. It was like she had been consumed by hate and anger and the bitter desire for black revenge. The flash of memories that snapped in and out of her consciousness made her more determined. Her life was ruined because of one man. And he would pay. She would make him. No matter what. The thought alone made her shiver with pleasure. Rage is better suppressed and more powerful when it waits for the right time to vent itself.

The Ojaa witch pointed a blade towards Tejaswi’s eyepatch and asked, ‘What’s with the eyepatch?’ Her tone conveyed no sympathy but mild curiosity only.

‘Lost it in a freak accident when I was a kid,’ Tejaswi said, pressing the patch.

The dark-skinned occult practitioner stared hard. ‘Your one good eye projects the intensity of a strong soul.’ She wore thick anklets and metal toe-rings shaped like skulls. Black kohl bordered the deep pools of her eyes. ‘Inducing fear is the ultimate power over the human mind. Do you not fear me?’ Tejaswi could smell her when she drew close, like a dug-up grave. She heard something rustle above her but didn’t flinch. ‘I can slit your throat and use your blood for my rituals. Your body will disappear, no one will know you were ever here …’

Tejaswi stood her ground, fists clenched, matching her intensity of emotion. She gazed at the witch as though through a lens. The memories of losing her father clamped her jaw and lifted her head in defiance. Her insides quivered out of anger as she stood alone in that thatched hut, face-to-face with the ash-smeared witch whose eyes were gleaming with carnivorous strength. ‘I do not fear you. I have come a long way to find you. And I have come to your village of black magic with a purpose. I know you can give me the power to defeat the man who—’

‘Revenge has tremendous power. Revenge leads the human race to carry out heinous acts. You are a woman, easily swayed, easy to manipulate—you don’t deserve my black energy.’ The witch’s voice boomed as she whirled about.

Tejaswi’s anger burst through and she shouted, ‘I want this energy now! You are a fake if you cannot give it to me. I shall find another!’ Tejaswi was about to leave when the Ojaa witch turned abruptly and gripped her wrist. She pulled hard, leading her into an inner sanctum, past the back door of the hut. The cave-like area had appeared out of nowhere, defying reality. It was a dark dank labyrinth. Tejaswi’s eye adjusted to the darkness. The walls were uneven and damp from unknown origins of water. At the centre of the ground, a black sculpted crystal, oval in shape and carved with an animal face, protruded. It was generously smeared with vermilion. The Ojaa witch sat cross-legged, perpendicular to the deity. In front of the stone, a wick burned inside a skull, offering a weak glow. She pulled Tejaswi down to sit next to her on the floor. Between them was a low wooden platform covered with a black cloth. Placed atop it were a copper bowl, two amulets, a black crow’s feather, crystals, a bowl of ash and a freshly decapitated rooster. Blood oozed and dripped down the table. The Ojaa witch looked at Tejaswi. ‘I will give you what you want, but remember, there is no turning back from the black strength. I give you one last chance to think about whether you want this power or not.’

‘I have come for your power. There is no other way for me to get justice!’ she said determinedly.

‘Then focus on your anger, on the man you want to hurt. Remember, there is no turning back. Once I invoke the spirits you will have to accept the consequences and you will have to offer up whatever they ask for. These spirits do not return without sacrifice.’

‘I brought some money.’ Tejaswi removed some crumpled notes and placed them in front of the woman.

The laughter was harsh and wild, like a hyena’s. She pushed the money aside. ‘No! That is not what the spirits demand. They will want to use you and with their strength, you will have unlimited power. They want something in return, are you willing to take the risk?’

‘What risk?’ Tejaswi stared at the woman angrily. ‘My life is over. When I went to the police, they harassed me; the murderer sent goons to destroy my shop and threatened to kill me.’

The woman raised her hand. ‘These spirits want the human mind, the human heart. They are restless, ancient and desperate to fulfil their purpose. They’ve hovered on the earthly plane for thousands of years for the opportunity. People like you are the ones they choose.’

