The Exiled Prince: Book 1

By Ravi Venu

Legend has it that there exists a supreme Crystal of Creation, with part of the souls of Lord Shiva and Narayana suspended within it. This single most powerful weapon, with the power to construct, annihilate and recreate the universe, remained hidden somewhere deep within the Himalayan ranges for millennia until now. Now it has gone missing! And thus begins an epic adventure that will take Rama beyond the kingdom of Ayodhya into lands where he will have to battle the fiercest of demons that have colonized the earth, and, in the course, change the destiny of human lives forever. As powers greater than the universe itself come together only to erupt into chaos and intrigue, discover a tale set in a time before Time, where the immortal Rama will come to life and reveal his mysterious world through his eyes as he begins his true purpose the quest for the Crystal of Creation. A Children' s Bookshelf Selection: Each month our editor' s pick the best books for children and young adults by age to be a part of the children' s bookshelf. These are editorial recommendations made by our team of experts. Our monthly reading list includes a mix of bestsellers and top new releases and evergreen books that will help enhance a child' s reading life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Jan 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9788172344955

Book preview

British India, 1799

Madras Constituency, Lake Maduranthakam

Kanchi town

Colonel Lionel Blaze had been riding since dawn. With the monsoon almost upon them, he had wanted to go deep into the surrounding hill country and survey his domain from a higher vantage point which would give him a bird’s eye view of the entire plain. The familiar migration of the birds in the nearby marshes also told him that the monsoons were approaching. His plan, like that of any sensible and cautious administrator, was to prepare himself well in time for any contingencies, and if he were to pay heed to his instincts, then he was certain that it was going to be a difficult year.

Now as the sun came up briskly from behind the hills in the distance, he stood atop the hill, still sitting astride on his mare, his hand running up and down its flanks in an unconscious gesture of comfort, and watched the country waking up. The lowlands stretched out endlessly in front of him in undulating hues of green even as mud roads criss-crossed their way across its length and breadth. He had come to check on the freshwater lake, and from where he stood he could see nothing but the farthest edge of the lake where the soft sunlight made the water glint and shimmer a lovely silver. It was like a perfect landscape portrait with all the elements in place, but several concerns burdened Colonel Blaze’s already troubled mind and he found himself unable to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Dismounting, he led his mare to stand under the shade of a tree and walked over to the rock at the edge of the hilltop; a spot he almost always stood on whenever he came up here to survey the land under his command. Resting one leg upon the rock, he leaned forward and looked down at the lake. The lake was really a crater that must have been created after a meteor hit in the distant past. Now it served the village as a massive freshwater reservoir. A bund ran around the perimeter of the lake, keeping the swelling waters within its confines. But Blaze could see that it wouldn’t take more than one big rain to have the waters come spilling out and sweep the village away.

Walking back to his mare and untethering it, Blaze decided that it would be a wasted effort to try and convince the village elders of fixing the flooding problem once and for all. Instead he decided to take a firm stand and immediately put an evacuation plan into action. As he made his way back down the hill, he thought about his two years in the region and his experience with the village people. Though they had very graciously welcomed him into their lives and had helped him set up his residence and willingly attended to his needs even now, he felt no gratitude for their hospitality. He was positive that they hated the white man’s rule. He considered them primitive people living in a world full of superstitious beliefs and in a land that was really godforsaken as far as he was concerned. Twice he had written to the headquarters requesting relocation, and both times his request had been politely ignored. He chafed almost every single day against the frustration and the despair that a posting such as this invariably brought along with it.

The village, almost completely useless to the Empire, owed its presence on the map to a small stone structure, which, the villagers told him with much adoration, was a ¹temple dedicated to their beloved deity Lord Rama. They had tried on many occasions to impress him with legends and fantastical myths about the temple and the deity, but he had remained devotedly indifferent to everything. If anything, he detested the temple because the huge stones that surrounded the temple compound could have been easily used to protect the village. But it was futile to reason when every single man and woman in the village, right down to the smallest child, believed that Lord Rama would always be there to protect it from its imminent destruction!

The monsoon arrived within two days and in full fury just as Blaze had expected. He had started the evacuation on the second day of the rains itself, not willing to wait for things to get worse, and by the following day the entire village was deserted. People and livestock had been successfully relocated to a higher ground. Blaze himself had set up camp at the head of this temporary relocation site to supervise the movement. Now, on the fourth day of the rains, disregarding all the danger, Blaze once again made his way up the hill to his vantage point to observe the lowlands. When he reached the top of the hill and made his way to the rock at its edge, he was stunned by what he saw. Two young men were standing right next to the natural wall that formed a levee that protected the village from flooding. Blaze couldn’t believe his eyes. His heart pounded at the madness of these two people and he hissed at the rain: Fools!

