Blades of Justice and Carnage

By PEGUS

Humans, with the intent of demons, had displayed hate born out of wickedness. Vengeful, transparent phantoms surrounded the child. They were there to protect him! A silent cry for vengeance and a demand for justice seemed to emanate from the apparitions.

Rise my beloved cygnet. Raise your sword... Like a butterfly fluttering above the cascade of a waterfall, Gullviegs voice floated gently in the wind. The power of the Creator inhabits your soul, the love of a mother flows in your veins...The Devil Incarnate has fallen! You have triumphed, eternal child...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468583007

PEGUS

PEGUS is a tertiary graduate and a writer of fiction-fantasy, family drama and suspense thriller. He is a versatile musician and artist.

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© 2012 PEGUS. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/8/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8298-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8299-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8300-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

For

Hamish

Life cannot equal such a gift

For Tasha’s cygnets

Håmüs and Jasmin

Credit to: Jerzy Rendon

CONTENTS

TWO BRIEF ENCOUNTERS

THE TIMELESS LAND AND THE DEVIL

DISCIPLINE

THE TEARS OF BRAHMA

SIDDHART

ETERNAL WEAPON

PAURAVA

TRUTH AGAINST EVIL

THE DEVIL IN FEAR

TOWARDS OBLIVION

DIVINE JUSTICE

THE LEGEND, GRIEF AND DESPAIR OF GULLVIEG

DECEIT

A MONASTIC TRAGEDY

THE DREAMING

DESERT JUSTICE AND IMMORTALITY

HATE

VISIONS

DESERT JUSTICE

IMMORTALITY

THE LAND OF ICE AND SNOW

TYRESÖ

ONE STEP IN TIME

THE LAKE

AN IDENTITY

ROAD TO DESTINY

REFLECTION

VISITATIONS

UNKNOWNS

ON SOLID GROUND

A FAMILY DISCUSSION

IN THE QUIET OF A DISRUPTIVE NIGHT

HEAD IN SCANDINAVIAN CLOUDS

TRAITOREN

RETRIBUTION

THE CRADLE OF LIFE…

FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE EARTH

THE GLOW OF CREATION

FRIENDS

RESTLESS SOUL

METAMORPHOSIS

NAROK-NANYOKE

THE HOMECOMING

LOVE

EPILOGUE

"In the desert sands of Seva…Satan, draped in the cloak of fickle human history, will declare himself as the Son of God.

…Two thousand years later the Devil will surface again from his infernal kingdom. He will seduce humankind with his eloquence…

Rise, my beloved cygnet; raise your eternal sword…

Like a butterfly fluttering above the cascade of a waterfall, Gullvieg’s voice floated gently in the wind. The power of the Omnipotent inhabits your soul, the love of a mother flows in your veins. The Devil Incarnate has fallen! You have triumphed, eternal child…

I am Yahweh of the Hebrew

Ngai of the Kikuyu

Trinity of the Hindu

Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu

When Fire and Ice combined in infernal cauldrons and Hell stirred with the flames of evil and injustice,

I

Ymir

God of the Norse

Created you

Håmüs

TWO BRIEF ENCOUNTERS

2009 A.D.

An afternoon had been promised at the nearby Slott. The medieval castle, in the south of the Swedish landmass was a haunt for local people and casual visitors, seeking escape into a historical period. Itinerant tourists simply wandered the generous grounds in groups during summer months. The surrounds boasted breathtaking and magnificent scenery. Picturesque, with blue and green hills in the summer, the waters of the sound sparkled like a mirror and twinkled at night, reflecting constellation illuminated skies. During summer days, waves caught the glint of sunlight on blue waters and reflected the colours of Sweden, a dominant blue sprinkled with the gold of sunlight. They lapped gently, against the shores of castle grounds.

A simple timber bridge, constructed over an inlet, led to an established coffee house. It boasted the charm and friendliness of the people of Tyresö, a small but significant town in the south of Sweden. Håmüs and Jasmin, children of Sweden and residents of Tyresö, loved visiting the Slott. In winter the slopes assured them of tobogganing and other winter activities. In summer, the openness of the grounds promised unrestricted room to wander and play.

Having indulged in the usual delicacies of the coffee house the family strolled over the bridge in the direction of the car park; the children’s parents having already crossed to the far side, as other visitors walked leisurely across it. It was a wonderful day, amongst the best they had spent that glorious summer with a promise of more to come. Ducks quacked noisily on nearby waters as chirping birds availed themselves of opportunities to hunt and gather insects. A great variety chatted and quarrelled as they busied themselves constructing nests in trees. Wild flowers grew in abundance and the aroma of life wafted through castle grounds.

