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  PENGUIN BOOKS

  THE SAGE’S SECRET

  Abhinav is a Mumbai-based software developer. This is his first book.

  From the Kalki Chronicles

  THE SAGE’S

  SECRET

  ABHINAV

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  To my grandfather, P.A.J. Nair,

  who introduced me to the world of

  Indian mythology through his storytelling

  Yada yada hi dharmasya

  Glanir bhavati Bharata

  Abhyutthanam adharmasya

  Tadatmanam srjami aham

  Whenever and wherever there is a decline in righteousness, O descendant of Bharata, and a predominant rise of unrighteousness—at that time, I descend myself.

  Bhagavad Gita, Chapter 4, Verse 7

  PROLOGUE

  Dwarka, Twenty-Eight Years after the Great War of Kurukshetra

  The thatched roof gleamed silver in the lightning, dripping wet in the drizzly night. The brown brick walls of the hut stood sturdy against the strong winds. Raindrops hit the roof sharply, ran down the dry brown leaves and gently fell to the ground, mixing with the sand and releasing the petrichor—the fresh, sweet smell of monsoon. Though flimsy, the straw kept the icy rainwater out of the small hut, leaving its two occupants undisturbed. They were inhabiting the humble shelter only temporarily, but were the most important people in Dwarka.

  Inside the hut, a handsome dark-skinned youth inhaled deeply, as if imbibing the scent of the sand into his body. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be enjoying something as simple as the fragrant wet earth. After all, the joy of breathing in the petrichor was a privilege, one that he hadn’t been able to afford for so long … ever since he’d undertaken the duty of looking after his people. Now the earthy aroma reminded him of how blissful it was to be in the lap of nature. A small smile of satisfaction escaped his lips. Beside the cot on which he sat, standing on a wooden stool was a small oil lamp that burned bright. Its yellow light flickered in the breeze while illuminating the insides of the little hut.

  The dark-skinned youth finally opened his eyes and looked at his companion, who was sitting on the adjacent cot. The man’s face wore a humble smile, which lent it a childlike innocence. In stark contrast, his white beard and moustache, along with his silvery hair, made him appear wise. Though his old companion was a bit plump around the waist, the young man knew that in reality he was quite fit and agile, as well as exceptionally intelligent and very resourceful. His saffron clothes pointed to his serenity.

  A man who isn’t hasty. A man who calculates his every move carefully, after considering every factor, pondered the darkskinned youth. That’s why he had chosen the man for the task. He was trustworthy and loyal. Even now, the young man could observe the older one’s ingenuity and diligence. For the saffron-clothed man sat holding blank, dry palm leaves in his left hand and a stone pencil in his right, ready to write down any directives given to him.

  The dark-skinned youth smiled and asked the man, ‘Sage Dweepa, why would you need the palm leaves and the pencil?’

  Dweepa smiled back. ‘My lord, we are meeting in private, at a place that is considerably far from the palace. It’s after midnight, and you were secretive about the nature of the appointment when you told me to meet you here … alone. So I presumed you have some important task that you want to tell me about. And I’m prepared to take down your instructions word for word.’

  The youth laughed, admiring the sage’s reasoning, which was based purely on deductions. He looked at the sage with admiration in his eyes. Dweepa was, without doubt, intelligent, but there was no sign of pride in his eyes. He was humble, just as a sage should be.

  The youth spoke again. ‘Sage Dweepa, you are right. The nature of this meeting is indeed secretive. No one else should know about it unless we want them to.’

  ‘My lord?’ Dweepa squinted, his brows scrunched up with doubt.

  The sage studied his lord carefully. His face was breathtaking. His eyes, black like the night sky, in which mischief sparkled like the stars. A sharp nose graced his oval face. The fragrance of sandalwood emanated from his toned dusky body. His skin was his most distinguishing feature—people frequently referred to him by his swarthy tone.

  Krishna, the Dark-Complexioned One, explained, ‘Sage Dweepa, this meeting solely concerns me. Rather, my next incarnation.’

