King Rudrapratapa Varman's voice cut through the tense silence in the grand hall, resolute and commanding.
"It is our duty to protect the wealth of our country from the hands of malevolent forces," he declared, his gaze sweeping over his assembled advisors. "Where shall we hide it?"
Prime Minister Ashwasimhan stepped forward, his expression thoughtful yet determined. "My lord, there is a place called Muthimala. It holds a vast cave, and within it, a hidden chamber. I believe it would serve well for concealing our treasure."
The king nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. "However, we must ensure it remains unseen by others. Is there any measure we can take to safeguard it further?"
The royal priest, who had been listening intently, stepped forward with a solemn expression. "I have taken it upon myself to ensure its protection, my lord. There is a method we can employ."
Rudrapratapa Varman's eyes narrowed in curiosity. "What method?"
The priest met the king's gaze with unwavering resolve. "Summon all the Brahmin priests of the land. We must perform a sacred immolation immediately to consecrate and protect the treasure amulet."
The king considered this, the weight of the decision settling heavily on his shoulders. After a moment, he gave a nod of assent. "Very well. Let it be done."
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the palace grounds as the orders of Rudrapratapa Varman unfolded with precise urgency. The clangor of metal on metal and the rhythmic pounding of hooves announced the arrival of the Brahmin priests, who hurried to the palace with a palpable sense of reverence and anticipation. At the heart of their procession was a grand four-horse chariot, its gilded surface catching the last rays of the day. Upon it, a golden casket lay ensconced, gleaming with the promise of untold treasures.
At the head of this solemn parade marched the general, his imposing figure a symbol of authority and discipline. Following closely was the royal priest, his robes flowing in serene contrast to the general's armored bulk. The third king, Rudra Pratapa Varman himself, was a vision of regal composure, his presence commanding attention and respect. Behind him, the chariot bearing the casket rolled steadily, flanked by Brahmin priests whose voices rose in harmonious mantras, their chants weaving a tapestry of divine invocation. The prime minister brought up the rear, his demeanor reflecting both the weight of his duties and his loyalty to the crown.
Their destination was Muthimala, a place shrouded in mystery and steeped in ancient rites. As the midnight hour approached, the procession reached the mouth of a hidden cave. The entrance, draped in the darkness of night, was a mere whisper against the grandeur of the treasure it was about to receive. Inside the cavern, the golden casket was placed with utmost care in the center of a secret chamber, its opulent surface casting a soft glow amidst the dim light.
With practiced precision, the royal priest unfurled a map upon a swathe of red silk, its intricate lines guiding the way to the deeper recesses of the cave. As the fire pit crackled to life, its flames casting flickering shadows on the walls, the priests settled in a circle around it. The air was thick with anticipation as the pujas commenced, led by the royal priest whose chants filled the chamber with a rhythm that echoed the sacredness of the moment.
In the hushed, shadowed confines of a hidden cave chamber, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation. The royal priest, resplendent in his ceremonial garb, chanted the sacred Naga Mantra with unwavering focus. His voice, deep and resonant, reverberated through the cavernous space:
"Om Namo Bhagavata,
Mahabalaya Nagarupaya,
Kamine Sarvathmane
Sathyaya Chithraya Sathwikaya Hreem
Nagaya Maharupaya
Mahagoshaya Kamarupinne Akasatmane Yogarudhaya
Sathyaya Hreem Nagaatmane Namah
Pathala Nivasine Chithanthasthaya
Aakashacharine Meghnathaya
Nagaya Mahakesaya
Neelaatmane Suryatmajaya Baline
Bala pramadhanaya devathama pramadhanaya
Chaithanya bhushathmane
Yugadudantaraya Namah
Nagaya Nagakesaya
Vyomine Haralam Kritatmane
Paramaya Yogaya Sathyaya
Nagaghoshaya Namah
Bhayanaka Nathaghoshaya
Mahanagatmanaya Hreem
Nagaya Hreem Namah..."
Each word seemed to meld with the smoky air, adding to the ritual's mystique. With a steady hand, the priest poured ghee into the fire pit. Flames roared to life, their flickering light casting eerie, dancing shadows on the ancient rock walls.
At that very moment, somewhere on the rugged peaks of Muthimala, a massive serpent emerged from the mist. Its scales, glinting with an unearthly sheen, carried it purposefully toward the mountain's concealed entrance. The serpent slipped into the cave's secret chamber, its presence commanding reverence.