‘I will face the consequences. I accept whatever will help me destroy the man who destroyed my life.’

‘The spirit may never leave.’

‘I said I am willing to do anything. I need the power of black magic.’ Tejaswi’s eye matched the witch’s sinister gaze.

The Ojaa witch turned to face the deity. ‘Then you shall have what you asked for.’ She closed her eyes for a few long seconds. Then her eyes snapped open and she stared at Tejaswi with a glassy gaze. There was a strange quavering in her voice. ‘There is one spirit, an ancient warrior, powerful and angry. Remember, once he connects with you, I cannot exorcise the spirit. Do you understand?’

Tejaswi glared. ‘I have only one thing in mind—revenge. I want to have the powers. I want to be able to destroy another human without cowering in fear. And I want to make him suffer,’ Tejaswi whispered. ‘I know the ancient Mayong people can make things happen as if by magic; they can cast a spell to make a man suffer for the rest of his life. I want all this and more.’

The Ojaa witch narrowed her eyes and studied the young woman. ‘Then you will have to believe that everything I say is true.’

Tejaswi nodded.

‘What you ask of me can only be shared with people who are strong enough to absorb this power. Or they end up mad or in jail. Our world is not made up of logic and science. The otherworld is for the believers. All around you entities float and influence your thought waves. You think you alone control your desires and thoughts? No, it’s the spirits that are attracted to your personality, to your aura of anger and hatred. They also find your weaknesses and make you a slave to your desires.’

‘I believe you.’

‘In the olden days my ancestors could move objects by chanting the Uran mantra. They could make weapons materialize from thin air. If I open the door of our magic, you must bear the burden of these powers. Do you understand, do you believe?’

Tejaswi nodded.

The Ojaa witch held out her hand, the palm spread open. She then ran a blade down her hand, slitting the skin from the tip of her index finger to the wrist. Blood spilled and dripped into the copper bowl. The witch looked at Tejaswi. She understood and, without a hint of fear, held out her hand. The witch sliced open Tejaswi’s palm and watched as the blood collected in the bowl, mixing with her own. The witch murmured an incantation and sprinkled red vermilion on Tejaswi’s hand.

Continuing with her hypnotic chant, she rose and circled Tejaswi. Picking up the crow’s feather, she circled it over Tejaswi’s head and sprinkled ash. The incantation seemed to reverberate against the stone walls. The whirling Ojaa witch, the enclosed space, the humid smell and the burning incense engulfed Tejaswi in a way she couldn’t explain. Her mind seemed out of her control. Strange thoughts and images weaved in and out of her consciousness. She felt light-headed and dizzy. Her eyes watered and she felt like the earth was moving beneath her. She felt herself sinking into the stone-cold ground. She opened her mouth to speak and tasted muddy soil instead. The Ojaa witch whirled faster and faster, her voice grew deeper and drilled into Tejaswi’s skull, pushing her into a catatonic state. Tejaswi let her mind go. Then, as if a blank space enveloped her, she saw nothing, felt nothing. There was blackness all around.

Till the morning sun decided to intervene. It was like a blaze of white when Tejaswi tried to open her eye. She squinted in the blinding light and looked around her. She was lying on the stone floor of a porch. When she slowly tried to lift herself up, her head felt like a block of wood. There was green vegetation as far as her eye could see. It took an effort to recollect the events of the previous day. Then it all came back in a rush.

The hut belonged to the Ojaa witch, the black-magic practitioner that Tejaswi had visited last night. The memories came crashing down on her. As she tried to support herself on her hands and get up, she felt a sharp shooting pain that radiated from her palm all the way up to her arm. She looked at her hand and then remembered the cut the witch had made. The scar was swollen and sore to the touch, with a persistent throbbing pain. Tejaswi felt so weak she thought she would faint. She looked at the entrance of the hut and stumbled towards it to speak to the Ojaa witch. The door was ajar and she peeped in. The hut appeared deserted, as if it had not been used in years.