There was a boat on the waters of the sound! It was within viewing distance from the bridge.

It was a simple sail boat constructed of seasoned timber, its rough sail fluttering leisurely in the cold wind. There was an occupant on the boat! She was a young woman, dressed in a monastic and cumbersome medieval gown, out of keeping with the weather. She steadied herself by hanging onto the mast. Her long and very blonde hair covered most of her face making her features indistinguishable. Her forehead boasted a plait tied around it and clipped firmly to the back of her head. Amazingly, she wore a tiara as though she was a princess or in pretence of one. The monastic gown drew attention, in contrast to the tiara and not in keeping with the wearer. Her outfit did not suit her as she appeared to have the figure and form of an elegant person!

She was staring intently in the direction of the bridge over the inlet, her vision focussed on some particular object or person.

The sight of the rare craft, its unusual occupant and the manner of dress attracted Håmüs’ attention. Presumably it attracted the attention of others similarly. He stopped walking as he observed the boat, his elbows and chin resting on the rails of the bridge.

Do you remember? It seemed the young female occupant of the craft had questioned someone on the bridge.

She was too far away for her words to have floated as clearly over the water, as she spoke to someone on the bridge.

Whoever she was speaking to could not have responded, so she languidly waved to the person.

Håmüs turned around expecting to see someone respond. People nearby either ignored her question or perhaps they had not heard. They kept walking, conversing with each other or making casual observations and comments about the surroundings. It appeared that none other than he had heard her! On an impulse he waved to her.

Do you remember long summer evenings, when we sailed these waters? she queried softly. It is the same boat, Håmüs! Look carefully, she pleaded. It is the same boat!

Her voice reached him as a mere whisper; nevertheless, he could hear it distinctly! Unless, there was some other person on the bridge of the same name, she was speaking to him. On closer scrutiny she appeared to be staring directly at him. Surprised, that he possibly was being spoken to, he reacted spontaneously.

I’ve never sailed these waters on any boat, he responded in some confusion. His sister Jasmin frowned as she tugged at his jacket sleeve.

Who are you talking to? She questioned with curiosity.

Her, he said, pointing to the young woman on the boat. As yet he could not see her face clearly. Jasmin stuck her face between timber balustrades and peered in the direction Håmüs had pointed out.

I don’t see anyone! she exclaimed in frustration. Are you pretending there’s someone on the water and starting a new game?

The young woman adjusted the sails and turned the boat around in the direction of the open sea. The vessel moved away very slowly. She then glanced around several times and looked at him. Try as he might he could not see her face clearly.

You will remember, Håmüs, she promised, as the boat drifted away. You will remember the boat you built for me. Time, she said with intense sadness, has neither any boundaries nor limits for people like us.

He was surprised, not only that the young woman knew his name and had spoken to him, also, that Jasmin could not see her! The boat and its occupant were not an unnoticeable feature on the water. Jasmin was not too small, either, for her not to see it from her eye level! Perhaps, it was his little sister who was playing a game and pretended there was no boat on the water.

And why should I remember things I know nothing about? he asked, his curiosity aroused. I’ve never built a boat and wouldn’t know how to! I’m only eleven years old!

Her hair kept concealing her face and he could not see it in full view. He found it exceedingly annoying and gestured to her to remove her hair from her face; she deliberately refused to do so. It was as if she did not want to reveal her identity. The density of the gown she wore further prevented her personality being disclosed. Her tiara caught glimpses of sunlight and declared her assumed noble status sharply in contrast to the simple gown she wore.

You will remember me, she insisted softly, though passionately. I know you could never forget your princess through life and unending time.

The boat continued to drift away. He caught a glimpse of a red spot in the middle of her monastic gown. It appeared she was bleeding and the size of the patch, now a dark brown, grew rapidly as he observed. Håmüs didn’t care very much for bruised knees and the sight of blood on her person filled him with dread. He hoped Jasmin, who had an equal horror of blood, had not noticed the young lady and her blood spattered persona.

Excuse me, called Håmüs, trying not to shout, aware that there were people on the bridge. What is your name?

She didn’t look back at him even though he heard her voice clearly enough.

Alva, the elf, she replied sadly, it is how you would call me. Now do you remember?

A rapid mist arose and engulfed the boat. The craft faded away and eventually disappeared. Jasmin grabbed his winter jacket and shook him vigorously.

Stop being silly, she protested. There’s nobody on the water!

You mean, he said incredulously, you really didn’t see her or hear her speak?

Jasmin kicked him in the shin; it made him wince and he scowled at her. I’m not silly, she said. There’s nobody on the water!

