THE CURSE OF BRAHMA (18 page)

Shiva sighed. Brahma was a great man but he had never been a warrior in the true sense of the word. He had been too busy with the conceptualization of Mrityulok, to really focus on the wars that had been going on between the demons and the gods since the beginning of existence. That had been the job of the demi-gods, under the guidance of Shiva and Vishnu. It wasn’t surprising therefore that Brahma found it difficult to think as a warrior would in these circumstances.

He explained to Brahma, ‘When you want to take over an enemy land, you don’t just attack them from the outside. That’s too predictable and the enemy can always shield themselves against such an event. What you do therefore, is to create chaos and anarchy within the enemy territory.’

‘How do you do that?’ Brahma asked with interest. All this talk of military strategy was new to him, and he found himself strangely drawn towards it. It was as if after a lifetime of not picking up weapons, he seemed driven by some primal force to learn everything there was to learn about war in a single day. Shiva had once again donned the role of mentor and Brahma was yet again, the protégé.

Shiva understood this and smiled benignly at Brahma. ‘What you do is plant a few of your trusted lieutenants in enemy territory. These people become your eyes and ears and give you vital information about what is happening there. A smart war strategist could also identify powerful allies within the enemy land and try winning them over to his side, or he could also exploit their weaknesses to get them to fight against each other and create chaos. In the resultant confusion, he will then attack and vanquish the enemy before the enemy even gets a chance to realize what is happening.’

Brahma stared in fascination as a hundred myriad thoughts coursed through his brain. But he knew there was more to be learnt here and he stayed quiet.

‘Amartya Kalyanesu is going to do the same thing. He will send some of his trusted soldiers to Mrityulok to keep a tab on what is happening there, if he hasn’t already done so. Let Narada check if any strange people or any unnatural incidents have been observed in key places across Mrityulok.’

Brahma made a mental note of this, as Shiva continued with his education on war strategy.

‘Amartya will also pick a few of the most powerful kingdoms in Mrityulok and try and exploit the weakness of their rulers or he may try and pit one kingdom against the other in an attempt to create chaos. He may also try and woo some of these kings to see if they will ally with him in his attempt to take control over Mrityulok. Ask Narada to make it a point to visit all the influential kingdoms to assess if there is anything amiss with the behaviour of the rulers of those kingdoms.’

‘I will do that, My Lord,’ Brahma nodded. ‘Those will include the kingdoms of Magadha, Madhuvan, Bateshwar, Bahlika, Vidarbha, Hastinapur, Madra and Gandhar, among others.’

Shiva nodded in approval.
He was always a quick learner
, he thought to himself, shielding his thoughts. He didn’t want Brahma getting complacent with early praise.

Brahma rose to leave. He was elated at what he had achieved with Shiva. Even though he had refused to destroy Amartya, Shiva had still provided sufficient guidance to him. Brahma could now to do all that was necessary to pre-empt any move on Amartya’s part to start his destructive vengeance.

‘Brahma!’ Shiva spoke softly as he saw him getting ready to leave. Brahma looked at him, expecting some last-minute advice on war strategy.

‘Remember, when all your planning fails, there is only one person who can help you. Come to me when that happens and I will tell you who to go to.’

‘Who is that, My Lord?’ Brahma asked, confused. He had thought he could come back to Shiva for his help in case something went wrong.

Shiva smiled in response and Brahma noticed him dissolving in front of his eyes. The thought struck him that he had been talking to Shiva’s projected image all this while. Shiva had never been here. He had just used his immense powers of concentration to create a holographic image.

And then another thought struck Brahma with the force of a thunderbolt that knocked all the breath out of his body. Shiva hadn’t said ‘
If
your planning fails’; he had said,‘
When
your planning fails’. That could only mean one thing: Shiva knew that whatever Brahma did, Amartya Kalyanesu would still succeed in doing what he planned; at least enough for Brahma to require coming back to Shiva to seek the help of someone that Shiva hadn’t yet told him about.

he hills surrounding the powerful nation of Banpur reflected the shimmering light from the full moon. Banpur, nestled among the mountains of north-east Bharat, was ruled by the noble and formidable King Bana; one of the most respected and feared kings in the vast land of Bharat. Bana had taken over the reign of the nation following the death of Bali,. who wasn’t just Bana’s father, but also the man who had carved out the lush land of Banpur from the rocky mountains surrounding it. Bana took over from where his father left off and made Banpur a paradise on Earth; the most beautiful hill nation in Mrityulok. The country had not seen a war in the past twenty years, mostly because no ruler was foolish enough to take an army against King Bana. Not only because he was a great leader of men, but it was almost impossible to attack the hill nation, ensconced as it was amidst an armour of mountains. Hence, Banpur existed in peace, and the country prospered.

