The Forsaken Wilderness, page 12
‘So you do kill?’ I asked. ‘In this new order you propose to have devised!’
‘It is not I, my child.’ Now she looked towards the altar that crawled with an infinity of glowering designs, her eyes squirming and throbbing as they swam into its structures. Her hand stretched out as if to reach or touch—her lips prayed, her forehead bulged—‘Not I!’
‘Then WHO is it?’ I shrieked.
‘Have you ever believed in something for the sole sake that you would will it?’ she trembled, nursing the hand that stretched now in her pockets.
‘Indeed.’ I nodded. ‘Haven’t all of us?’
‘Then what is it?’ she smiled. ‘That thin line that separates wish from reality? Logic from magic?’
‘Magic?’ I laughed, looking at Shera who batted not an eyelid in reply.
‘Why not magic?’ she mused. ‘Was it not magic that got us to the moon? The man that developed the rocket-fuel that propelled our man-made engines was a firm believer in the occult and to him the dream of mastery over matter was no more magical than it was to the physicist that split the atom or the simple radio wave that was able to traverse vast distances within the flick of a second. One man’s magic is another age’s science!’
chapter nine
My farewell to Shera was brief and almost half-salutatory; a matter wholly devoid of the usual sentiment that would no doubt be the fruit of so arduous a toil. To the old lady I bid only my good wishes, and hopes to see her again.
‘You will!’ her smile hardened. ‘And you will certainly hear from me. If not from me than at least from us.’
‘I will look forward to that.’ I turned around, and thumped Shera on the shoulder. ‘You take care of yourself, Shera!’
‘I will,’ he expressionlessly drawled.
When I started to make my way down, I heard scarcely a sound from the mountaintop—no horn or rumble or chthonic tremor that had earlier unsettled us. With the drop of altitude and air pressure, an equilibrium reinvigorated my, by now, corroded and somewhat diminished mental faculties. I was not permitted to take along with me any specimens that might corroborate some of my wilder claims. I paid nary a glance to the tattered campsite I crossed soon after, even the Tree from which I carried no particle. Somehow through sheer intuition, I managed to trace my steps back along the narrow parapet that bypassed the bluff. Thoughts danced frantically about my frontal lobe, meditations on the plight of the ship Mary Celeste that disappeared towards the turn of the century, the as yet unsolved tragedy of the Ural Mountains that this incident so closely resembled, the inexplicable natural blast in Russia that raised an entire forest to the ground within seconds. These were indeed thoughts to consider in light of all that I had experienced.
It took many days, countless nights of exhaustion to traverse the long and torturous descent that took me back to our basecamp in Osla. How I managed to accommodate that fiendish return to civilization through starvation and madness and more is a matter I cannot wholly explicate. All I know is that I was guided back as if by some divine unseen force. As if by the unsought blessings of those above me on the mountain-top seeing to my secure passage. I trekked through the night, a feat I would not have in my wildest dreams even remotely considered. Guided by the moonlight, I swept through countless branches, up under the thicket of some unfriendly ridge, clambering through the dirt and mud—part naked—feeding on berries and streams of snow, chewing leaves in an unworthy attempt at replenishment—wading past thorny foliage, slashing aimlessly at a wilderness of commingling plants and bewildering vegetation, somewhat like a shrub-covered expanse, a primeval wilderness… shrouded in green. An endless scenery of verdure resembling the very beginnings of the Earth, the first rumblings and flowerings of fauna. Here and there, could be seen a small lake but a few feet deep. This was certainly a route that had eluded us on our way up. I scarcely remembered it.