The afternoon was drawing close to an end and the endless Nordic summer twilight was approaching. The trip back home was conducted in silence between Håmüs and Jasmin as he refused to respond to her questions.

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The visit to the castle over, his parents needed to shop for daily necessities. He was dropped off home. Håmüs disliked the very thought of walking through crowded aisles and past shelves, packed with everything he found unappetising.

Undisturbed by the presence of his sister, Jasmin, he decided to contemplate the strange encounter with Alva the elf; curiously she had also referred to herself as a princess. His imagination was out of control unless he was engulfed by fantasy that manifested in continuous variants.

He could not confide nor share his experience with anyone! Jasmin had already asserted she did not believe him. She had concluded he was playing some silly game on the bridge. As they had walked to the car she would not be dissuaded into believing anything else. In the least, it was better than her creating a song and dance about the incident and making him appear to be silly.

He sat on the sofa confused and stared pointlessly at the coffee table. A glass vase, packed with artificial flowers bulging at the top, was on the table. He loved reading and did so whenever a book on adventure or some related subject, suitable for his age group, was available. There was a hard cover book with a dust flap jacket on the coffee table next to the vase. He had never seen it before and, very likely, was some new edition that one or the other of his parents had been reading. Someday, he promised himself, he would read an entire novel that dealt with strange and unexpected phenomenon. However, that, he knew, would have to be in a few years hence.

Håmüs continued to stare at the publication as he wondered about Alva the elf. His interest in the hard cover book gradually intensified!

The front cover boasted the characterisation of an ancient young Greek warrior. The face was encased in an elaborate helmet, embellished by plumage to rival any New Guinean bird of Paradise he had seen.

The helmet was adorned with historic artistry, the nose guard designed to conceal the wearer’s aquiline structure. A cruel pair of eyes stared back at the prospective reader and a morbid fascination with the pictorial depiction began to grow. The characterisation overemphasised an effeminate mouth; like the eyes, it too, had a streak of cruelty about it.

There was a title to the book:

‘GOD OF THE GREEKS’ was emblazoned prominently above the characterisation.

A surge of emotion commenced to surface within Håmüs and he was filled with subdued anger. He could not control the intense passion that commenced to engulf him. He did not like the appearance of the book! A previously undiscovered and instinctive foreboding stirred, a feeling of rage manifested about the possible contents of the book.

His parents and little sister returned, laden with groceries and other daily items. Evening had descended rapidly and the darkness that had set in was unusual and unprecedented. It was summer! Nordic twilight continued through the night and into the next morning.

Håmüs was standing in the centre of the room, the table turned upside down, the glass vase broken and the plastic flowers scattered on the floor! In one hand he held the hard cover novel as he stared from under furrowed brows in a menacing manner at his father. His amber eyes were swimming with tears and they were bloodshot red.

Who is this? he demanded of his father thrusting the book in his direction.

His mother stared with concern, never having seen her small boy in actual anger. His body trembled, his face almost crimson with random emotion. Setting down paper bag shopping on the kitchen bench his father tried to smile at him; it was a futile attempt!

An unforeseen emotional upheaval had overcome Håmüs and in some inexplicable way it was related to the publication.

It’s only a book, answered his father, unsuccessfully concealing rising alarm.

The question Dad was, who is this? demanded Håmüs. He shook the book violently at his father.

Well, replied his father with uncertainty, seriously concerned by Håmüs’ behaviour. It is an artistic impression of Alexander the Great, a historical king of Macedonia and world-renowned conqueror. He is often mistaken for a Greek and claimed by both countries to be their national hero, he smiled in uncertain explanation.

Håmüs looked at the book with contempt. He laughed in an unfamiliar manner and aspects of his childhood seemed to have temporarily vanished.

So! he exclaimed, his eyes flashing with undisguised anger. It is the book of the Devil himself and his world-renowned exploits!

His parents smiled anxiously at him. Jasmin tried to approach him; she was held back by her mother. His father motioned to the rest of the family to settle down and stay calm.

Well, not exactly, said his father, attempting to be as conciliatory as possible. He was a conqueror and not the Devil. There is no such entity as the Devil, just a creation of religious dogma, he said, attempting a small laugh. The book is a historical account of the greatest hero of Western civilisation. There has never been another like him, explained his father gently, attempting not to sound patronising.

Håmüs hissed in contempt. His mother continued to be disturbed as she exhaled an audible sigh. Håmüs was only eleven yet appeared to have been transformed into someone older.

Alexander the Great has been much admired, said his father, attempting to retrieve the book from Håmüs. He has been adored by many throughout the ages, everywhere around the world. There are cities and monuments to his name erected during ancient times that still survive today.

