The Yoga Zapper--A Novel, page 15
“Victory to the Hand of God!” shouted the mighty multitude. Kallin fired his weapon a second time. “Victory to the Hand of God!” they screamed, from the streets, the rooftops and the circling aircrafts. Kallin fired his weapon one last time. “Victory to the Hand of God!” thundered the vast crowd a third time, their voices crashing against the buildings like a tsunami against a defenseless shore. Kallin raised both hands in acknowledgment. They roared. After exulting in their approval for several minutes, Kallin walked back to General Contog.
“Now,” he said grimly, “let’s take care of the prisoners.” Thirty rebels crouched on their knees on the dusty street at the left side of the intersection, near the sidewalk, their eyes blindfolded, their arms handcuffed behind them. They painted a portrait of utter and total defeat, squatting in the dirt, their heads hanging low. Knowing Kallin’s unexpected and violent disposition, Jack watched the proceedings with a queasy stomach.
“Is that the lot of them?” demanded Kallin.
“Yes, President Kallin,” affirmed the chief of police. “The rest, about seventy, are dead.”
A dozen green-smocked technicians went from one prisoner to another, examining the back of their necks, extracting blood samples and inserting them into handheld devices.
“So what is it?” demanded Kallin. The national security advisor joined him.
“Sir, they have removed their DNA implants,” replied General Contog. “But we have discovered their identities. Many of the rebels are originally from Kallington. Some have spent time in Central Prison on various charges such as robbery, thievery and tax evasion. But some, sir, are ex-military. This takes the fight to a whole new level.”
“God damn them,” spat the Hand of God darkly. “I pay them, feed them, train them to use weapons and they turn against me. I give them everything and this is how they pay me back.” Kallin seemed genuinely hurt.
“This explains their ability to use weapons and to engage in combat, and being ex-military, they may have stolen the weapons and ammunition from their bases.”
“We’ll show these dogs gratitude,” growled Kallin. With weapon still in hand, he walked in front of the nearest prisoner and pulled off the blindfold.
“Look at me.” The prisoner blinked his eyes rapidly. “Who am I?” shouted Kallin. The man kept quiet.
“I am the Hand of God,” shouted Kallin angrily, with fiery, piercing eyes. “I have given you everything. What would any of you have if it wasn’t for me? Aren’t you ex-military?”
The man nodded his head. Beads of sweat formed on Kallin’s shining red forehead and slid down his neck.
“I am the Hand of God. I am the one who is chosen by God. I am put here on earth by God to be his Hand. God works through me. Only me. No one else. There is only one Hand of God, there will always only be one Hand of God, now and forever.”
Jack shivered. Kallin was completely crazy.
“Admit that I am the Hand of God or die.”
“You’re the devil,” spat the rebel.
Kallin whipped the weapon up against the prisoner’s head. He pulled the trigger. A purple pulse shot out of the weapon and exploded, blowing his head off and freezing his face in a grotesque mask. Kallin laughed maniacally, pointing at the disembodied cranium as it rolled around. The enormous assembly, excited by the action, shouted loudly, their voices like the roar of a storm.
“I will send you all to hell,” screamed Kallin at the rebels, his eyelids twitching, and his face blood red. The soldiers jumped up and surrounded the rebels as he walked to back the front of the ruined restaurant.
“Weapons on first level,” ordered Kallin. The soldiers put their guns to stun.
“Aim.”
The prisoners trembled, shouted and screamed, some prayed feverishly and others vomited on the ground.
“Fire!”
The rebels keeled over, stiffened and gasped for breath, writhing in agony as green bolts spun around their bodies. The crowd of Raks screamed in delight and picked up rocks and stones and hurled them at the prisoners. The wheezing rebels grunted as the missiles hit them. Running out of rocks, the people picked up bits of metal or pried loose pieces of pavement, while Raks on the rooftops hurled shards of broken glass. Each time an object found its mark and blood spurted, they howled in excitement.
