sample copy. not for distribution. - educreation · pdf filea writer works in isolation, but...

Sample Copy. Not For Distribution.

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Incognito


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Publishing-in-support-of,

EDUCREATION PUBLISHING

RZ 94, Sector - 6, Dwarka, New Delhi - 110075 Shubham Vihar, Mangla, Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh - 495001

Website: www.educreation.in __________________________________________________

© Copyright, Author

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, magnetic, optical, chemical, manual, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of its writer.

ISBN: 978-93-85247-78-1

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The opinions/ contents expressed in this book are solely of the author and do not represent the opinions/ standings/ thoughts of Educreation.

Printed in India


iii

Incognito

Mythos,

Logos

& an

Enigma called Love

Praveer

EDUCREATION PUBLISHING (Since 2011)

www.educreation.in


iv

Disclaimer

_____________________________________________

This is entirely a work of fiction. All references to any

historical or mythological characters, events or

monuments have been used fictitiously. Various

locations and descriptions of certain carvings may be

true, but the interpretations are completely fictional.

Associations mentioned in the novel are purely

imaginary.


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About The Author

Praveer believes that life has been the greatest book he

has ever read and he continues to get amazed while

reading the chapters with each passing day. Writing has

been a way to express whenever he felt a desire to share

his thoughts. He took to writing for the immense

pleasure associated with it. He has been captivated by

the Indian mythology and the world civilizations since

childhood. A mechanical engineering graduate, he could

never ignore the logic behind the ancient scriptures. He

also finds the array of human emotions and the different

shades attached to each of those feelings very

fascinating. When he decided about penning down his

first novel, it was quite natural that he chose a story

which saw the confluence of a thriller unraveling secrets

of mythology and a touching love story.

E-mail: [email protected]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/praveer30


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Dedicated to

Time

Which never ceases to move on

Which never remains the same.


viii


ix

Acknowledgment

A writer works in isolation, but the eventual portrayal of

his thoughts is the manifestation of the people and

events which have shaped his persona knowingly or

unknowingly over the years. The writer owns the idea,

but the seeds are provided by the world around him. My

work of fiction owes a great deal to each of them.

First of all, I would like to mention about the figure of

strength in my life, my father, Shri Prabhakar Sharan

Prasad. He has taught me to live life as it should be.

What do I say about my mother, Smt. Saroj Devi?

Whatever I am, whatever I will ever be is because of her.

You simply cannot describe a mother’s love in words.

My sister Snehlata has made me learn to believe in my

convictions. I adore the way she cares for me. Premda,

my other sister, has prepared me to face the challenges

life has to offer. She brings out the best in me by her

affection. And, of course, they are the first readers of my

novel and they encouraged me enormously. I thank my

brothers-in-law Anshuman and Amitabh for taking great

care of them. Individually, they are wonderful human

beings whose hard work inspire me a lot and I wish them

all the success in life.

Life feels great when I see the most beautiful girl in my

life, my niece, Srinika Sanvi. Her innocence makes me

see the world in a fresh perspective.

It will take an entire book to write about my friends who

have walked the path with me and left great impacts in

my life. I am grateful to each of them for being a part of

my journey. I treasure their friendship and I am really

very thankful.

Lastly, I will thank the almighty for everything he has

bestowed upon me.


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1

न त ुम ां शक्यस ेद्रष्टुमनेनैव स्वचक्षुष |

दिव्यां िि मम त ेचक्षुुः पश्य मे योगमैश्वरम ्||

But surely you will not be able to see me with these

human eyes of yours |

Therefore I bestow upon you the divine eyes with

which you behold my extraordinary powers ||


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Incognito

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Prologue

The silence of the night was intensified by the

purposeful clouds draping the moon. A flickering flame

could be seen through the cracks of the temple door. It

seemed that the flame’s attempt to end darkness would

go in vain. But the ambience had a strangely soothing

effect attached to it. Even the majestic flow of the river

was reduced to pure calmness. A few stray dogs were

sleeping on the steps of the temple after another struggle

filled day of survival. It was early into the night and the

temple doors had been closed after the evening rituals.

The sanctum sanctorum of the temple was peaceful with

the God of destruction, Lord Shiva in his yogic sleep.

Even the otherwise ferocious Nandi, the bull seemed to

be an image of tranquillity.

Suddenly, the aura of the surrounding was disturbed by

voices coming from the room within the temple. The

priest of the temple, Pandit Puratan Shastri resided in

that room.