A silence ensued as Håmüs coldly regarded his father.

The Devil, spat Håmüs with contempt, needs recognition in the form of human creations, in stones and marble. He cannot create as God does!

His sister, Jasmin could be heard whimpering and quietly parading in one spot.

Håmüs, I am sure, his mother spoke reassuringly, you will find it interesting if you try to read the book, she suggested.

Håmüs shook his head in anger as his amber eyes flashed in undisguised rage.

Satan, he declared, needs tokens and emblems to remind humankind of his powers. It was as though Håmüs was stating religious facts and not random opinion. "He needs cities and monuments to seduce the peoples of the world of his infernal greatness.

The Devil, he enunciated, continues to deceive humankind into believing in him as a hero. I needn’t read it, he said contemptuously, his voice sounding as that of an angry adult. The exploits of Satan are legendary since the creation of time itself.

There was something ominous about Håmüs’ appearance and his parents were deeply troubled. They had never heard him speak as eloquently before.

Håmüs, implored his mother as she started to despair. Where have you picked up all this rubbish?

He’s not well, Mum, pleaded Jasmin on his behalf. He was talking to nobody on the water, she sobbed.

The Devil, continued Håmüs, undeterred by his mother’s concern, cannot relent from deceiving humankind into believing in him as a god. Mahapurush Sikander was an incarnation of the Devil. Alexander the Great is just an earthly title which the Devil bestowed on himself.

How, questioned his mother in astonishment, would you know all that?

How do I know? he demanded emphatically. Simply, he said, because I was there!

His parents were incredulous!

They were frightened by the manifestation of an undiscovered side to his personality. Håmüs was gripped by unexpected rage and overcome by dreadful emotions! His mother was vastly disturbed at his language, demeanour and assertions. She wondered if he had been associating with some local idiot. They tried to approach and speak to him. In some terror they were forced to retreat immediately.

The furniture was lifted in the air and smashed around the room; small household items did not survive the assault. His parents were filled with horror and Jasmin was screaming wildly as the trio shrank to a corner of the room. Håmüs appeared calm even though he was consumed with rage. He remained physically unharmed; flailing objects avoided him as though he was protected by some invisible shield!

Sounds, that none had heard before, filled the room. A frightening turbulence and inexplicable disturbance dominated within. Håmüs was surrounded by a soft glowing light; he held the book in both hands as the pandemonium in the room increased. There was a look of intense determination on his face.

Suddenly, the book was burning!

Blue flames circled his hands like a spiralling fireball, elements of it spinning rapidly in reverse. Flames shot out in different directions from the fire ball and howling and screeching sounds emanated from it. There were cries of human suffering and pain that filled the room. Tortured voices of people, in unheard languages, surrounded the house and they seemed to be coming from every corner, crying and pleading, some calling out Håmüs’ name in despair.

The book continued to burn as he regarded the event calmly and contemptuously. Miniature, terrified faces of people from different cultures and races, manifested in fleeting appearances; surrounding his hands, pleading and begging forgiveness. Some sneered and laughed at him! They tried to claw at him with bony hands and sharp pointed fingers and cruel nails. They vanished through the walls of the house in frosty manifestations, in the directions of the forest.

His family cowered in the corner, aghast at the event. Håmüs remained unperturbed, his right eyebrow arched in a crossbow like manner. He continued to hold the inflamed book in his hands as it burnt to ashes.

Some measure of silence was eventually restored! The upheaval in the room subsided as the burnt pages and ashes floated off his hand and drifted to the floor. Not a single page could be recognised as the book had comprehensively burnt itself out of existence. Håmüs stretched both his hands out in front of him and examined both sides of them.

His parents approached a few steps, with great care, and looked at his hands from a distance. They had not been affected by the flames. He was untouched by the burning!

This is a house of God, said Håmüs reverently. It is where we live as a spiritual family. The Devil or his infernal demons are not welcome here.

Absolute calm descended in the room. Håmüs’ eyes were shut and it appeared he had fallen asleep on his feet. His mother ran to him and hugged him close to her. His father lifted him up off the floor as Håmüs allowed his head to rest on his parent’s shoulder.

Jasmin was in a corner of the room. I told you, she sobbed uncontrollably. I told you! He’s been talking to nobody on the water!

Håmüs made a gurgling sound. I’m a bit hungry, Mum, he said sleepily in his usual voice, his eyes shut and his expression peaceful. His father carried him up the stairs and to his bedroom.