I had abandoned our finds, both the skull and the fibula, in order to lighten the load that would prove wearisome to my back, and also so as not to immediately disobey any instructions issued from the congregation at Ranibaug. What fiery embers their wrath would yield was a matter only my patience would determine. It was their goodwill that was getting me through this journey alive in the first place, and I chose not to test it. The bearded, long-haired and aged dream figures all retreated from my imagination and began to settle in the fog of some distant memory. Even the old lady with whom I had conducted a lengthy discourse appeared no vaguer or more mystical an entity than Swaami Atal-Anivaarya Natija himself. All that remained were the hazy outlines of their presence; scattered dominions of concrete sandcastles, mountains of archipelagos and naked stone, shapes and forms no letters could relate, and that only the drawing hand could confirm. I would attempt nevertheless to communicate to the breathing world, all I had witnessed without the aid of what chance items might consolidate their credibility. I felt no particular urge to produce physical evidence of what I had to report. I would rather not deal with such specimens for hazard of the mental influence exerted by their possession that I had sworn never to endure again.
It was, however, beyond all measure—a great mistake. For no human being in the state of Garhwal, Pratyusha Negi included, paid much heed to my assertions, consigning me to an endless state of official uncertainty and an inconsistent conviction that only the truly derelict would consider. My colleagues at the workplace fancied me mad, and mad I might just have been, were it not for the stark details I was able to recount in my wild and somewhat rambling soliloquy to the masters of my firm. They insisted on my taking a break from the site, relieved me of my imminent duties and provided for my safe but harrowing transportation back to my hometown, Mathura, where I was to be graced with the companionship of my loved ones that strived to enlighten me out of my morbid rhapsody. My name is Barkat Singh Randhawa. Yet, never did prosperity seem so remote from the blasted realm to which I had been a party.
I was visited many months later, by a small board of scientists from the Uttarakhand State Energy Division, an establishment that had already nailed in its placards all over North-Western Garhwal, and proposed a newer and more elaborate power scheme to electrify parts previously unconnected to the electric-mainline on the grid.
There were about four of them, three silent gentlemen and an older lady with a cloud of white-hair that arose over a pair of double-lensed spectacles.
‘You do know Pratyusha, don’t you?’ she inquired, once they had concluded their introductions.
‘Why yes Ma’am,’ I murmured. ‘I do!’
‘Well, then,’ she settled into her seat in the living room once I was done offering them tea and other refreshments. ‘That would certainly make this conference easier.’
‘How’s that?’ I took a seat.
‘Well, I just so happen to be her mother,’ she stated, calmly and without any expression whatsoever.
‘Dr Damini Jain from IIT?’ I nearly got up from my seat.
‘I’m not with the IIT any longer as you can see.’ She waved about at the assembled personnel. The rest of the men just lightly nodded their heads to affirm that. ‘The state has assigned me to a sector not previously within the scope of my area of expertise.’
There was a long pause.
‘Which is?’ I asked.
‘Energy!’ she stated, gathering her reflections. ‘It was merely on account of some recent developments in the state of Garhwal that I was granted this august post as Chairman of the board.’
‘Such as?’ I asked.
‘Such as….’ she thought a while, tapping her fingers on her knees. ‘Such as Ranibaug.’ She took a pause and then proceeded. ‘You see, Mr Randhawa, on account of certain electro-magnetic long-wave radio transmissions detected around the peak, the State Energy Division has declared the routes disseminating up from Harki Dun towards the North-Western face of Ranibaug, as out of bounds…’
‘Out of bounds?’ I mumbled, slouching irreparably.
‘That’s right,’ she failed to nod, or perhaps decided not to. ‘Restricted area! From our reports,’ here she leaned forward and placed her palms together upon the glass coffee table before her. ‘There seems to be some sort of an,’ she flounced her hands as if in explanation. ‘Irregular power source…or force field, that appears to be lodged in the interior of the very mountain itself. At least that was our initial supposition. Recent seismological readings have determined that there is not only an indefinable power source, but also a sonic radiation that the peak seems to be emitting that has been said to have a somewhat, how shall one say…’ she reached for a word, found only a sigh and produced a faint cluck in emphasis, ‘…strange effect on those that have neared it. The mountain has been sealed, and all pilgrimages to Osla suspended till further notice.’
‘This…uh…strange effect that you talk of…’ I stuttered. ‘What reports have you received of this?’
