THE CURSE OF BRAHMA (33 page)

Unlike when Ugra had been captured and sentenced, now if any of the upanshughatak clansmen were captured by the Pataal Lok officials, the tribe would launch an offensive of such magnitude that no one would dare to meddle with their affairs in the future. There were a few random incidents where some overenthusiastic official would arrest an upanshughatak for questioning. The result was always the same. Before the day was through, the official’s body would be found decapitated, and the captured upanshughatak would be freed by the other clansmen. In time, no one dared to arrest or cross the way of the upanshughataks. Even the asura king, Vrushaparva, did not dare to carry out an offense against Ugra and his assassin army.

In order to ensure that they did not provoke the Pataal Lok government to take serious steps against them, Ugra made it a point to have his tribe settle some distance away from the main city, and his men were instructed to avoid any incidents unless there was a contract to be fulfilled or one of their members had been captured and had to be freed. The upanshughatak tribe grew in fame and strength. Once in every few years, a clansman would flout a major rule and go against the ethos set by Ugra. The result was instant death. A new recruit would take the place left vacant by such an event. The number of upanshughataks never exceeded a hundred, including Ugra, and each of the assassins belonging to this tribe were the best in Pataal Lok. They included different categories of asuras—pisacas, bonaras, bhutas, pretas, kalakanjas and several other forms of the Pataal Lok inhabitants. But each of them had only one identity. They were known as a Zataka Upanshughatak.

One day, a few years after he had saved his life, Bhargava came to meet Ugra. This was the first time that Bhargava had met him after he had rescued Ugra from certain death. He complimented the latter on how he had disciplined his men. Ugra accepted the praise, wondering all the time why Bhargava had come to him after so many years. But more than that, he was curious to ask him the question that had been left unanswered so many years ago: ‘Why did you decide to save my life that day, My Lord?’

Bhargava smiled at the huge man standing respectfully in front of him. He had known Ugra would ask him this question. Truth be told, he had asked himself the same question multiple times over the last few years. Bhargava had no love for assassins and it had surprised him that he had used all his goodwill with the asura council to persuade them to let this man go that day. After all, the man was a ruthless assassin. Why had he saved him? However, his answer when he spoke to Ugra, did not reflect any of the self-doubt he felt within him, ‘I saw you look at the man who had given you the contract. He was one of the council members who voted against you and handed you the death penalty. Yet you did not betray the man. You could have turned him in and got a lighter sentence, but you kept the truth to yourself.’

Ugra looked flabbergasted. ‘How did you know that man had given me the contract to assassinate his rival in the council? No one knew about it apart from him and me.’

‘There are very few things I am not aware of Ugra; as you shall realize in time to come,’ Bhargava spoke softly but Ugra did not fail to notice the steel in his voice.

‘W-who are you, My Lord?’ the chief of the Upanshughataks whispered, his voice reflecting the awe he felt for the slightly built man.

‘My name is Bhargava, and that is enough for you to know for now, Ugra,’ Bhargava stared at the man in front of him, and it hit him in that very moment why he had saved the assassin’s life.

‘I saved your life because I saw that you kept your honour as an upanshughatak, even when you realized that the very man who hired you was one of those sentencing you to death.’ Ugra stared incredulously at Bhargava, who continued speaking, ‘Yes, I am aware of the code of the upanshughataks. Once you take on a contract, you take an oath that you will not compromise the confidentiality of the contract, or the person who gave it to you, under any circumstances. And you did just that! Even after the man sentenced you, you did not break your oath.’ Bhargava paused briefly. ‘And that makes you a rare man, Ugra. Anyone who would maintain loyalty to his oath, in the face of death, is a man worth respecting…and worth saving!’

Ugra felt a strange sensation as he heard Bhargava speak. He knew the middle-aged man spoke from his heart. And there was such truth and openness in Bhargava’s voice that it touched him to the core. ‘With these words, you have bound me to you for life! What do you want me to do, My Lord?’

Bhargava allowed himself the luxury of a slight smile and proceeded to tell Ugra exactly what he wanted him to do. He would need an army of thousands of trained asura assassins, and he wanted Ugra to handle this task. Ugra did not ask Bhargava why he wanted him to do this. The fact that Bhargava had asked this of him was enough.

It had been almost two hundred years since Bhargava gave him the task, and Ugra had trained thousands of asura assassins during this period. He made sure that the discipline in his tribe of Zataka Upanshughataks did not go down, despite the enormous amount of time he had to spend away from his clansmen.

Bhargava had told him that he was working for the Dark Lord. Ugra had never met the Dark Lord personally but he had heard of him. He had become a legend in less than two hundred years. Some said he was a god who used the power of Brahman, and others said that he was the most powerful asura the netherworld had ever known; that Ravana and Kalanemi were like children compared to his abilities. Ugra had no time for legends or myths. He didn’t believe there was a Dark Lord, and if there was one, he wouldn’t respect him till he had seen his powers with his own eyes.

As far as Ugra was concerned, he was doing what he was doing solely for Bhargava. He didn’t owe the Dark Lord anything. And the fact was that in the last couple of months, he had been furious with the Dark Lord. The man had killed one of his Zataka Upanshughataks, a kalakanja. This particular one had been one of his oldest assassins and the fact that an outsider from the tribe had killed one of his men made Ugra furious. He had told Bhargava that he would kill the Dark Lord for what he had done, but he was surprised at Bhargava’s reaction; he had laughed uncontrollably as if Ugra had just made a joke instead of threatening to kill the Dark Lord. After his laughter subsided, Bhargava gently said, ‘You can’t kill the Dark Lord, Ugra. You can, however, seek his blessings.’