Håmüs seemed oblivious about the incident after he awoke from a short and deep sleep, complaining bitterly, how hungry he felt. He was horrified that burglars had entered and destroyed their home. His family exercised every effort not to remind him of the burning book. The events that followed were never ever discussed as they would serve no worthwhile purpose.

THE TIMELESS LAND AND THE DEVIL

325-326.B.C.

The peaks of majestic mountains towered above clouds, the points of them courting the sanctity of heavens with humility. Purity reigned above, that could not be defiled. The abode of the gods was inviolate!

Only those of pure intentions could access the Himalaya Parvat, the garland around the neck of the Creator God. In isolation from the rest of creation, the mountains were testimony to the infinite powers of the Supreme Being.

Clouds floated respectfully as they approached the highest peak, hurriedly changing directions as they drifted by. A peaceful wind carried them southbound, beyond hallowed heights on a journey to drench the parched plains below. The mountains extended for more than a thousand leagues from sunrise to sunset, the eastern half as lordly as the western, the north beyond the physical reach of mortal man. Only those of impure intentions stretched their perverted ambitions to violate the sanctity of divine domain, with human vanity and twisted imagination.

In solitude and divine silence gods had surveyed the created world below; the valleys and plains, the rivers and streams, the grasslands and deserts, the meadows and barren mountaintops, ever since time began!

The Himalaya soared above the breath of life, the air becoming rarefied until, at the very highest peaks, only the Creator God and his chosen could breathe. Those of evil intentions dared to violate the domain of the gods at peril that would engulf them.

The sun announced its appearance in the east by spreading an early morning glow, a perennial ball of fire, as yet, concealed within the womb of dawn. The faint light reflected off the mountainsides and holy spirits pondered the birth of another day.

A hawk circled between smaller peaks. It observed the world down below from the vantage of its wings as a frail man walked energetically beside the breadth of an icy glacier, the infinitely slow travelling river of ice. The loins of the frail man were clothed in nothing, except a modest string, the emaciated body otherwise naked. An inner energy exuded from the slight persona and was indicative of spiritual powers that mere mortals could not aspire to. His skin, burnt by sun and ice, contrasted deeply with the mountainsides; stark barren patches covered with virgin snow.

The ancient glacier commenced on unreachable heights and led to the mouth of the mighty holy river.

There was not much the hawk could not see. Occasionally it blended in colour with the earthy brown of lower rock faces, appearing like an apparition when contrasted against ice and snow in the background. It kept watch, with the commitment of an appointed guardian, over the frail and reverend person as he commenced his early morning rituals that had been tradition for millennial. Only the very spiritual of men could participate in such rituals, having liberated their inner beings from the constraints of the perishable body.

The sage or sadhu did not need to open his eyes to see the world. His insights stretched beyond the vision of finite human understanding.

A young man, Rajkumar Hamusraj, (Prince Hamusraj), tall and powerful in stature and arrogant in his princely bearing, held his magnificent black stallion by the reins. The strikingly beautiful and powerful beast was a gift from the Persian king, Darius. It had been presented as a sign of friendship to Rajah Porus, the monarch of Paurava. The Maharani of Paurava, in turn had secretly made a gift of the animal to her favourite son Rajkumar Hamusraj for his eighteenth birthday.

The handsome young prince was pampered and much loved; regrettably, given his youthful years, ignored by those higher up the royal ascendency.

Rajkumar Hamusraj thrilled in riding the stallion in the company of his tempestuous young sister Rajkumari Jaiswanthy, who was equally loved. In keeping with her brother, isolated from higher ranked persons, she was secluded to the status of noblewomen and away from the prying eyes of common men.

The young prince, adored by womenfolk of all ages at the royal court and villages, had persevered with his magnificent steed for over twenty seven risings of the sun to attain the heights of the revered mountains; the journey having been strenuously conducted upwards to the desired location. The obstacles encountered were at times insurmountable. The objectives however, were urgent and had to be achieved. With utmost cooperation coaxed out of a loyal animal, the indomitable human spirit of the young rajkumar had endured trials and physical feats to arrive at a predetermined destination.

His long silky hair, highlighted by the glow of the morning sunlight, was constrained in a narrow tight band around his forehead. He viewed the scene below, his right eyebrow arched like a weapon. Rajkumar Hamusraj soothed his long dark eyelashes and gently rubbed his large amber coloured eyes as the intense cold and dry air evaporated the moisture in them.

His full lips felt dry and chapped with the cold, his light olive skin tinged pink with the chill of the mightiest mountains on earth. He too, like the hawk, observed the frail sadhu with interest.

Mahatma Guruji, he whispered with great respect. Jai Guru, he acknowledged and praised the venerable person in a whisper, from a distance.