‘Well…’ she looked around. ‘At present only one, from a somewhat singular individual. An astrologer actually. Goes by the name of Atal-Anivaarya Natija, we traced him back to Haldwani under the name of Naveen S. Bhatija. He used to run a cassette store in the old days, one of those roadside market stalls stocked with an array of devotional hymns and bhajans. He proceeded to wrangle his way into Ayurveda, become at one point one of the pre-eminent Vaidhjis in Uttaranchal Pradesh. At first, starting a wandering caravan of botanical products and miracle solvents promising balding patrons their hair back, then once he made the acquaintance of Professor Charan Prakash he started their initiative, in earnest.’
‘What initiative?’
‘The HRA institute. He’s a part-owner of that place. A sort of partner. It gives me ulcers to think that my daughter works under such a person, but I have tried to convince her otherwise. She doesn’t listen!’
‘She’s wiser than you think, Ma’am,’ I said. ‘She refused outright to come along on our expedition. She’s got better sense than I did, I regret to mention…’
At this revelation, she seemed no doubt satisfied. ‘Hmm…’ She folded her lips. ‘Have you ever thought to wonder why?’
‘I’m sure she has….’
‘There are reasons behind discretion and honest to goodness common sense. Not always altogether what you might call honest reasons, but reasons nonetheless.’
‘Suppose you tell me about them?’
The three strange looking men all eyed her from their corners.
‘Suppose you tell me first about what you saw up there?’ she suggested.
‘I asked you first,’ I insisted.
‘Okay…’ she leaned back, drew on a deep breath and said—‘There was some talk of her paternal grandmother still being up there, which given the nature of physics, which has been for me something of a specialty, is nothing short of an outright impossibility. Not to mention, lie.’
‘How so?’
‘If she were indeed alive my dear child, she would be close to one-and-a-quarter centuries old, which—going by the aggregate rate of the human lifespan—is not an option into which anyone in their right mind would willingly enter, unless it was made possible by some altogether different means, some of which seem to be outside the capability of recorded human logic.’
PART FOUR
The Strange Case of the Uttarakhand Electric Division
chapter one
It took close to the better half of the day to explain to them all that I had encountered. They joined my family for lunch, stayed till tea, and departed almost before supper. I spoke to them of the tree, of the skull, of Karma Bodh and the party of sages, that tumultuous drop that glowed from the bottomless pits of the mineshaft. Of how the Professor had attempted to descend it, of how Shera had elected to stay on to see to the Professor’s proper retrieval. Of how I had been forced to abandon not only my fellow expeditioners, but also what remote finds and relics we had chanced upon. The absence of the latter still seemed too far-fetched a prospect for them to fathom.
‘Are you not sure?’ one of the bespectacled men offered. ‘That all this might not simply be the result of some sort of extraordinary hallucination, some mental affliction endemic to the uppermost reaches of the peak that forces people to realms of thought not normally considered noteworthy by the natural sciences.’
He stood up from his carefully angled seat, pondering each step before taking it, his feet hesitating from the tiles, looking only at the ground as he spoke and then at his fellow scientists as he reached for an empty cup to attach to its saucer.
‘After all,’ another one spoke. ‘All supernatural phenomena tend to be manifestations of the unconscious mind. To make material what one wishes, or…in this case, fears.’
‘Is that not what causes phantoms to be born?’ the third one uttered. ‘Ghosts to be unbolted, monsters to escape the imagination? Experience—psychological or otherwise.’ He clapped his hands together in emphasis. ‘Cold hard incident that warps and winds the perception into the nether layers of reality where demoniacal conjurings swim uninhibited by the many strata of rational thought that would shackle such anomalous sights and fancies.’
It felt as if some spiritual seminar were underway, as if the sage that died was talking from the flesh. The three of them glared at me in learned repose, ornate sentences escaping them involuntarily in the manner almost of a lecture. They looked to their superior with each turn of the mouth, as every insinuation that leapt from their tongue found solace in her stare. She continued to look at me, right through me, past me, at the house she was seated in, at the surroundings, the colony, the patterns of the cushion-covers and the colours on the carpet.