The violence shocked Jack. Didn’t these people know their real oppressors? How could they be so stupid as to attack those who fought for them? He then understood. These people, so oppressed, so tightly controlled in every aspect of their lives, found their only escape in this bloodlust. The violence and gore constituted not just a reaction but a moment of liberation, an opportunity to display all their feelings of pent up rage, hate and weakness without being arrested or controlled by a pitiless system that daily ground them into dust. No wonder the crowd bayed so loudly for blood.
“What do we do now?” asked General Contog.
Kallin looked around at the mob. “Let ‘em at them.”
The soldiers guarding the perimeter stepped aside and the horde rushed into the intersection. They jumped on the rebels and the dead and dying Raks on the sidewalks and, with bare hands, tore apart the flesh and stuffed it into their hungry mouths. Some cut open the bodies with pieces of glass and pulled out bleeding livers which they ate raw. The orgy of blood drove the Raks uncontrollably mad. They ran around with clumps of flesh in their hands, yelling hoarsely. Jack watched with increasing horror, overwhelmed by the stark, public display of insanity. He doubled over, staggered a few steps, fell to his knees on the sidewalk, vomited and crouched there, utterly weak and nauseated, unable to move.
* * * * *
The Hand of God, followed by the national security advisor and the chief of police, strode into the restaurant. He first saw the three Numbers, dead on the floor, their briefcase handles clasped stiffly with white knuckles. Kallin kicked the bodies out of the way.
“A complete waste of three perfectly good Numbers,” he grumbled. “How the hell did the rebels know I came here?” he demanded.
Contog lowered his voice. “Either pure luck or someone tipped them off.” Kallin slammed his fist in his hand and swore.
“Who have you been with today?” asked the chief of police.
“After leaving the International Legislative Exchange, with Jini, Maya, the national security advisor, and Jack, that sniveling little idiot.”
“Whose idea was it to come here?”
“Maya’s.” Kallin scowled and scratched his beard.
“It might be her or someone else,” clarified the general. “We can’t be sure until we have definite proof.”
“General, we talked about this before, but now there is no doubt. We have a mole in our midst. There is no other way that a hundred rebels could have gathered here unless they knew my habits.”
“That sounds like a reasonable conclusion,” replied the general.
“Did you to get any information from the rebels?”
“No, sir. Whoever instructed them very cleverly hid his or her identity and location. The rebels work in completely independent cells, each unknown to the others.”
“General, you are dismissed,” he roared. “I want you to find out who the mole is. I don’t care what it takes. I want this person found and brought before me.” General Contog saluted and walked out.
“The other is issue that we may have is a mole who doesn’t know he is a mole,” the national security advisor said softly.
“You mean Jack?” asked Kallin.
“Yes. This was our fear from the beginning. On this, the first day you’ve spent with him, the rebels attacked. They may be using him to get near you, in ways not yet clear. I think it’s time for us to use him to uncover what’s actually going on.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Let him go.”
“Just let him go?”
“Yes sir. The trick is to be patient. Sooner or later, the rebels will get in touch with him. We have the technology to sniff them out.”
“Excellent,” replied the Hand of God. “He may even allow us to uncover the entire rebellion.” The national security advisor nodded his head.
“What about Maya?” asked Kallin.
“I don’t think she has anything to do with this, but she serves no purpose anymore.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of her.”
* * * * *
A soldier grabbed Jack by the collar. “Get up,” ordered the man. “President Kallin wants to see you.”
Jack stood gingerly, his stomach still queasy. How long had he lain there, next to his vomit? With the carnage on the street almost over, only a few Raks wandered about, chewing the bare bones of the dead rebels like hyenas scavenging after a lion’s kill. Jack followed the man into the restaurant. Bits of tables and chairs, jagged pieces of glass, twisted metal, shattered bricks and burnt plaster lay around. Kallin was shouting loudly as Maya cried.