The diminutive sadhu knelt by the icy roaring waters of the godly river as it bounced and danced wildly to the plains below. The hawk kept guard from a soaring height and the prince observed with humility and reverence, as the saintly man prepared for rituals. The might of the river would not succeed in carrying away the frail body; nor would the river condemn itself in the eyes of the gods by doing so. There was sacredness to the man that only those of blind faith could perceive without physical senses.

The venerable person walked along the sides of the glacier until he reached a pebble dominated bank.

The black Persian stallion became unsettled and the young prince stroked its powerful sides. Some movement attracted his attention to the west and opposite to where the sun had commenced to rise. He caught sight of a ghostly spirit! The prince smiled. His weapons were not needed!

A shadowy and haunting mountain demon appeared from above the tip of one of the minor peaks. It hesitated, viewing the young prince and his animal companion with inbred cunning, cleverly concealing its presence from the early morning rays of the sun. The secretive soul commenced to descend the mountainside with extreme stealth and caution. Occasionally, it disappeared from view, becoming camouflaged in the snowy sides of the mountains. With its body close to the snow it moved furtively, displaying incredible grace, in the direction of man and horse, keeping its head low and stopping occasionally to review the surroundings.

The snow leopard growled in a demoniac deep voice, its superb sweeping long and powerful tail wiping off traces of footprints and movements, as it levelled the snow in the rear. A low deep throat rumble penetrated the quiet of the mountains as the peaks observed in silence. The wind held its breath as the king of the mountain world made its way stealthily down the slopes.

On nearing the prince the carnivorous beast pinned its ears back and fell to a crouch. It dragged its powerful body forward by massive paws in his direction, a deadly and striking prelude to an attack.

The Persian stallion stood in absolute loyalty between its master and the menacing leopard. The horse reared on hind legs to protect him and powerfully snorted a threatening and undisguised warning, its intentions to die for its master apparent. The carnivore growled deeply until it was close enough, only a loyal horse protecting a royal young man from a potential killer.

Rajkumar Hamusraj walked around the horse to the marauder.

The predator changed character instantly and immediately lay flat on the ground in complete submission, as the young prince stroked its magnificent fur-covered head. The powerful creature purred with pleasure like a domestic animal, shutting its eyes with respect at the touch of an exceptional human. It rolled over on its back and allowed him to tickle its stomach, caressing his face tenderly with lethal front paws as he knelt down.

The Persian stallion lowered itself to knees besides its master as it observed the leopard with caution, refusing to accept the predator at face value. It eventually bowed its head and snorted softly in acknowledgement of the astonishing power of the young man.

He had been endowed with gifts not randomly distributed by the Creator God to humans of lesser estimation.

Above them the clattering sound of a mountain animal was heard, charging in a predetermined direction, its curled horns in full display.

It came hurtling down. The leopard stared coldly at a kill as the horned creature hurried down. The massive blue sheep was descending to certain annihilation. Death was preferable to being ignored by an unusual royal prince. There was a magnetic quality about him, the sacredness of which drew all creatures willingly by his sides.

The horse and the ferocious leopard calmly accepted the company of the blue sheep as it too settled near him. Hunter and prey sat beside each other in harmony as the human knelt by them. With a simple touch he embraced each one of them as the creations of a Supreme Being, Who resided in the highest of peaks.

The hawk, a free spirit, swooped down, emitting a shrill cry as it circled and demanded a rightful place on the arm of the prince. It flapped its expansive wings, much to the annoyance of the other creatures. It then settled, opened a menacing curved and destructive beak into two parts and wiggled its long tongue teasingly at the others. The prince laughed as he stroked the bird on its head with the tip of his finger. The icy mountain wind blew uniformly around the group as the clouds drifted by in serene dignity.

Rajkumar Hamusraj kept company with the creatures, speaking to each one in turn as though they were respected human companions. He observed the sadhu closely as the sage prepared to bathe in the icy river. The venerable man entered the freezing waters, a single step at a time, so as not to violate the sanctity of the river, never flinching or displaying physical discomfort until he was immersed to his shoulders. The river raged thunderously around him; amazingly, the icy waters did not cause him any concern. His long matted hair was tied on the top of his head in the shape of a bun and he did not allow it to touch the waters. The hair was contaminated with the impurities of life and he ensured not to desecrate the holy river.

The sadhu having cleansed his body with the purity of icy waters, turned in the direction of the new dawn, his cupped hands filled with water. He raised his hands in the air; the collected water was then spilt back into the river in large drops as he closed his eyes and offered homage to Surya, the rising sun. Some words floated up to the prince with the breath of icy winds.