They couldn’t be villagers, he thought; his men had been thorough in their checking because he didn’t want anyone dying on his watch. He figured that he might have to stay here longer if he lost anyone. Squinting, he tried to make out who the two figures were, but the rain was falling in thick sheets making it impossible for him to see anything. An exceptionally loud clap of thunder startled him and he almost jumped out of his skin. In the very next instant, an angry flash of lightning hit the spot where the two figures stood and he instinctively shut his eyes. When he opened them a fraction of a second later, he didn’t stop to check on the fate of the two figures. Fearing the worst, he acted quickly and rushed down the hill towards the lake. In the ten odd minutes that it took Blaze to reach the lake, all kinds of horrific images of two charred bodies presented themselves in his mind. But when he neared the lake, he saw them, still standing by the edge of the bund, seemingly unaffected by the lightning and the rain. A little closer and Blaze saw that they were young men and that they were armed with bows and arrows. Stopping in his tracks, he instinctively took a step back and put his hand on his gun, studying the two boys carefully all the while. They seemed to be concentrating on something in the lake and appeared to be quite oblivious to his presence. Blaze was still contemplating the situation when it happened.

One of the boys slowly turned towards him, almost as if he had known all along that he had been standing there and watching them. The moment the boy faced him, the rain stopped, suddenly and instantaneously. Blaze immediately became aware that he was completely dry. Stunned, he looked down at his clothes which had been dripping wet until a second ago, but they were crisp and dry now, as if just out of the laundry. He looked back up at the boys and gasped. In the distance that separated them he saw not rainwater and mud, but a profusion of blooming wildflowers that filled the air around him with an unknown, warm, heady scent which began making him feel a little dizzy now. He took a long steadying breath, hoping to regain his composure, but the air filled him with a strange sense of peace that not only seemed to numb his mind but also make him incapable of all movement.

Then the other boy turned around, and pulling an arrow from his quiver, began loading it. Next, he closed his eyes and bowing his head slightly, whispered something into the arrow. The arrow instantly lit up with a soft blue flame. The boy released it and the arrow flew towards the levee, swiftly cutting through the air, not a drop of rain touching the flame around it. Blaze followed its trajectory in a stupefied silence. When it struck the levee, an electric blue wave of light rushed through the entire natural barrier before dying out softly. Unable to comprehend anything, Blaze whirled around to look back at the boy just as he lowered his bow and opened his eyes. He raised his head slightly then, and looked straight into Blaze’s soul. His eyes flashed once with a strange fire and then, just as suddenly and bizarrely it had all started, Blaze was back in the blinding downpour—soaked to his very bones, cold, chilled, and utterly alone. He rushed forward to the spot where the boys had stood but there was no one there. Nothing. No young boys. No wildflowers. No dizzying scents. It was just rain and mud and mulch.

He ran for a while around the bund, slipping and falling in the mud, getting wetter in the relentless rain, but he didn’t find any trace of the boys. He even tried making his way back up to the hill, thinking that he would perhaps spot them from a height, but the ground was too slippery for him to clamber his way up to the top. Exhausted, confused, and tired Blaze abandoned his search for the boys and returned to the relocation camp. He initially passed off the incident as a hallucination that must have been brought about due to exhaustion and anxiety. But when the vision continued to haunt him even after a couple of days had gone by, he summoned the village guru to his makeshift office and demanded to know if there were any people missing from amongst those who had been evacuated. When the man replied that everyone from the village was safe and that there was not a single soul missing, Blaze lost all semblance of control and getting up from his desk, began stomping around angrily. He was lying, he accused the village guru. He wanted to know who those two boys were. They had probably died in the storm and he would have to put that in his report, he thundered angrily. Hearing no response whatsoever, he whirled around, ready to issue an ultimatum to the village guru to get him the necessary information about the two mysterious boys, when he saw that the old man was weeping with his head held in his hands. Alarmed, Blaze rushed towards him and was about to say something comforting, having assumed that the man knew those boys, when the guru raised his head and smiled at him with great joy. Clasping his hands together, the old man bent his head and exclaimed, Rama! Rama! Rama protects us!!! You needn’t worry about us or the village anymore, sahib, we are safe now. Rama always protects those who call upon his name truly!