“Come here, you stupid ass,” yelled the Hand of God. Jack walked over, meekly looking down, but seething with disgust and anger. What a pig!
“But I don’t know anything about this attack,” sobbed Maya.
“Then why did you suggest having lunch here?”
“We’ve stopped here so many times before! I only suggested it because I know how much you like the food here.”
Kallin slapped her hard on her face. Maya staggered.
“Please,” she begged. “Please believe me! I don’t know anything. I’ve been your faithful mistress for so many years.”
Jini jumped in. “Familiarity breeds contempt.” She faced Kallin. “Oh Hand of God, why do you believe her? What use is she to you now? Don’t I serve you better?”
Maya jumped up, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you see what she’s doing?” she demanded, unable to keep her temper bottled. “She’s a conniving witch. She’s only using you to get power and money. How can you trust her?”
“You’re talking about trust?” Jini sneered. “You almost killed us all. You’re a snake in the grass. Oh Hand of God, this woman is old and dried up. Make me your number one and I’ll show you what I can do.”
The Hand of God turned to Maya with scorn. “My mind is made up,” he stated, looking directly into her eyes. “Jini is now my number one.”
Maya fell to the ground and held his arm. “No, no,” she pleaded. “Please give me another chance.”
“Get lost,” yelled Jini. “Is there anything more pathetic than a washed up old hag?”
Maya jumped up and slapped Jini’s face. “I’m going to show you, you stupid blonde,” she screamed. She grabbed handfuls of Jini’s hair and pulled hard. Jini yelled. She extricated herself and ran up to Kallin, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Look what she did! She tried to kill me! Aren’t you going to protect me?”
“Enough,” roared Kallin.
Maya fell to the floor weeping. Kallin ignored her. Jini beamed.
“But I gave given you my entire life,” cried Maya.
“This didn’t happen overnight. I got tired of you some time ago. I’ve been looking for someone else and Jini came along when I needed her.” Kallin paced the floor. “Go to my estate and pack your things. You can take a couple of weeks. After that, you have to leave.” He turned around and glanced at Jack with blazing eyes.
“And take that loser with you. I don’t want to see his ugly face anymore.”
Chapter Nineteen
On Pilgrimage, Satya Yuga
Three weeks into the pilgrimage, Steve became familiar with the routine, a schedule carefully considered and implemented, an exercise well known to all. He’d wake in the dark, early morning. A quick immersion in the cool waters of the river, followed by a vigorous rub with a cotton gamcha got his blood rushing and instantly refreshed the mind. After this came his sadhana, his individual spiritual discipline. Steve naturally followed Shanti—sometimes they practiced yoga, starting with the asanas, then pranayama, the regulation of the breath, followed by dharana, the controlling of the mind—all parts of the ashtanga yoga system.
On other occasions, Steve and Shanti practiced japa meditation, the chanting of sacred mantras, which cleansed the mind and transport the practitioner to higher states of purified consciousness. He found japa meditation difficult in the beginning; now he loved these early morning sessions.
In the evenings after dinner, their favorite part of the day, the pilgrims built campfires, brought out musical instruments and the entire group, sitting around the fire, sang bhajan, spiritual song, or kirtan, a call-and-response type of chant where the lead singer sings a musical phrase which is repeated by the audience. Not ordinary singing but rather a joyous spiritual exercise, a prominent aspect of bhakti yoga, it transported the singer and audience to clearly defined spiritual states.
“Whenever I hear kirtan, I feel lifted out of my body. Can you explain what I am experiencing?” Steve asked Shanti.
“There are three elements to kirtan—raga, rasa and bhava.”
“What is a raga?”
“A raga is a melodic structure determining the mood of a composition. For example, early morning ragas are generally contemplative, whereas evening ragas are livelier and deeper in emotion.”
“And what is a rasa?”
