2
SMUGGLING
[I as Krishna was born in prison to devout parents – Devaki and Vasudeva. My parents were imprisoned by Kansa. At the time of my birth, my life was in danger because Kansa was seeking to kill me. It had been foretold that Kansa would be killed by my mother’s eighth child who was I. my father wanted to see me somewhere safe. Then miraculously, the watchmen at the prison fell into a slumber and all the locks and chains opened by themselves I was the eighth child, and in danger of Kansa so my father smuggled me out of prison to be raised by my foster parents Nanda, a chief in the local Cow-herding community and Yasoda, a religious woman in Gokula.]
“The Mask,” the man in white went near him, “that happened. I was right about the prophecy.” he says sharing curiosity at him.
“Are you sure?” voice of the Mask was rough, perhaps due to the cover over his mouth.
“He has no umbilical cord like a human being to cut,” Vishnu Yasha said, his voice shaking with excitement and fear. “He has no navel-cord.” his forehead creased.
The Mask hesitated for a long moment, thinking. “This isn’t enough to prove,” he said, pointing a finger at upward.
“What did you say?” the man in white said, in a sharp voice, “He wasn’t connected with the placenta means he wasn’t nourishing and maintaining in the womb through the funiculus umbilicalis. How did he survive in the womb without navel string?” The rest came out in a rush. “Have you heard a human being without a birth cord?” he frowned. Under the pale bright tan of his skin, it looked like he was shivering.
The look over Vishnu Yasha’s face made it impossible for the Mask to speak for a long moment. “I’ve not but…”
“What but?” man in white cut him off. For one short second, there was a flash of anger the Mask had never seen on his friend’s face before. It made him look dangerous in a way the mask hadn't imagined his kind friend could.
“I can’t believe.” The Mask said, looking at his wrist watch. “Was it before twenty minutes?”
“Yes, I’ve noted the exact time,” man in white said, “He is born on Guruvar (Thursday), in the star of Lord Rama and Lord Krishna,” the man in white reached his pocket and took out an Astronomy Calendar of Celestial Events, “during Rama avatar, he had born with Punarpusam star on a Navami day and during Krishna avatar, he had born on Ashtami day with Rohini star and now he is born on 12th of the month with Punarpusam star.” The man in white said, folding the calendar, and shoving it back in the pocket of his robe, “Why don’t you check yourself?”
The Mask watched him with worried eyes. “Have you checked Surya Siddhanta?”
“Yes, I did,” Vishnu Yasha whispers, “Everything - Paulisa-Siddhanta, Romaka-Siddhanta, Vasistha-Siddhanta, Surya-Siddhanta, and I even check the Saptarsi Calendar.”
“What did it say?” the Mask asked, “the Saptarsi Calendar?” he stared at the empty place ahead and felt the empty place inside, or fear was replacing the empty space.
“The seven prominent stars suggest the same phenomenon.”
The mask had nothing to question more, “Am I supposed….” he tripped over his words, “Am I supposed to see the child?”
He took a moment to respond, “Why not?” the man in white lead him inside a door in the hallway, into a room, “you are only who should see the child. You are the protector of him.” There is a smile in his voice.
The next words are like a weight over his head. The Mask drew a ragged breath and somehow he wished he wouldn’t have heard but imagined the words.
“I’m the protector!” The Mask exclaimed, observing the room.
The room was big and its walls were simply cream, not peeling or dirty, just cream. There was no decoration at all save the limp curtain that hung over the window. The room was illuminated with fluorescent light coming from the calling, occupied with some machines and a hospital bed with green matters on which a lady was in her unconscious state. The bed sat low to the ground, the frame bearing the signs of rust and the mattress worryingly thin. The bedside table was packed with tools of surgery, near it was a desk occupied by two computer screens.
On one screen, the chart read:
Name: Sumati
Status: Unconscious
Admittance: 6:30 am
Cause of Admittance: pregnancy
Diagnosis: surgery needed
Duration: Unknown
“Yes, you are the only who can protect him.” man in white said, taking a step closer to him, “you are the bravest person I’ve ever met and only friend whom I can trust with my child.”
“What if I couldn’t protect him?”
“You can,” the man in white replied, “If you need help then go to THE BREED, they are with us.”
THE BREED was a community living in Himalayan valleys. They have cream colored hairs over their body which looks gold in the sun, swollen jaws and superior physical builds and strength. They were bred by the use of genetic engineering, mixing the DNA of Himalayan golden monkey and human, before Pralaya.