  The sage’s eyes widened in shock. He hadn’t expected this. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever thought of talking to Lord Krishna about his next avatar—or any avatar for that matter! He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the jolt he’d felt.

  ‘M-my lord … Your … your n-next incarnation?’

  Krishna only smiled. ‘Yes. My tenth and last incarnation.’

  Dweepa blinked, now truly stunned. He took a deep breath and asked softly, ‘The Kalki avatar?’

  Krishna nodded. ‘Yes, the Kalki avatar.’

  As soon as the word ‘Kalki’ escaped from Krishna’s mouth, many questions started rushing through Dweepa’s mind. The advent of the Kalki avatar is no secret. Many in this world know about it. I heard about this avatar from Sage Vyasa himself. But why this hushed-up meeting? Is the arrival of the avatar imminent?

  Reading Dweepa’s mind, Krishna answered, ‘All in good time, O Sage.’

  Dweepa nodded slowly, embarrassed.

  ‘My Kalki avatar will be different from the Krishna avatar. In my last avatar, I will not be as I am now—I mean … I won’t be all-knowing as I am at the moment.’

  Dweepa listened intently, his face impassive.

  ‘And that is why you must help me in my Kalki avatar. I trust you to enlighten and educate me, Sage Dweepa.’

  The sage’s eyes brightened with purpose, but it was soon replaced with doubt. ‘How will I help you, my lord? I won’t even be alive when your Kalki avatar arrives!’

  Krishna laughed. ‘You will be alive, my friend. Alive through my words. For my words!’

  Dweepa glanced at Krishna, puzzled. ‘I am afraid I do not understand, my lord.’

  Krishna began, ‘The knowledge that I share with you today should be perfectly preserved by you. It should be passed down generations, until the Kalki avatar arrives. Your goal, as well as your disciples’, from now on should be to help me in my tenth avatar … when the time comes. You will die one day, but “Sage Dweepa” should exist through your disciples, as that is how I will refer to your descendent in my Kalki avatar. It’s how I will recognize him or her. Across generations, even though the person will change, their role will not. The title given to the one chosen to guide me should be yours, Sage.’

  Dweepa nodded and started writing. ‘But how will I help you in your Kalki avatar, Lord? How am I to find Kalki?’

  Krishna flashed a mischievous grin. He looked at Dweepa, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘My name won’t be Kalki … In fact,’ he paused, ‘all the details that you—and everyone else, for that matter—have heard about my final avatar are just lies … Lies to lead my enemies astray.’

  As the truth dawned upon Dweepa, he finally understood the reason behind the secrecy and the urgency. He smiled when the name Kalki crossed his mind now. It was just a giant hoax! And his mission, at the time of his lord’s final avatar, would be that of a guide, teacher, friend and trusted ally. A cherished role.

  The night progressed, the lamp’s red flame dwindled and Dweepa filled leaf after leaf with instructions from his lord, which would now be followed by his disciple-descendants too. These palm leaves contained the whole truth about the Kalki avatar.

  ONE

  Gujarat, 2005 CE

  The crowing of the cock did not disturb the man meditating in the sacrificial chamber. He sat with his legs folded, his arms stretched out, palms res
ting on his knees, and his eyes closed. He continued chanting, his lips moving rapidly. His long black beard, thick moustache, matted hair rolled into a bun on top of his head and dark red robes lent him the look of a rishi, a saint. But, in reality, he was the complete opposite.

  Kalanayaka was a sorcerer, and all that mattered to him was power. He had made it the purpose of his life to gain more power than any other being on earth. He yearned to live beyond the bounds of a normal man, and so he performed sacrifices to gain faculties that could help him attain this goal.

  Kalanayaka could feel the heat of the sacred fire rising, the wood crackling incessantly. He smiled, thinking, Goddess Kali is growing content. She has to be satiated soon.

  The sorcerer opened his eyes. The fire was now blazing brightly. He looked to his side, at the cock trying to free itself from the cage, rattling it with all its might. Smirking at the bird’s vain efforts, he picked up the small cage and spoke in a cold voice, ‘You cannot escape. This room is where you will breathe your last.’