“You are not helping our cause,” said some unfamiliar

voice.

“I am doing what is right for the people and religion. I

will not let your intentions be successful” Shastriji

replied.

“Then be prepared to pay for it”

“I shall in the name of almighty”

An eerie silence could be heard in the air. There were no

more voices. Half sleepy half starved dogs didn’t care to

bark at the man walking briskly down the steps of the

temple. His throbbing heart and brisk steps persuaded


Praveer

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him not to turn back to have a glimpse of what had

transpired behind him after his actions.

In his dying moments, Shashtriji had dragged himself to

the sanctum with a book in his hand. He needed to finish

the task on hand before taking his last breath.

Even in his death, Pandit Puratan Shashtri had served the

purpose of his life.

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Incognito

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Chapter 1

The village seemed alive in the last hours of the night. A

family had visited the temple in the darkness of the night

to seek the blessings of the almighty before starting a

journey of twelve hours on a bullock cart to attend a

wedding at their relative’s village. The child saw a blood

trail which the father followed to gasp in horror at the

sight before his eyes.

The news had spread about the murder of Shashtriji.

Shastriji’s body was surrounded by the villagers. They

would not allow police to carry out post-mortem of this

sacred religious soul. There were vehement

demonstrations. Shivlal along with his group had arrived

on the scene. They were not going to relent under any

kind of persuasion. It had become even more difficult for

Inspector Chirayu after the arrival of Shivlal. He could

not use force on the villagers. It was an issue which

needed tactful handling.

Shri Puratan Shastri had been appointed the chief priest

of the temple recently. The temple was not a grand one,

but it was large enough for a village of five hundred.

Arkpur was an isolated village situated on the banks of

Jharahi River. The nearest town Siwan was nearly forty

kilometres away. The only mode of transport was a

bullock cart until that fateful day when three jeeps with

few shirt–pant wearing men had come to the village.

After hours of chaos the villagers could make out only

that they were some government officers and they would

build something. They didn’t know what they would

build, but the village would be getting electricity.

The illiteracy and poverty of the village were no hidden

fact. Birju was the most learned man among them. He


Praveer

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had gone to the city and had even cleared the tenth

examination with fifty three percent marks. His father

firmly believed that his studies would help them to

improve the situation of the village. It had been nearly

two years since those officers had left. Since then

activities had increased in the village. It took another

year for the village to be connected by road to the town.

Twenty three villages in a hundred kilometre radius were

connected to Arkpur. Even bus transport to the city had

started. But the villagers couldn’t understand why there

was a bus running in the morning from Siwan to Arkpur

and in the evening from Arkpur to Siwan. They had to

be prepared for an overnight stay if they had to go to the

city. The city in itself was not a big one. It could boast of

fulfilling basic necessities if one redefined basic

necessities to bare minimum.

One fine day, the villagers had put their thumb

impressions on some papers. The babus had told them

that their land along with the forest land nearby would

be used to serve the nation. One member of each family

would get a government job. Everyone was extremely

happy with the prospect. They could see construction

work starting in full swing and there was a feeling of

hope everywhere.

Shastriji had arrived in the village not long ago. Pandit

Muchukund Dubey was the incumbent priest of the

temple. His son had become a priest of the famous Mata

temple in Siwan. He wanted to take Panditji with him to

the town. The villagers had insisted him to stay until

they could find a suitable replacement.

One day while taking a dip in the river Jharahi, Panditji

heard Shashtriji chanting something. Shastriji had been

living in the village for the past fifteen days. He would

clean the temple, feed the cows and sleep on the steps.

People used to think that he was a random poor man


Incognito

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who had found solace in serving God. Panditji carefully

listened and to his disbelief, he realized that it was the

Mahamritunjay Mantra, one of the most difficult hymns

to be remembered. Even Panditji didn’t know it

properly. He was taken aback. He went to the man with

folded hands and asked, “Who are you?”

It was one of the most auspicious days in the village.

Though Ekadasi was not a big festival day but it held its

place high in the villagers’ faith. Murmurs were growing

louder as the villagers gathered under the old banyan tree

could not make out why Panditji had called them. Shabli

was literally pleading with her husband to let her go. A

lot of work was pending in the house. But her husband

wouldn’t oblige. Panditji appeared along with the poor

man from the temple. The man was looking different

that day. People could not understand what the

difference was but certainly there was something

captivating. Panditji began speaking after taking his

position on the platform built around the tree.