This had enraged Ugra even more than the death of the kalakanja. He couldn’t understand why the one man he respected so much seemed to be in awe of a mere legend; of someone he wasn’t sure even existed in the manner people talked about him. ‘Why do you seem to be afraid of this man, My Lord? Give me permission and I will bind him and drag him to you.’ This time Bhargava’s reaction shocked Ugra even more than before. The usually calm face and dreamy eyes of the scholarly man flashed fire at Ugra and his expression was full of anger as he spoke: ‘How dare you speak about the Dark Lord in such a deprecating manner, you fool?’ Bhargava was breathing heavily in rage. ‘And who told you I am afraid of him? I respect him, for if there is one man in this universe who should be respected, it is him!’

Ugra was speechless. The man he had heard people refer to as the Dark Lord was someone to fear; not respect.
What does Bhargava mean?
he wondered.

Meanwhile, Bhargava had calmed down. ‘You will learn to respect the Dark Lord in time, Ugra. Till then, don’t make the mistake of speaking lightly about him in my presence. Am I clear?’

Ugra nodded thoughtfully. The message was clear. He would not offend Bhargava again by talking disparagingly about his friend, at least not in his presence. In his own mind, he still hated the Dark Lord for having killed one of his men.

Ugra’s attention was suddenly attracted to a young asura using a long sword. The asura was one of the five dozen new recruits that were being trained under him for Bhargava. The asura was using a blade that was almost one gavuta in length and was made of such fine metal that it fluttered in the wind like a paper sword. The only difference was that this blade could slice through a pachyderm with ease. The young asura was using the blade incorrectly and would possibly end up killing someone with it while training; most likely himself.

‘Hey you!’ Ugra shouted in anger. The asura with the sword looked at him in trepidation. Ugra was notorious for his temper.

‘That’s not how you use this type of sword, you moron!’ Ugra growled in anger. ‘Let me show you how to use it,’ he said, grabbing the sword from the young asura’s hands and clipping him on the head with his palm, as a rebuke.

‘Here, take this sword,’ he growled, handing him a conventional sword with a rigid blade, slightly shorter than the sword he had just been using. The asura held the new sword with trembling hands. His legs were shaking and he was finding it difficult to stand straight.

Ugra noticed the young recruit’s fear and softened a little. He knew he wouldn’t be able to teach him anything as long as the kid was scared to death. ‘What’s your name son?’ he said in what he hoped was his kindest voice, but was actually only a little better than a snarl.

‘G-ghora, sir,’ the young asura stuttered, still scared of the man he knew was the deadliest assassin in Pataal Lok.

Ugra burst out in laughter. Ghora, the young asura looked at him, his expression a mix of a scowl and fear.

‘Do you know why I am laughing, Ghora?’ Ugra asked him trying to stifle the laughter that threatened to overpower him yet again.

‘No sir, I do not know why you are laughing!’ Ghora sounded peeved and a significant portion of his fear seemed to get replaced by a sense of growing indignation at his teacher.

Ugra noticed the change in Ghora’s mood.
Ah! You have more spirit in you than you know yet son
, he thought to himself. ‘Do you know that your name and mine mean the same thing?’ he asked, smiling.

Ghora looked perplexed. This was the last question he had thought Ugra would ask him. He shook his head. He had no idea what his own name meant, leave aside what his teacher’s signified. Both his parents had been killed in a violent fight with a neighbouring tribe and he had been raised as an orphan. Delving into the meaning of his name had been the last thing on his mind all these years.

‘Ugra means “fearsome”,’ Ugra said softly, interrupting his thoughts. ‘And Ghora is another word with the same meaning.’

Ghora’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known this is what his name meant. For some inexplicable reason, he felt his chest expand with pride as he listened to Ugra explain it to him. It was as if merely knowing what his name represented was giving him a newfound power—a greater sense of confidence.

‘Come, let me show you how to use this sword now,’ Ugra brought his pupil back into the present with a lightly aimed jab at Ghora’s abdomen, who squirmed in pain as the tip of Ugra’s sword nicked some skin off his abdomen. The wound was very minor but the learning was clear—‘Don’t lose your focus when you are in front of the enemy.’

Ugra extended his sword arm in the air and with a quick move, covered the entire space between Ghora and himself, in a series of sword movements. The weapon hissed through the air with such speed that it seemed as if there were multiple swords covering different points of the space between the two duellists. Every time Ghora tried to jab and cut at Ugra with his own sword, it was met with a steel barrier created by the continuous movement of Ugra’s swirling sword. And then suddenly, Ugra bent down and in a sweeping horizontal motion, brought in his sword from Ghora’s right towards his feet. To all those watching, it seemed as if the sword had sliced through Ghora’s feet. Ghora fell down, and there was a moment of speechlessness amongst all those present. He looked at his feet with shock, and was amazed to see they were still attached to his body. Like all the spectators, he too had thought that Ugra’s sword had sliced through his feet when he brought his sword in the direction of his legs. His amazement grew as he realized with a jolt that Ugra had used his sword to cut through his sandals. Such was the precision that only the sandals had been ripped off, causing Ghora to fall because of the impact of the sandals being knocked off.