‘Hello?’ Tejaswi croaked.

No one answered. She stumbled inside; the hut was empty. Tejaswi walked further inside—the cave should have been there somewhere. Tejaswi searched for it, feeling disoriented with the layout, and checked the rear of the hut. Nothing. There was no cave, or even the stone deity that she recalled from last night. No Ojaa witch either. Tejaswi felt the first prick of tears. She had come all this way for nothing. And now, the witch had fooled her. She sank to the floor, knees to her chest, arms folded and head down; she sobbed like it was the end of the world.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ A voice spoke from above her.

Tejaswi looked up. The Ojaa witch was standing there. Except, she didn’t look like the witch from last night. She was dressed as one of the villagers. No severe expression, wild hair, ash on her forehead or black kohl-lined eyes. She was like any other village woman in a sari, her hair in a neat bun.

‘You didn’t do anything for me!’ Tejaswi accused her hysterically.

‘Stand up!’ the woman snapped. Tejaswi rose to face her. ‘I won’t accept such weakness from you. Here. This is a message for you.’ The woman slapped a piece of paper on her palm. ‘The spirit who is powerful and vengeful is trapped in another country. You must go there.’

‘What do you mean “go there”?’ Tejaswi asked suspiciously.

‘There is one fiery warrior spirit that demands you. Remember, I don’t choose the spirit. The spirit chooses you. And the message came through that he is waiting for a courageous soul. Go to this place and you will be more powerful than ever before. You have the power to move objects, you have the power to make daggers appear where there are none. But you must be strong and channel those powers. Don’t waste the Mayong power on your weak tears and self-pity.’ She gripped Tejaswi’s hand. ‘Promise me you will not disrespect me.’

Tejaswi stared at the writing on the paper.
Angkor Wat
. She gaped at the woman and nodded.

2

Anita

Bharatpuri, Ujjain, Madhya Pradesh

Anita had spent half a day at the Maharshi Sandipani Rashtriya Vedavidya Pratishthan library. After going through the rows of dusty tomes, she asked to meet with a senior professor. Acharya V.K. Shastri was a tiny man, bespectacled and bald. He had about him an aura of indignation and looked at her suspiciously when she thanked him for taking time out to see her. He led her to an office in the corner, which was more like a makeshift storage area with a desk and two chairs crammed into the available space. Dusty piles of books and boxes were stacked on the floor. A metal cabinet crowded one corner, blocking access to his desk. The Acharya had to slide sideways to get to his chair. He indicated the well-worn seat across from his wooden table.

Fingertips together, he waited for her to speak.

‘Acharyaji, I am a journalist.’ He harrumphed in response. Anita ignored it and continued, ‘I have come to Ujjain to research this city’s connection with King Ashoka in the fourth century BC. Ujjain was the capital of the Avanti kingdom of King Vikramaditya. I’m trying to establish the link between King Ashoka and the secret knowledge he gained while he lived here.’ Then her voice dropped down a notch, ‘He is believed to have created the secret society of the Nine unknown men.’

The Acharya immediately flared up. He threw aside his spectacles and looked at her. His dusky complexion turned an angry red. ‘That is the most bizarre story I’ve heard in my life! Is that why you came here? To talk about some hearsay and disturb my peace?’ Then he stood up and, pushing back his chair, pointed to the door. ‘Go research your pulp fiction nonsense elsewhere … Secret society, huh? Things which have no basis are being researched for truth just because you need some sensationalism in your life!’ He smirked, shaking his head. ‘Journalists these days!’

Anita didn’t move. She stared at him stoically. ‘Acharyaji, with all due respect, there is a mention in history texts that Ashoka lived in Ujjain before he became king, when he was the viceroy of the western provinces of the Mauryan Empire. And after he became king and went to war with the Kalingan army, he was overcome with remorse and turned to Buddhism. He created the secret society to protect mankind from the ancient knowledge derived from the Vedic scriptures. The kind of knowledge that could annihilate an entire civilization,’ she said animatedly.