  Kalanayaka moved his left arm expansively across the room. It was glowing amber from the flickering oil torches along the four walls, which were painted in alternating shades of yellow and red. Red silk curtains hung from the pillars supporting the roof. Only two windows provided ventilation. Kalanayaka looked down at the ceremonial arrangements before him. At the centre of the preparations was the sacrificial fire, boxed in by three stacks of red clay bricks. Surrounding them were designs made from coloured rice flour. Behind the fire was a black stone idol of Goddess Kali. It was about five feet tall and gleamed in the firelight. The idol was wrapped in blood-red cloth. The forehead was smeared with vermillion, and the neck adorned with a garland of wild red flowers. One hand held a sword, while the other clutched the severed head of a man. She was dancing atop a headless body.

  Gazing at the magnificent idol, Kalanayaka smiled. His chest swelled with pride for he was about to please one of the fiercest goddesses in the whole universe. As the fire crackled even louder, he turned his attention to the sacrifice again. I shouldn’t keep the goddess waiting.

  He put the cage down and opened it. Slowly, he brought the rooster out, maintaining a firm grip on the bird. It was crowing softly now, perhaps realizing the inevitability of the moment. Kalanayaka held the bird in his left hand and picked up the sacrificial knife lying next to him with his right. The knife, though pure silver, glowed gold in the firelight. He lifted his lean frame off the floor, bowed to the goddess and faced the fire.

  The sorcerer held the cock above the blaze, with the knife to its throat. Feeling the hot flames trying to lick its body, the bird resumed its struggle, crowing helplessly again. But Kalanayaka was unperturbed. The ritual was tricky and it required his full concentration. Three drops of blood had to be offered to the fire, but dripping only from the silver knife. He slowly pressed the blade into the cock’s throat. A few moments later, he could see a crimson line appear on its neck. He pushed the knife in a bit deeper.

  As soon as the ruby liquid oozed generously on to the blade, Kalanayaka swiftly pulled back both his hands. He then extended the knife above the fire and tilted it slightly to make the blood drip into the flames. But he didn’t want too much of it for that would spoil the sacrifice. To his relief, the blood slowly trickled down the edge of the blade and reached the point. For a moment a droplet swung on the tip and then fell into the blaze just as another formed at the tip. Kalanayaka counted three drops and then tilted the knife upwards, bringing it away from the fire. Like an angry snake, it hissed; the drops of blood had vanished in the burning embers.

  Hearing the sizzle, Kalanayaka’s eyes shone with happiness. My sacrifice has been accepted! … well, at least the first part of it, he muttered to himself, attempting to contain his excitement.

  The next step was to offer blood directly from the cock’s neck. Kalanayaka brought both his hands over the flames once again. He returned the knife to the cock’s neck—the bird now flailing madly with fear—and slowly pressed it against the throat. Once again blood started oozing from the soft neck. Taking the knife away, he gently squeezed the bird’s throat. Red droplets came forth and this time, freely dripped into the fire. After hearing the familiar hiss, Kalanayaka eased the pressure on the bird’s throat.

  The final part was to sacrifice the head to the goddess. So the sorcerer held the knife high, a mixture of anticipation and lust for power simmering in his eyes. In his other hand the half-dead creature struggled weakly to escape its fate. But the cock’s helplessness only fuelled Kalanayaka’s excitement, filling him with a strange sense of ecstasy. ‘Jai Ma Kali!’

  With a cry praising the goddess, Kalanayaka brought down the knife. One swift strike! The gleam of silver that entered the cock’s throat emerged from the other end bathed in crimson. The bird’s head, now sliced clean from its body, fell into the blazing fire. Glowing golden-yellow, it consumed the offering.

  Kalanayaka watched the fire, his eyes dancing with happiness. But a strange anxiety still lurked in them. As the bird’s head turned to ash, he glanced at the goddess’s idol and back at the flames. The fire crackled steadily for a few moments and then a burst of flare erupted. Kalanayaka’s joy now knew no bounds.

  Goddess Kali’s blessings are upon me! She is satisfied with my sacrifice! Now she will never forsake me … She will be with me, always, blessing me with victory!

