THE CURSE OF BRAHMA Read online

  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 sp
irit 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.

  He got up gingerly, still not able to believe that his feet were intact. Finally, he bowed to Ugra. ‘That was incredible, sir! I didn’t realize what was happening.’

  Ugra smiled and gave Ghora a friendly slap on his back. ‘Now you know what you can do with this word, eh?’ he smiled broadly.

  Before Ghora could reply, Ugra heard a grating voice from behind him, ‘That’s not the way to use this sword, my friend.’

  Ugra turned around in fury, his face, a mask of rage. The friendly demeanour disappeared from his face, as if the light banter with Ghora had never happened. He was ready to duel and kill whoever had dared to challenge his skill with the sword, that too in front of his trainees.

  He was surprised to see Bhargava standing there. But the man who had dared to challenge him was someone else. That person stood next to Bhargava, attired in black. Had it not been for Bhargava’s presence, and the fact that the person who had challenged him was accompanied by the man he most respected, Ugra would have attacked the challenger by now. As it was, he bowed respectfully to Bhargava. ‘My Lord, it is an honour to have you here,’ Ugra said, studiously ignoring Bhargava’s companion, the man who had dared to challenge him in front of his students.

  Bhargava smiled benevolently, ‘I heard you were training a new batch of recruits. I thought it would be interesting to see how you transform a bunch of greenhorns into professional assassins.’

  Ugra had an inscrutable look on his face. Much as he respected Bhargava, he was not happy that he had brought a stranger to his training camp. And he was still seething at the audacity of this stranger, who had challenged his skill in front of his men. If he dares to question my abilities again, I will break his neck, he thought savagely.

  At exactly that moment, the stranger accompanying Bhargava spoke again, and this time his tone carried a hint of mockery. ‘As I was saying just now, that’s not how you use that particular sword, my friend.’

  Ugra had had enough. His dark face took on a purple hue and his eyes looked as if they would pop out of their sockets any moment. ‘Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is, stranger,’ he snarled. ‘Let me show you how this sword is really used, then,’ Ugra almost spat out the words.

  Bhargava tried to intervene. ‘Calm down, Ugra. My companion is just saying there could be a better way of using the sword. It’s his opinion. You don’t need to get upset about this, really.’

  Ugra shook his head. He wasn’t in any mood to let this stranger get away so easily. Not after he had been fool enough to challenge him twice. ‘My Lord,’ he looked at Bhargava. ‘I demand that this man prove the truth of his words. He has challenged me in front of my men. Either he apologizes now or he should get ready to duel with me and prove that he knows how to use this sword better than I do.’

  Before Bhargava could say anything else, the stranger cut in, ‘Ugra is right. Since I have questioned his skills, I should also prove the same.’

  ‘B-but he is the chief of the Zataka Upanshughataks…’ Bhargava started to say.

  Ugra smiled. Now this man is going to shit in his clothes. He obviously didn’t know who I was before he shot off his mouth, he thought malevolently.

  The stranger looked in Ugra’s direction. ‘Oh, I didn’t know who he is,’ he said softly.

  Ugra’s smile grew wider. Now he is going to apologize; the snooty bastard, he mused to himself.

  ‘But now that I know who he is, it is even more important to teach him how to use that sword,’ the stranger completed his sentence.

  Ugra gaped at him. This man is a fool, he thought viciously. After he knows who I am, he is still being obnoxious. He won’t go home alive today, he resolved in rage.

  ‘Prepare yourself!’ Ugra shouted at the stranger as he threw him one of the swords with the long blade, before grabbing one for himself. The stranger caught the sword thrown at him in one neat motion.

  Ugra walked towards the shrouded figure taking his time, clearly enjoying the thought of what he was going to do to him. Then suddenly his face grew grim. He looked beyond his adversary at the figure of a bhuta creeping up silently behind the stranger. The bhuta had a curved knife in his hand and it was evident that he was going to try and slice the stranger’s neck from behind. As the bhuta crept closer to the stranger, Ugra recognized him as one of his Zataka Upanshughataks. He understood what the bhuta was trying to do. As part of their tribe’s rule, if any one of them was in danger from an enemy, the tribe would attack the enemy without asking any questions. Ugra realized that the bhuta must have seen the stranger carrying a weapon against him and thinking he was in danger was planning to take out the enemy from behind.

  Ugra opened his mouth to stop the bhuta at the same time that it jumped towards the stranger, the curved knife held tightly in its hand. Ugra watched horrified. He didn’t want the stranger to die in this manner. He wanted to kill him after defeating him in fair battle.

  What happened in the next instant horrified Ugra even more. The stranger turned around with a speed that was impossible to behold. He pointed the palm of his left hand in the direction of the bhuta. There was a sound like the clap of thunder and a blue light shot out of his hands and hit the bhuta in the centre of his chest. The bhuta’s body seemed suspended in mid air for a while, and then fell, dead even before it hit the ground.

  There was complete silence for the next few minutes. The sun went down without anyone noticing. The five dozen new recruits who were being trained by Ugra huddled closer to each other. Bhargava looked at the stranger with an inscrutable expression, as if unsure of the latter’s next move. Ugra was still dazed. Bhutas
were the most dangerous of the Pataal Lok monsters, and considered virtually indestructible. Yet the stranger had destroyed him as if he had been a mere child and not one of the deadliest assassins in the netherworld.

  Ugra looked closely at the stranger. He wondered why the man kept his head and face covered with a cloak. He wanted to look into the eyes of the person who had just killed one of his tribesmen.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked, his voice a mixture of rage and curiosity.

  The stranger looked in his direction, his face still veiled. ‘They call me the Dark Lord!’ he said softly, his voice a hoarse rasp.

  Ugra stared uncomprehendingly at the cloaked figure facing him. This can’t be, he thought to himself. The Dark Lord actually exists! All these years, the chief of the Zataka Upanshughataks had disdainfully rejected the legend of the Dark Lord as the fancy of easily awed men. He hadn’t thought that a man with the powers ascribed to him could exist in reality. Yet here was this cloaked figure who had demonstrated a small part of his powers in the ease with which he had destroyed the bhuta.

  Ugra felt his heart beat faster with the knowledge that he had challenged this man to fight him. If the bhuta hadn’t appeared when he did, I would be the one lying dead now, he thought with a slight shudder. Ugra wasn’t afraid of any man. But the person standing in his presence was not a man. He was death incarnate. Disgusted at the fear threatening to paralyze him into inaction, Ugra vigorously shook his mane of matted hair; as if by that action he could also shake off the feeling of dread that was rapidly overpowering him.

  ‘So are we going to duel today or are we not?’ the Dark Lord asked in a genial tone.

  Bhargava finally intervened. ‘But Amartya, this is the chief of the Zataka Upanshughataks. If you kill him, who is going to train the assassins to enter Mrityulok?’ Bhargava hesitated. What he had to say next was difficult for him. But he said it nonetheless, ‘And…and Ugra is my friend. I can’t have you kill him!’