The Creator always wanted to be real God. That was why he decipher ancient Sanskrit Texts and found out a way to have an Army like Lord Rama. He learned the way how the ancient Rishi (scientist) could breed army who fight for good one. He’d figured out every ancient secret. The Creator himself bred THE BREED to use them as weapon, believing the combination of human intellectual ability with insurmountable strength he would get indestructible army, thinking the war against him ends as soon as they commence but the Contrary happened, THE BREED wasn’t like robots made before them which failed because of robotic limitations, the breed had emotion of human and that’s why they went against their Creator and made military allies with humans.
Most people feared them believing them Yeti but they weren’t. They were THE BREED who‘d made resistance military against the Creator during the war after Pralaya and they were still fighting with the Creator, some people believed them as real Devatas.
The Mask felt relieved as he knew that THE BREED was with him.
“Have you checked every sign over his body?” the Mask drawled and reached near the cradle beside the bed. But in the pit of his stomach, he struggled if he should see the child.
‘The child is divine. He’s holy, he’s godly, he is saintly and I’m nothing but an insurgent Nirbhaya.’ he thought but he couldn’t stop looking at the divine face of the child.
“Yes, all the sign are as they should be. He has a mole in the right knee, in the left and right back,” the man in white said, looking at the stands for intravenous drips and monitors near the door where dispensers for rubber gloves, hand sanitizer, and soap were in pathetic condition. “Chandra chakra is in his left palm, and Chakra Surya is also there. He is the one who will solve the Maze of Chakravyuha around the temple and he will be the reason for the fall of the false temple and fake god.”
“Is there a mole at left nose?” the Mask asked, leaning over the cradle, still not daring to touch the child. On the wall near the cradle was an old TV set hanging from the ceiling. A window giving window was just beneath the screen. In the left corner were two chairs, frayed with wear and tear, revealing the fact it was an old and abandoned hospital room.
The Mask didn’t care about the weariness of the place. He wanted to drink that moment in, that moment with the divine child in front of his eyes. Child’s eyes were more brilliant than he could have imagined they would be. His hands were more delicate. He felt so godlike, looked so perfect and smelled so divine.
‘I am the protector of this child for as long as I live and my love for him will last for all time.’ the Mask took an oath in his mind.
“Yes, he has every sign.” The man in white said, more to himself than the mask.
“His forehead has a Trishoola,” the mask saw the child closely and said, his voice is choking in devotion, “He is the Avatar,” he touched the child’s legs and bowed his head. “He has Mandala instead belly button.”
His hand trembled as he dared to touch the tiny cheek of the child. Tiny fingers of the child curled around his Anamika. He watched the newborn peer through brand new eyes at what must be such a strange world after living in the womb. His legs kicked in a tiny jagged motion, looking for that resistance they are used to the mask guessed, but finding nothing but air. The Mask wondered if that's unsettling or a relief, it must have been pretty cramped in there. When he stretches his hands barely rise above his head and the Mask thought of how beautiful the child was.
The Mask knew he could pick him up if he wanted to, he was child’s protector, but he was scared to pick him up.
‘This is the avatar, and I'm already filling up with love and devotion for him.’ the Mask thought.
Near him, the woman on the bed was unconscious. Her thin body in a hospital gown resting along the silken mattress. Her head was turned left side and her left cheek was pressed to the cool, velvet pillows. The comforter was thick and irresistibly soft, like a billowing cloud. But she was unable to feel the comfort. Darkness had enveloped her. She’d succumbed to the call of the comatose as soon as she gave birth to the child. She felt nothing, unable to see or hear her surroundings. She had lost her consciousness before seeing her child.
She was seeing a dream in her unconscious state while her heart was beating stubbornly within her pigeon chest. In her dream, a large Shuka (a parrot) perches outside the window, staring at her through the glass with small eyes. The bird was imitating cries of the baby in the cradle and then the child smiled on the mimic of the bird.
“He can’t live here, in the Triangle,” the man in white looked at the mask. “The PATANAGAR is risky for him. The shadow of the temple or the Adharm Pataka over the top of the tower shouldn’t fall on him before he will grow young.” just saying it aloud made his insides ache.
The Mask nodded, knowing that what people know as Dharma Pataka and bow to it is nothing but the symbol of pure evil and it shouldn’t fall over that divine child. He gestured to the cradle and said, “what if I take him to the Square?”