‘Whatever it is that’s up there,’ Dr Damini Jain declared, ‘will be investigated thoroughly. That you can rest assured, but…’ She took a pause that was protracted even further by the anticipation in my eyeballs that now swelled beyond the bounds of a composed expression. ‘…it will prove beneficial to our programme, if you were to withhold any of your knowledge from the purview of the general public.’ She stopped me before I could leap from my seat. ‘There are, of course, terrestrial methods for coping with such phenomena!’ she pointed out with an elongated index finger that receded from view no sooner than it had entered it. ‘Without of course causing the kind of mass hysteria that would doubtless be the logical response to so drastic a revelation.’
‘Have you for instance,’ one of the men mused, ‘visited a psychiatrist? There is a gentleman in the Cantonment. A Dr Prabhat S. Kukreja with the military AnG units, who treats officers fresh out of combat in J&K. I would recommend him! He is known to be of use when dealing with a post-traumatic predicament. He is known to be of assistance in such matters as concern the irrational.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ I shot up from my seat. ‘What I witnessed there and what I have recounted was as real as this tea cup.’ I picked up an empty saucer from the table that separated us. ‘As real as you or me, as real as the air we breathe.’
‘Ahhh…’ the same man parted his lips in speculation. ‘But is the air we breathe visible to the naked eye?’
I now began to see in full fruition the fiendish design they had envisioned to silence my testimony. The industrial complex of state sanctioned ‘truth’, the honorable arbiters of reality!
‘I have nothing to add to what I have already told you!’ I stated calmly. ‘Nothing of any substance that would count for much in your books. Now, if you have had your tea, you may please leave!’ I rose from my seat and started to show them out.
‘There’s nothing to get excited about Mr Randhawa,’ Dr Damini Jain interrupted. ‘This is a simple matter of standard operating procedure. What we have been informed by our superiors to relay to you. There’s no need to take it personally as any kind of stab at your sanity. We know you are a perfectly rational being, a healthy individual who is complete command of his mental facul…’
‘GET OUT!’ I shrieked. ‘ALL OF YOU! And don’t ever step into this house ever again! You are NOT welcome! That goes for you too, Ma’am,’ I pointed at Dr Damini Jain. ‘And your daughter too. She will tell you all there is to tell about the Professor. About how he schemed to get me to accompany him on his diabolical expedition. That pretense of demonic possession at the temple on the way to Sahastradhara. Hysteria! It was all an elaborate hoax to get me to stray from the path of the rational and the logical.’
‘Ahhh….’ Dr Damini Jain gasped. ‘But as per our reports, you yourself are prone to certain irrational tendencies, aren’t you? From what your employers conveyed to us, you seem to have your own innate idiosyncrasies about faith and are prone to what, some might call, compulsive superstitious scruples.’
‘HOW DARE YOU!!!!’ I screamed. ‘I take this as an absolute insult! You prying on my personal records.’ I suddenly sat back down and altered my tone of voice considerably so that it would have the desired effect. ‘Now, please…’ I whispered, purposefully—retracting the display of anger I had impulsively fallen prey to. ‘You must leave at once lest my parents get upset.’
chapter two
I resolved at once to get to the absolute bottom of this insoluble mystery, to venture into the very heart of the abomination itself! A visit to the very source of all this menace had to be made. A sojourn into the lair of Swaami Shree Shree Gurudev Atal-Anivaarya Nateeja, located in the back quarters and side-banks of Haridwar where I found myself one summer evening only to be told by one of his attendants that the Swaami Ji had retreated to his resort on the outskirts of the Rajaji National Park for the weekend.
Gathering the address and approximate co-ordinates, I drove off the following morning to a wide stretch of protected forest along the eastern ridge on the fence of the National Park. To encroach any further into its precincts would not be permissible without a slip from the Forest Guard due to a recent development that had been reported to some of the forest authorities. Not the authorities native to the region I intended to visit, but the central forest office under whose radar the territory did fall. As per certain sightings witnessed by the patrolling forest officers deployed to keep the boundaries and perimeters in check, a certain animal (not of identifiable origin) was said to be active and inhabiting the area adjacent to which Swaami Atal-Anivaarya’s Forest Guest House was located.