The sound of the river did not diminish the volume of the softly spoken words, the contents magnified by the mere sincerity of them.

Hari OM sutya hai, (‘God is Truth’), repeated the sadhu over and over again.

Rajkumar Hamusraj and the assembled animals bowed their heads as the rim of the rising sun rose in glory above the towering peaks. The waters of the mighty river continued unabated towards the Gangetic Plains, pure and holy, to sanctify existing life on earth.

The sadhu concluded his rituals with a deep bow of his head.

Rajkumar Hamusraj stood up and the animals were on their legs. He lovingly stroked each one of them as the leopard and the horned beast hurried in different directions to continue in their respective roles as hunter and hunted. The hawk cried in a shrill voice and disappeared into the maze of peaks. The black Persian stallion was ready and waiting. However, the prince did not mount the horse. Instead, taking hold of the reins, he followed on foot in the direction of the sadhu.

The sage emerged from the freezing waters, having cleansed his body and mind, unaffected by freezing temperatures in the river or by the cold wind. As he trudged up toward a secluded cave, his body dripping with icy water, the prince and his steed descended to meet with him. The prince followed in haste until he was tracing the footsteps of the sadhu; the holy man was unperturbed and did not look back. The prince followed at a very respectable distance to the rear of the mendicant. In his hand the sage carried an elongated carved out bowl. It was filled with water and his wrist was adorned with an amulet of wooden beads. He whispered prayers as he approached the secretive cave.

The sadhu entered the lofty enclosure and the prince respectfully remained outside. The horse moved away and busied itself grazing the sparse mountain vegetation and shrubs. The prince waited until the sun had risen to a full view. He then followed the footsteps of the sadhu and, announcing his presence with a cough, proceeded respectfully to the interior of the cave.

Even though the sun had risen to full view it was still dark within. An oil lamp, that appeared never to have been extinguished, burned softly on a ledge.

The sadhu was seated on a raised flat rock, cross-legged, in meditation. His forehead displayed the markings of Shiva, the god of destruction. The holy man had covered his body with white calcified soil found in the immediate surroundings. The rock on which he sat had a shine on it and indicatively hollowed in the middle from prolonged use. It had assumed a bodily shape and appearance over millennia. The prince wondered if the sadhu was the first or if generations of his kind had used the same cave and rock over time immemorial.

A trident, in three-pronged casting, was buried deep into the floor and gave the impression of never having been removed. It represented the Trimurty of God, Brahma the Creator, Shiva the Destroyer and Vishnu the Sustainer of all life.

The distant roar of the Holy Gunga River penetrated the inner sanctum of the cave as the Bhagirathi River flowed nearby. The combined sounds of the rivers reaching the cave within were soft and musical. The icy humming of the wind which serenaded the exterior was denied access to the interior of the cave. It was warm and comfortable inside, the lamp, amazingly, providing light as well as heat.

On approaching the venerable person, the prince fell to his knees and touched the floor with his forehead. The prince cleared his throat and the sadhu smiled weakly.

Mahatma Guruji, commenced the young prince hesitatingly. I implore your permission to speak, he said, faltering in addressing the holy man, conscious his use of language may be inappropriate.

An interminable silence followed his request. The prince waited patiently for a response.

I have been expecting you Rajkumar Hamusraj, spoke the sadhu, his eyes shut, his personage as still as a breathless wind.

It seemed he had not as yet looked at the prince, yet, knew who the royal young man was. An expression of absolute calm dominated his face and the backs of his wrists rested on outward pointing knees as he sat cross-legged on the cave floor.

I have, began the prince after a respectful pause and then retreated into silence. Guruji, he said eventually, clearing his throat nervously. I come to seek knowledge and guidance from you on a very grave matter.

The young prince had his powerful hands folded on his lap, his head bent forward in respect. He had not as yet been granted permission to look up. To do so would be an act of disrespect and youthful arrogance. However, the sadhu had not opened his eyes. The young prince glanced quickly at his face and looked down again.

The Devil will come close by, said the sadhu. He will not dare to ascend these sanctified heights.

When the sadhu spoke he was barely audible, each word uttered with care as if they were too precious to be squandered. The prince wondered! Unaccountable time must have elapsed since the sage had spoken to another human being.

You Rajkumar, have not come here to seek refuge from the Devil; instead, to plan and prepare for the destruction of the unholy Ravan.

In the stillness of the cave the prince could barely hear the holy man breathe. It was as though a silent and slow, deep breath, drawn every now and again was enough to keep him alive.