  As the burst dwindled and the fire settled down, Kalanayaka looked at the headless body of the bird in his hand thoughtfully … There was another ritual that he wanted to try.

  Though the rituals performed to please Kali concluded with the offering of the head, there was another ceremony that wasn’t much spoken of. He had read about it once in a scripture, but not many details had been provided. The brief simply said that it required offering the whole body to the goddess, along with the chanting of complex incantations. Many had tried to do so, but had failed to please the goddess. Kalanayaka, however, was desperate to earn Kali’s favour. The benefits, if he did so, would be enormous.

  The sorcerer thought hard. Though the script said that the whole body of the rooster is to be offered, it didn’t mention ‘how’ it is to be done. And that’s the catch … There has to be some specific way to offer the sacrifice … Such a unique way that the goddess will be pleased, immensely!

  Kalanayaka clutched the knife tight, desperately trying to figure out the right way. As he pondered about what he could do, he felt the fingers of his left hand becoming wet. He looked down, irritated. Blood was flowing out of the cock’s throat on to his fingers. He shook his head, disgusted that such a small thing was disturbing his concentration, and turned to the fire, his mind trying to decipher the sacrifice.

  Then all of a sudden, he looked at his palms soaked in blood. He rubbed his fingers slowly, smelling the blood in the air. He could almost taste the iron on his tongue. His eyes shut briefly as he was flooded with a feeling of euphoria. When he opened his eyes, they wore a curious look. Could it be so simple … that no one had thought of it? Just offer the body head first into the fire? Kalanayaka knew that was way too simple. But the incantations are complex. I need to be mindful of them.

  Even as he recollected the simplistic instructions of the script and the incantation in it, he knew that he needed to add to the ritual’s details. And come what may, the sorcerer had to offer the bird to the fire at a specific point during the invocation and continue chanting without getting distracted by the fire consuming his sacrifice.

  Kalanayaka let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter and held his sacrifice with both hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, drawing all his attention inwards. He recalled the lengthy chant, which had taken him fifteen days of dedicated recitation to memorize. He was aware of how crucial the invocations were to this ritual. One misspoken word, and the incantation could lead to his doom, rather than his prosperity. He couldn’t help but think of how one wrong utterance had caused Kumbhakarna to be asleep for six long months. Kalan
ayaka shuddered. Bringing his focus back to the incantation, he opened his eyes and looked at the fire.

  He inhaled deeply and started chanting. After what seemed like hours, he slowly tilted the cock downwards, its neck facing the fire. Chanting still, he let the lifeless body fall into the orange flames. Wheezing loudly, the fire glowed red and started consuming the sacrifice hungrily.

  Kalanayaka closed his eyes to focus and uttered the incantation even louder, so that he could concentrate on his voice rather than the crackling, spitting fire. Beads of perspiration slid down his forehead, but he ignored them with a resolve. He kept chanting through gnashed teeth.

  After a few minutes, Kalanayaka finished the invocation, opened his eyes and glanced down at the fire. Wrapping the decapitated feathered body in its burning embrace, the fire spewed jets of orange. Kalanayaka turned to the idol, elated. With tears of happiness in his eyes, he went down on his knees and touched the goddess’s feet with his head. Ma Kali has accepted the sacrifice! She has blessed me!

  Kalanayaka wiped his tears and looked at the fire. It was now slowly dying out. His mind, however, was still lit with the orange flames that had engulfed his sacrifice. The sorcerer slowly got up, joined his hands, bowed his head and thanked the goddess and the sacred fire again. He took one last look at the goddess’s idol and then turned to leave the room.

  The goddess has showered her blessings on me. The flames meant just that. Goddess Kali will help me fulfil my destiny now. She will support me in my mission.

  Kalanayaka laughed softly. There was nothing more he could’ve asked for. But as he walked away, the laughter was replaced by anger. For so long, he’d had only one mission in life: eliminate Vishnu’s Kalki avatar. And he was eager to begin.

  TWO

  Outskirts of Dwarka, Gujarat, 2005 CE