Blaze could not sleep that night. Shifting around restlessly on his cot, he tried hard to push the image of the two boys out of his mind, but it was as if the faces had etched themselves into his very soul. That flash of fire in the boy’s eyes as he had lowered the bow and looked straight at him made him shudder even now. It was almost dawn when he fell into a restless sleep to the sound of rain thundering down on his tent. But when he awoke a couple of hours later, his dream broken by an emptiness of sound, the first thing he realized was that everything around him was silent. There was no sound of rain! Hurriedly pulling on his breeches and lacing up his shoes, Blaze rushed towards the tent flap and raising it, stepped out, only to stand there open-mouthed and surprised. There was no rain anywhere. No sign, either, of it having rained continuously for the last so many days. Or of the lake threatening to flood the village and destroy everything in it. Everywhere he looked the land appeared healthy and well-watered. Blaze looked up at the sky. It was absolutely clear, with not a fleck of monsoon cloud anywhere to break the brilliant soothing blue. Appearing out of nowhere, the elderly village guru joined him and seeing his surprised expression said, This is the work of our Lord Rama! He saved us, just like I said he would!

Turning to stare at the man in shocked disbelief, Blaze blurted, But . . . how? How can a human who is dead become God?

But where is it ever written or said that Rama died?

Blake spoke to himself Then . . . the legend of Crystal is true . . .

That night, much after everything had quieted down in the camp, Blaze found himself at his desk with a thin red file in front of him. He’d the read the file once before, when it had been first sent to him by the headquarters. But interesting and intriguing as its contents had been, he had pushed the file down into the obscurity of one of his drawers, dismissing it as the work of a crazy, fanatical historian. And there it had lain all this while, forgotten and ignored amongst other dust-gathering files and papers. Until now.

Now, Blaze sat within a small pool of light with a thin shawl wrapped around his legs and his fingers drumming restlessly on the table as he wondered whether the legend of that mythical Crystal could really be true. Could the man who was a God, or perhaps the God who was a man, be still alive? He swatted at a pesky insect which had been flying in and out in front of his eyes and flicked it off his arm. Clucking his tongue in irritation, he looked up and saw a whole circle of flies and gnats buzzing around him, attracted by the warm, mellow light of the lantern on his desk. He’d left the tent flap open and he looked out now. The last of the campfires had died down and it was pitch dark outside. Dark and silent, save for the few odd fireflies that twinkled prettily in the dark in scattered pinpoints of fluorescent light. Momentarily distracted, he thought of how he used to collect fireflies in glass jars as a child. But that was all a long time ago, and forcing his attention back on the file in front of him, Blaze opened it and began to read about the legend of the Crystal of Creation.

The story of Rama has been told and retold a thousand times by a thousand people through the ages. But each time the story has been sung by the traveling bards and minstrels, each time it has been woven into the folklore of this land, it has not been a complete whole. Instead, each telling, each version of the legend of Lord Rama has proven to be a link to a bigger story. It is a fragment which, when put together with others of its kind after careful deliberation, will create that one meta-legend about Rama that has eluded all seekers down the ages.

The material richness of this nation has attracted rapacious invaders for a long time now, and they have come pouring in from all directions—a plundering army of locusts that destroyed everything in its way. They’ve taken everything—gold, diamonds, emeralds, livestock, women, slaves. Everything. The king of Persia sits warm over a treasury stashed full with Indian gold, and his women glitter and dazzle alluringly in emeralds and rubies brought all the way from India over horseback, their bloodied histories quickly forgotten.

This nation should have been broken and impoverished by now. Yet here we are today, making it the pivot of our Empire. We are using its wealth and its abundant resources to ensure our survival in this age of conquests. But this is not enough. We need more. We need to think beyond mere survival. We need to think about reigning supreme in this changing world order. And we need to solve an ancient mystery to help us fulfill these ambitions. We need to find for ourselves the Crystal of Creation.

Everywhere you travel in this country, you will hear the name of Rama being spoken with unquestioning, unflinching faith, for the natives believe that as long as He, the one true king, rules over them and protects them, nothing can eclipse their welfare and their prosperity. And if you listen patiently and carefully enough to the million stories that they will readily narrate to you about their Lord, you will find, somewhere or the other, the most oblique reference to the Crystal of Creation.