Rajkumar Hamusraj was astounded that the holy man, isolated from the rest of the world, was entirely aware of his royal identity and of the mission he had singularly set out to fulfil. He had not discussed the matter with anyone prior to his departure from the royal palace; that included his sister, the princess Jaiswanthy, in whom he confided most secrets.

As you have divined Mahatma, said the young prince in awe and without raising his head. I do not seek refuge from the Devil. It is urgent, he spoke hurriedly; I acquire knowledge and skills to combat the impending evil. I must protect the kingdom of my father, Rajah Porus, from one they call Sikander. He has come to be known as Shaitaan in the land of the Persians. They say he is the Devil himself, said the prince, with a subdued and impassioned plea. There was urgency in his manner and his haste was in full display.

Another interminable silence ensued. Rajkumar Hamusraj was aware his patience was being severely tested. He was prepared to indulge in the calm of the sage and to wait for an answer. He had not achieved the isolated heights of the Himalaya Parvat to display impatience.

The sadhu, having subjected the prince to a minor examination, spoke in soft measured tones.

You may look at me as we converse, he said, granting the respectful young man permission. "In this our timeless land, Shaitaan of the Persians, is called Ravan.

The Devil seeks the unachievable, said the holy man.

And Mahatma, asked the prince, raising his head respectfully, his eyes wide in anticipation. What is that?

He seeks forgiveness, replied the sadhu. He seeks forgiveness from the Creator God. In that, lies his weakness. Tragically for him, in his arrogance, he will not abandon an unquenchable desire to be equal to the Creator. He does not consider himself to be lesser to anyone; not lesser in stature to the Divine Being!

Rajkumar Hamusraj was astonished! For moments the power of speech deserted him.

Not even Ravan, he eventually exclaimed in disbelief, could entertain such arrogance, Mahatma!

He arched his eyebrow and his amber-coloured doe shaped eyes grew larger and wider than they normally were. How can the Devil display such impudence?

It is impossible, said the sadhu calmly, to fathom the Devil’s devious mind. Shaitaan, the destroyer of the western kingdom of the Persians, has once again adopted a human body and was named Alexander at birth.

The stallion grazing outside the cave neighed loudly. It was as though the animal had been listening to the conversation.

Rajkumar Hamusraj shuddered, though not out of fear. The blood of innocent humans was likely to be shed; it would be the blood of the defenceless, of those who had committed no harm against Alexander. The Devil, who was born Alexander, had travelled across the sands of desert kingdoms to shed the blood of the people of Paurava, the kingdom of his father, Rajah Porus.

His blood thirsty exploits, his love for earthly power and a taste for human blood have earned him a title, informed the sadhu. His name and corrupt persona will reach this timeless land and many, as many before them, will worship him as Mahapurush Sikander; Alexander the Great!

Rajkumar Hamusraj gasped in disbelief!

In the guise of Sikander or Alexander, he believes he can equal himself to the Creator by destroying all that which has been created with Infinite love. Nothing is more repulsive to the Devil than human life, as he has been deprived of it. The blood of humans represents life and he seeks blood in every corner of Dharti, the planet of the Creator God.

The young prince pressed the palms of his hands together; they felt cold even though the interior of the cave was comfortably warm.

Is his repulsion, born of the fact that he cannot create life as God does, he seeks to destroy it? The young prince was horrified.

The sadhu nodded slightly.

He cannot destroy the kingdom of the Creator, he confirmed softly. As a minor achievement he intends to destroy the kingdoms of humans. Once man and all his kingdoms have been subjugated and the powers of earthly rulers subdued to his will and command, Alexander will unleash his cunning and twisted generosity. A fearful and worshipping humanity will descend to its knees. He intends to turn man against God! He will not spare any effort in turning the minds of humans and distorting them to his will.

Rajkumar Hamusraj had come to the isolation of the holy man’s abode and expected to hear some devastating declarations. He had not expected to hear, that, which the sadhu had to say to him next.

In a desert temple, in a place called Seva, he will coerce some priests with his power and ruthlessness and will have himself declared as the true son of God. He will portray himself as Alexander, an incarnation of God’s child. He will manipulate susceptible humanity with this unholy declaration to achieve his Satanic and bloodthirsty ends.

In the warmth of the cave Rajkumar Hamusraj felt the cold of the mountains in the depths of his being; that cold did not exist within the enclosure of the cave!

He will seduce humankind with his vile powers, continued the sage. "For generations to come he will be venerated as a great hero and conqueror, the ultimate king of Macedonia and ruler of the world. Those who worship him now, will extend their devotion to him in future and forever rise up in the defence of his name. He will be legend and achieve the