The Hidden Hindu (Akshat Gupta)

OceanofPDF.comEBURY PRESS THE HIDDEN HINDU Akshat Gupta is a writer and lyricist who runs a chain of restaurants. Having made his foray into scriptwriting, he now has four films in his kitty. He was born in Chhattisgarh, grew up in Madhya Pradesh and now lives in Mumbai. OceanofPDF.comAKSHAT GUPTA OceanofPDF.comTHE HIDDEN HINDU OceanofPDF.comContents Memory of the Unborn 1. Unidentified Journey 2. Inconclusive Inception 3. Disconnected Disclosure 4. Names from History 5. Open Ends 6. Divine Yugas 7. Existence Exhibited 8. Cryptic Chest 9. Yesteryear’s Now 10. Outdated Deciphered 11. Mrit-Sanjeevani 12. The First Outbreak 13. Classified Transformation 14. Deathless Warriors Acknowledgements Follow Penguin Copyright OceanofPDF.comMemory of the Unborn Year 2041 There was an eerie silence in the room. It seemed like everything had come to a halt. The space between the empty walls of the room was filled with the sound of their breath. Before Mrs Batra could ask Prithvi what was bothering him, he turned around and, in a strong voice, said, ‘I have seen it all myself in 2020 and so I know that there has not been anyone like him before, nor will there ever be. He is the divine truth, an undefeated challenge to the gods of death and destruction.’ ‘How can that be? You are saying that you have seen things from before you were even born? That’s impossible!’ said the agitated seventy-four-year-old Mrs Batra. She was bewildered as to how a boy who was around twenty years old in 2041 could have seen things from 2020. ‘You are right. I wasn’t born then, yet I was present in that facility on Ross Island in more than one way. I remember everything as clearly as if I am still there, witnessing it all happening right in front of my eyes,’ replied Prithvi. Looking at Prithvi, Mrs Batra spoke again, ‘I have witnessed many incredible events and mysterious things in the last few years, things that science does not have an answer to. So I am compelled to believe that there are truths and mysteries that an average human mind like mine cannot process.’ With tears rolling down her cheeks, she continued, ‘I wanted to live a normal life and die silently,like every average person. I almost got a satisfactory death in 2020. Things were good then. I wish I had died peacefully then, but everything changed.’ Mrs Batra took a deep breath and tried to contain herself. Prithvi silently stood there, giving her time. After a long pause, she said ‘Neither did I want to be part of any of that then, nor do I want to be a part of any of this now. Why are you here?’ ‘Because I am still searching for him and you are the last person to have seen him,’ responded Prithvi with hopeful eyes. Mrs Batra looked into Prithvi’s eyes and said, ‘I lost everything in that fateful mission and yet, I don’t know how or why. Yes, I have seen him. But I still don’t know who he was. You were there on the island, you said. Tell me what happened on that island in 2020. You said you are searching for him. He was also there on the island back then. You must know who he was. What do you know about him? Tell me everything,’ insisted Mrs Batra. Prithvi stared at Mrs Batra for a while, and then eventually asked, ‘Will you tell me everything that you know if I answer your questions?’ ‘I promise, I’ll not hide anything . . . just tell me what happened in 2020. It changed my death. I don’t want to die not knowing why all this happened to me and why I was chosen.’ Now Prithvi was looking into the old, hopeful eyes of Mrs Batra looking back at him. He took a deep breath and started to narrate . . . OceanofPDF.comChapter 1 Unidentified Journey It was one of those rare days during summer when the sun didn’t shine at its brightest. The blue sky and the early morning breeze were refreshing. The sound of a chopper was enough to break the silence of the surroundings. In this picture-perfect scenario lay a man in the helicopter, unconscious and oblivious. Four well-built gunmen had set their eyes on him, as if they had been waiting since eternity for the man to open his eyes. The man’s face was painted white and he had an unevenly grown beard and moustache. His long, black, dishevelled hair added to his mysterious look. For a forty-year-old, he appeared quite young. His face was ethereally carved, his skin so clear and luminous that it formed an aura of beauty around him. His body showed signs of motion to the sound of the helicopter’s thrust. And at times, when he moved, his body shed ashes into the air. His unconsciousness didn’t stop people around him from wondering who he was. This man aroused curiosity and awe in everyone who saw him. The pilot announced, ‘11.6755 degree North, 92.7626 degree East; Landing at Ross Island in three minutes.’ Ross Island happened to be the most aesthetic piece of land in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, about 2 km east of PortBlair. It beckoned one to take in the serenity of nature’s finest gifts with the inheritance of rare yet significant species. Adorning the island was a dome-shaped high-tech facility. Built purely for the purpose of research on the isolated land, the magnificent structure could leave even the greatest sceptics awestruck. Equipped with the latest technology, the facility boasted state-of-the-art coastal and marine monitoring systems. Constructed using only glass, the facility exploited surface technology to its best. Each screen one touched started talking to them as if it were part of an advanced species, altering the temperature and atmospheric pressure around them, thus making life easier in ways unimagined. As brilliant as it was in these aspects, it was even more so when it came to security. Motion sensor cameras were installed in each corner of the arched roof. No one was ever alone inside the dome. A digital eye accompanied people wherever they went. Veerbhadra, a voluntarily retired former Indian army brigadier, left his station and walked straight towards the dome’s lobby. As soon as he entered, he spotted the captive surrounded by four armed guards. They were dragging his handcuffed and blindfolded insentient body through the corridor. His bare feet continued to leave traces of ashes on the floor. He is ‘The Man’, thought Veerbhadra. The detainee was wearing minimal clothes; only a short and narrow loincloth covered his lower abdomen. His body was smeared with ashes. A rosary made of rudraksha seeds hung around his neck. Half of his matted hair was rolled up into a topknot and adorned with a rusted iron trident. Veerbhadra had come to this place as the security chief with a team of twenty-one, including gunmen and guards.