What little we know tells us that the Crystal, forged by the hands of Hanuman, will give supreme power and immortality to he who controls it. But whether the Crystal itself is a ruby or a pearl or even a diamond is not known to anyone. All clues that can assist in the discovery of this Crystal are contained within the stories that talk about the legend of Rama. One must read between the lines and then endeavor to seek the Crystal, for if the natives are to be believed, only true devotion to Rama can lead one to it.

But lastly, it should be made known that the Crystal has a curse on it: He who controls the Crystal for power and wealth will also know all the misfortunes of this world. Only a man as virtuous and righteous as God, or a woman with her heart pure and clean, can possess the Crystal with impunity . . .

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¹ Maduranthakam Rama Temple is about ninety kilometers from Chennai, India. The temple edicts talk of a British officer who had a vision of Rama protecting the lake from its imminent flooding. Vedanthangal Bird Sanctuary is about ten kilometers from the temple, and the lake that Rama protects adjoins it.

Dark, voluminous clouds had gathered above Mount Kailash over the past one hour. They hung in the night sky, still and ominous in their silence, lending an even more sinister look to the formidable mountain. A cold, biting wind swept down from its ice-capped peak and raced across the uninhabited valley below. It howled through the empty land, gathering speed and frenzy as it went. At the foot of the mountain lay a lake, pristine, pure, and absolutely still for the wind failed to create even a single ripple on its surface. In the soft moonlight, the water of the lake appeared to be a strange enchanting hue of midnight blue with a crown of silver.

At the corner of the lake that was farthest from Kailash, a tall, shadowy figure of a man dressed in a long cloak appeared and began walking towards the mountain in long, swift strides. When he neared the base of the mountain, he stopped and withdrew an eagle-headed staff from under his cloak. Raising it towards the clouds hovering over the valley, he closed his eyes and murmured something. The low drone of an incantation could be heard when, suddenly, a whiplash of lightning struck the man’s staff, lighting up the entire landscape eerily. But there was no reaction from the man himself. In the long tense moment that followed, instead of a loud clap of accompanying thunder, a dead, heavy silence descended on the valley. It was as if everything was poised towards something.

And then the clouds began to move. Swiftly and decisively, they first detached themselves from the mountain peak and then began to circle the lake, swirling and agitating within their own selves all the while. All in all, there were six of them. Within a few moments, each cloud had turned itself into a tornado and was whistling across the land as it whirled towards the lake centre, its tip still hovering an inch above the surface of the water. A second later, all the six tornadoes broke through the lake surface, and at each breaking point, a sharp blue light began to glow strongly, cutting right through the dense grey mass of the tornado. Six human figures now emerged, one from each tornado, and glided towards the man standing at the base of the mountain. He acknowledged their presence with the slightest nod of his head, before he lowered his staff and walked straight into Mount Kailash, disappearing into a darkness that led somewhere deep into its heart.

The six men followed the man without a word and entered a cave which was bathed in a pure silvery light, the source of which was not evident.

They arranged themselves in a circle, sitting on seats covered with soft tiger skin, and waited for the man who had summoned them to speak. When he didn’t, one of them broke the silence and said, Brahmarishi Vishwamitra, can I safely assume that you have a matter of great and urgent importance to discuss with us which will justify your calling this council to order? In these dark times, it is neither easy nor safe to travel through the interstellar planes, and I would not like to think that we have risked ourselves thus for a trivial issue . . .

The man nodded his head and responded in a serious, sonorous voice, Brahmarishi Kashyap, and all the other esteemed Brahmarishis of the Saptarishi council, the matter that needs to be discussed today is, indeed, of utmost importance. I am well aware of the dangers that are lurking at every corner for travelers like us. If I were in any doubt, any doubt whatsoever, over the gravity of the situation, I would never have summoned you all thus.

A wave of anxiety swept through the cave now as all the rishis stirred uneasily in their seats. Atri, the oldest of them all, looked at Vishwamitra with deep concern and said, I think that what Rishi Vishwamitra has to discuss with us has something to do with the Elixir of Immortality and the Crystal of Creation. I fear he has bad news for us.

Yes, Vishwamitra replied in a voice laden with worry and anxiety. As we already know, the Elixir is with Ravana, but the Crystal . . . the Crystal was hidden deep under Kailash, and it was under my care. However, the Crystal has always had a mind of its own. We have never been able to predict its behavior and now things have changed . . .

The rishis leaned forward in their seats, their attention entirely resting on what Vishwamitra would say next.

"We engineered Vishnu’s energy force into