“A rasa is described as a transcendental relationship. Five principal rasas, or relationships, having their origin and resting place in the Divine, are mentioned in the shastras. The first rasa, called shanta rasa is a neutral or passive relationship, dasya rasa indicates a master-servant relationship, sakhya rasa is the fraternal relationship, vatsalya rasa specifies the parental relationship and finally comes the conjugal relationship, called madhurya rasa.”
“Can you explain further?”
“Relationships in this world are reflections of the original divine rasas and, just as there are many emotions in earthly relationships, rasas too have their bhavas, emotions. The kirtan leader’s duty is to explore these emotions through her singing and lead the chanters to mystical states of spiritual relationships.”
“Experiencing a spiritual emotion, which you call a bhava, in a certain mood, or raga, develops spiritual relationships, rasas, with the Supreme. Is that right?”
Shanti agreed. “Kirtan is one way to open the heart. It is a very important part of bhakti yoga.” She, the daughter of a Gandharvi, a celestial singer, many times led kirtan. Her beautiful, melodious voice slowly transported listeners from one transcendental state of emotion to another until the entire congregation felt their hearts filled with rapture.
Many times she sang songs evoking the bhava of vipra lambha, that is, the emotion of separation of the Beloved from the Lover, of the Devotee from God, of Radha from Krishna. These songs of separation evoked feelings of both love and longing. Steve sat beside her, not intellectually understanding the intricacies of the raga, rasa or bhava, but yet captured by the emotions brought out by Shanti’s sweet and moving voice.
* * * * *
One day, in the late afternoon, Steve went with Shanti to collect firewood. A particularly demanding day, the trail became especially difficult in the steep foothills. Steve knew, despite Shanti’s protests, that she undoubtedly welcomed his help with the unusually taxing chore.
They entered the forest on a hill above the camp. Large trees grew at considerable distances from each other in the expansive woodland and it took quite a while to collect enough dead branches or dried bushes. They separated the gathering into two bundles and Shanti tied them with grass ropes. She took one bunch, placed it on top of Steve’s head and, keeping her back and neck straight, set the other one on her head, and commenced walking. Steve, having not yet mastered the delicate exercise of carrying wood, followed closely behind, imitating her movements. The trick involved keeping the back stiff and the head level, with the eyes looking straight ahead while naturally moving the arms.
Suddenly, the load on his head slipped. Instead of trusting to keep his head upright, he had made the mistake of looking down on the trail. His bundle crashed down and he fell forward, right on Shanti’s back. She gasped as both she and her load tumbled.
“Shanti!” he shouted. “Are you all right?”
She sat up, straightening her sari. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Steve held out his hand. Shanti looked away for a second and then took it. He helped her up and they stood for several seconds holding hands. Shanti blushed. Steve realized that, for the first time, he was actually touching her. He examined her strong, yet small and delicate hands. On the side of her palms and along each finger, ran an intricate pattern of flowers done in henna, a plant whose paste left a red coloring on the skin. Large scarlet rounds adorned the middle of her palms while the tips of her fingers also showed crimson.
The evening sun, full and resplendent, shone behind her, creating an aura that sparkled orange and gold around her head. Her sari covered her hair and her green eyes shone lustrously. He looked deeply into her eyes and she gazed into his. A strong stirring of love delighted his heart and moved into his arms and into his torso. He trembled, breathed deeply and reached for her other hand. It came willingly. They held hands for a few seconds and Steve clasped her strongly in his embrace. She gasped, her body quivering like a captured bird. He held on strongly until she relaxed, her breath softened, and he felt her slowly surrender. She inhaled deeply, calming her shivering heart. His strong arms reassured her and she gently nestled her head upon his right shoulder.
Closing his eyes, he smelled the sweetness of her hair and inhaled the salty scent of her skin. In deep embrace they stood with eyes shut, their hearts beating in rhythm, oblivious to the world, unaware of the passage of time or circumstance.
They finally released, seemingly after an eternity, but in reality was only a minute or two. Quickly collecting themselves and once again gathering their loads, they walked back to the camp holding hands but saying nothing.