This particular night, the denizens of Banpur slept peacefully as the relative coolness of the dark night brought some respite from the unendurable heat of the day. A lone figure kept a wakeful watch on the royal palace. He was waiting for the guards outside the king’s residential quarters to doze off before making his move. He did not have to wait much longer. Used to the uneventful and rather mundane routine of their duty, the guards dozed off one after the other, not bothering to adhere to the protocol of maintaining an active shift while the other lot slept.

The skulking figure of the pisaca crept out of its hiding place as he saw the last of the guards succumb to sleep. He had to get inside the king’s personal chambers and do what his master had commanded. But he had to be surreptitious. The king of Banpur was a noble man but his physical prowess was legendary. Some said he was even more formidable than Kansa; the prince who had thrashed him so thoroughly during their attempt on his sister’s life. The pisaca was in no mood to experience a similar fate tonight. He slithered noiselessly across the distance separating him from the palace entrance. He made it there without attracting any attention. Once there, he clambered up the wall to reach the zone forming the perimeter of the king’s residential quarters. He made his way past the sleeping guards. Just as he reached the mammoth door that served as the entrance to the king’s sleeping chambers, he saw one of the guards move in his sleep. The pisaca came to an immediate halt, waiting for the guard to settle down. The guard, however, seemed to be having a disturbed sleep. As the pisaca started again towards the door, the guard opened his eyes. For an instant, the pisaca thought of melting into the shadowy corners of the adjoining wall, but it was too late. The guard stared at him in a state of bewildered fear. Any moment and he could scream. The pisaca had no alternative. He surged ahead and one of his tentacles wrapped around the guard’s face, stifling the guard’s scream. Another tentacle swiftly found a particular nerve just under his ear, and pressed it hard for a couple of seconds. The guard’s head rolled back, unconsciousness claiming him almost instantly. The pisaca propped him up against the wall, where he lay oblivious to his surroundings. He knew the guard wouldn’t get up for at least an hour. That gave him more than enough time to do what he had come here for. When the guard would get up in the morning, he would probably think he had imagined seeing a creature in the night; maybe a nightmare. Either way, he would not mention it to his companions for fear of being ridiculed. And even if he did, there was no way anyone would know what had really happened.

The pisaca quietly entered the king’s chambers. He could see the gargantuan form of King Bana, sleeping peacefully on his large framed bed.
This man must be at least seven feet tall
, thought the pisaca in stupefaction. The king’s shoulders seemed like the trunk of a huge oak tree placed sideward—they were that wide. The pisaca now hoped more than ever that the king wouldn’t get up and find him lurking in his room. He quickly scanned the enormous room, his eyes searching for something. He found what he was looking for in a far corner of the room. Keeping one of his several eyes fixed on the king, he slinked towards that side of the room. A large pot of water was kept on the shelf. The pisaca hissed in satisfaction, and carefully extracted a packet concealed under his tentacles. He opened the packet gingerly, and holding it above the pot, emptied its contents into it. The colourless powder dissolved instantaneously, blending with the water. The pisaca moved away and soundlessly exited the room, much in the same way as he had come in. The guards were still sleeping without a care in the world, as was their noble king. Only the pisaca knew that once the king drank that water, he would never be the same again. He would forever become a puppet in the hands of his master, dancing to his will like the several others who would soon lose their identity and be powerless. They would then do as the Dark Lord commanded them.

King Bana got up in the middle of the night. He felt unnaturally thirsty and his throat was strangely parched. It felt as if an inexplicable voice in his head was telling him that he needed water. Bana shrugged off the feeling, attributing it to an overactive imagination. Nevertheless, he felt horribly thirsty. He swung his large frame out of the bed and ambled over to where the water was kept. He poured some of it into an earthen container and gulped down its contents. But the thirst seemed to be getting worse. He poured himself another measure of water and ravenously swilled that down too. To his astonishment, the thirst assumed burning proportions. Losing patience, he lifted the entire pot of water, and pulling his head back, he rapaciously drank from it. As the final drop of liquid entered his system, he felt a sense of relief, the indelible thirst finally in control. Bana sighed, feeling suddenly light-headed. He walked unsteadily towards the bed, and fell on it, losing consciousness before his head even touched the pillow.