“He is safe nor in the Square nor at the Circle. He isn’t safe beyond the wall. Here most people are loyal to the creator. Most of Nirbhayas are under the effect of the biological change and we can’t take the risk.” The man in white stepped near him, and the mask noticed terror in his eyes.
“What should I do?” the Mask glanced back at the cradle, unable to see fear and terror in his friend’s eyes.
“You are his protector and you know what you should do.” He said as if it was pre-decided by the god.
“In the wall,” The Mask whispered, “can we trust people in the wall with something as important as the Avatar?” his voice was faint, weak, defeated as if it was a predicament for him to send the child away in the wall.
“Not all the people but I have found out a family of conversant,” the man in white said, leaned to the mask and whispered a name, in low voice.
“Can’t we keep him beyond the wall?” he said, and immediately he wished he could call back the words as he knew it wasn’t possible.
“He is supposed to grow up in Sinhala.” Vishnu Yasha said. Tears stung his eyes but he shook them away.
The Mask cleared his throat, recalling what he’d heard about that place, “But this country is in the ocean now.”
“I know, but we should send him as near as that place, in the south and as far from the north as possible.” his voice sounded strong, hard, as powerful as a Devata should have, regal, but still worried.
“In the south?” the mask hesitated, “with Sunyas?”
“Why are you so attached with the child?”
“The avatar will live with the poor Sunyas.” a surge of fear pulsed in his voice.
“You know, the Mask, this child has the same powers as the creator has. This place PATANAGAR has everything the body needed but nothing the soul needed. If he would live in this material life and chose the darkness over the brightness the Satya Yuga would never come.” he took a deep breath and stared dejectedly up at the ceiling. He looked back at the mask, gathering himself, “he should live a spiritual life, and he should experience pain and suffering of the poor people. That’s only way by which he would choose the brightness. That’s only the hope that can bring back the age of brightness, Satya Yuga. No matter where he will live, one day the whole world will know him,” man in the white said, “It’s all pre-decided. He is my son, but I’ve grip on myself and you should’ve grip on yourself or the child will be found,” the man in white patted the mask on the shoulder. “You should go and take him out of the PATANAGAR before the dawn,” he says in a voice that was high and breathy, matching with his hard appearance.
“Anything else,” the Mask was ready, knowing he could do nothing to change the decision of the Devata. “Give me every detail.”
“He should know himself, from the childhood.”
“Why?” eagerness was flashing in his voice.
“It would trigger his mind’s powers.” Devata looked back at the cradle, “It would help him knowing himself and getting his eight divine powers.”
Mother of the child, was in her unconscious state, smiling in her mind, at her dream, unaware that her baby was going to disappear before she gets a chance to see him.
“Don’t you think we should wait till his mother get conscious?” the Mask asked, feeling sorry for the mother, “shouldn’t she has right to see her child, for at least once?” he whispered in a voice so fervent it might be a prayer.
“She has but…” tears shone in the man of white’s eyes, “if she would see him she would never allow us to take him away, you don’t know a mother’s heart.”
“What would you say to her when she’ll get her conscious back and know about it?”
“It will be easy for her to forget him if she wouldn’t have seen him.” Vishnu Yasha said.
“Yes, yes, it’s right.” The Mask said, taking the child out from the cradle. The child was wrapped in a red blanket. As he took the child, the child smiled as sweet as the dawn star and filled the heart of the mask with a sunshine he never knew existed in the world.
Wiping his streaming eyes on his robe sleeve, the man in white said, “Good luck,” he stifled a sob, he did it. His child was in the best hands now. Once the child was out of the PATANAGAR, the child was safe.
“I’ll see you soon, Vishnu,” the Mask said, “I’ll save him with my own life. Don’t worry about him.”
The man in white just nodded, said nothing.
The Mask turned and walked out of the room, out of the hallway, out of the street; finally, he stepped into the darkness and disappeared in it, the child in his hand. Now there is none except the stars somewhere behind the haze of black cloud that was stretched thinly above and the transitory moonlight bleaching the grey-scale world momentarily, and then it was also gone.
It was over. The child was gone away from the mother but she wasn’t aware that.
In the room was only two: the wife on the bed and the man standing beside her, thinking what would happen when she will awaken.
He knew the answer - She will not forgive him.
***
To be continue...
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