“My fellow villagers! I have been so ignorant all along.

My eyes had not yet opened.”

The enormity of the statement stunned the villagers into

silence. This was the most respected man in the village

and he was claiming himself to be ignorant. People

followed him blindly on matters relating to Dharma and

Karma. What was he trying to imply?

“The man standing next to me is no ordinary man. He is

a messenger of God.”

“What are you saying Panditji?” exclaimed Budhiya. He

was the most ardent devotee of Panditji. People often

made fun of him. “Your devotion is not going to make

you a Brahmin; you will still remain a shudra.” Budhiya

would always ignore such taunts. For him God was


Praveer

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unreachable, but Panditji was what he could feel the

closest to God.

“Yes Budhiya. The great man standing here was one of

the priests of the Kashi Vishwanath temple. He is a very

learned man. He has come here to enlighten and free our

souls.”

There was a sense of awe in every breath under the tree.

The villagers could not respond. They had only heard

about the greatness of the Kashi Vishwanath temple. It

was one of the most famous Hindu temples of not only

Varanasi but also of India. There was divinity attached

to it. It was one of the jyotirlingas. It was the holiest of

all Shiva temples.

People’s hands joined subconsciously in a Namaste. The

old man was now looking divine to them. He started

speaking and people listened. It was the first, but not the

last time people would devote themselves to him.

“I have served Shiva. I was very happy there serving

Dharma. One night, the Lord himself came to my

dreams. He was angry at me. He said that my people of

Arkpur are in trouble and you are resting. Go serve

them. Enlighten them. So here I am”

Since that day, Shastriji’s words would be followed

religiously. Panditji would go on to live with his son in

Siwan but left for a pilgrimage in a month and had not

returned since.

“Don’t you dare to touch Shashtriji” Shivlal shouted

with all his energy. His men had made a human wall

between the police and the body of Shastriji which was

lying in the temple compound.

“We also want to bring the guilty to justice. Post-mortem

is a must” Inspector Chirayu was trying to persuade

Shivlal.


Incognito

9

Shivlal was the local leader of the group which was

opposing the construction of a Nuclear Power Plant in

Arkpur. A lot of water had flown through river Jharahi

in past three months since construction started. On the

seventh day of ground work, one construction worker,

Bhiku, had struck something. Bhikhu was the shoemaker

of the village. For him, getting a payment as an unskilled

labour in the construction work was far more lucrative

than being a shoemaker in a village where people would

visit him ten times for repair before discarding footwear.

After construction started, he joined with the city

contractor. On further digging, Bhikhu found it to be an

idol of Lord Vishnu in Krishna form. People were

wondering why God had chosen such a low caste man

Bhikhu to be the harbinger of his idol. Later, the remains

of an ancient temple were also dug out.

Things had taken a turn since that day. People started

protesting. They could not allow a holy place to get

ruined. The plant management officials tried to persuade

people that they would leave the temple site as it was.

Shastriji would not agree. He claimed that there would

be more such temples. And yes, there were. Three more

temples were discovered in due course. These lands were

never under farming as it formed part of the forest area.

So they were untouched till then. Since then, Shastriji

had been teaching people about the religion even more

profoundly. The villagers would not allow any structure

to be built. Worry could be seen on Shastriji’s face

growing with each passing day. There was a collision in

sight.

The neighbouring villages had also joined the

demonstrations. It was no longer a village issue, but was

taking enormous proportions. The government was

getting worried. It had not visualised such a dramatic

turn of events was awaiting its ambitious project.


Praveer

10

Amidst all this, the brutal murder of Shastriji added fuel

to fire. He was a calming influence on the villagers. He

would tell them about the right path. It was a path which

ancient India and its customs would want them to

follow. But now that link was broken. The villagers

knew nothing but to protest now.

“Who might have killed Shastriji?” Someone in the

crowd asked the man standing behind him as they

watched the dead body of Shastriji being carried away

by the police. Shivlal could not argue with the police for

long. He wanted to avoid a direct confrontation with the

law. He tried to scare them away, reason with them but

relented once Inspector Chirayu argued with the

villagers about bringing the culprit to justice.

“Who else than those money-seeking irreligious men

who want to ruin the temple site and our heritage” The

man replied.

“But…” Budhiya did not finish what he had started

saying. His moist eyes overpowered his words.

P


Incognito

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