Rudrapratapa Varman, the king, watched in awe as the enormous snake made its entrance. The priests, overcome with a deep respect, rose and bowed. The royal priest gestured toward the golden casket, its surface gleaming with hidden promise. The snake, its movements deliberate and graceful, coiled around the casket with practiced ease. After completing the sacred rites, the king and his entourage made their way back down the mountain.
Upon returning to the palace, Raja Rudrapratapa Varman acted swiftly. He ordered the queen, Mahendra Varman—her young son—and a few trusted soldiers and concubines to be hidden in a secret underground chamber within the palace. The tension in the air was palpable as Rudrapratapa Varman prepared for the imminent arrival of the British, their approach a looming threat over the kingdom.
As the first light of dawn painted the eastern sky in hues of red, the sun ascended, casting its golden glow over the land. Rudrapratapa Varman and his soldiers, eyes heavy with anticipation and sleeplessness, stood vigil, waiting for the arrival of the British army.
The tense quiet was soon shattered by the urgent arrival of a soldier, breathless and frantic, who burst into the palace. "Lord, the white men are advancing with their armies. They've surrounded the border."
Rudrapratapa Varman's face hardened with resolve. "Prepare for battle! Let the trumpets sound!"
The palace erupted into chaos as Durgapuri, taken aback by the sudden flurry of activity, heard the blaring call to arms. Soldiers scrambled to their positions, donning armor and readying their weapons. The army chief and the ministerial leaders formed ranks behind Rudrapratapa Varman, their expressions a mixture of grim determination and steely resolve. Across from them, the British forces, equally prepared, assembled behind their general, weapons gleaming ominously in the rising sun.
The clash of war began with a thunderous roar. Durgapuri, usually a city of serenity, now bore witness to its most intense battle. Swords clashed with a shower of sparks, arrows arced through the sky, and the deafening sound of gunfire filled the air.
Despite their fierce resistance, Rudrapratapa Varman and his men struggled against the relentless firepower and artillery of the British. As the day waned and dusk approached, the king's once-defiant forces could no longer withstand the onslaught. Exhausted and outnumbered, Rudrapratapa Varman's army surrendered.
In the fading light of day, the British executed Rudrapratapa Varman. The remaining soldiers were captured, bound, and led away, their fate sealed by the victorious invaders. The once-proud defenders of Durgapuri were now a broken remnant, their city overshadowed by the specter of foreign dominance.
Following the death of King Rudrapratapa Varman, the British army, their hunger for conquest undiminished, swarmed the palace treasury with fevered anticipation. But as the heavy doors of the treasury creaked open, their hopes shattered. The vault, once rumored to hold unimaginable wealth, lay bare and empty. Bewildered, the soldiers concluded that the treasure had vanished.
Fuming, the British general stormed back to the palace. He learned, through relentless questioning and threats, that the treasure had been smuggled away to a secret chamber within the Muthimala cave, the location of which was now a closely guarded secret. The map to the chamber, crucial to their mission, was nowhere to be found. It was said to be secured with the queen and Mahendra Varman, hidden deep within the palace.
Undeterred by the encroaching night, the British army mounted a hurried expedition to Muthimala, driven by the promise of the elusive treasure.
By dawn, however, a grim tableau awaited at the base of the mountain. The foothills were strewn with the lifeless bodies of British soldiers. The local doctors, upon examining the scene, reported that the soldiers had been fatally bitten by snake during their fruitless search.
Satyanarayana Varma's voice took on a solemn tone as he recounted the tale. "This is the story of Muthimala, its treasure, and its snake."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "Over time, the tale has evolved, interpreted in various ways. Yet, numerous historical documents and palm leaves preserved in the palace library attest to the truth of what I've recounted. These records, written in Sanskrit, ancient Tamil, and ancient Malayalam, serve as evidence of the story's authenticity."
He shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowed with concern. "The map to the secret chamber where the treasure is hidden once passed into my possession. However, it went missing months ago, and I cannot account for its whereabouts. Neither your mother nor anyone else knows of its location except me. I've kept it secret."
Asha Devi approached, having overheard the conversation. She looked between Satyanarayana Varma and Shivatmika, her gaze inquisitive. "Did you hear the story? Are you satisfied now?"
Shivatmika's eyes were fixed on Satyanarayana Varma with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "So, that was the story of Muthimala? What was the harm in telling me this sooner? Now, I need to know one more thing—what is the secret of my birth?"
Satyanarayana Varma gave a reassuring smile, though a hint of worry remained in his eyes. "You should ask your mother about that. As for me, it's time for my morning jog."
With a nod, he turned and headed down to the courtyard, leaving Shivatmika and Asha Devi to ponder the revelations and the lingering mystery.
"Mom, just a minute," Shivatmika called, halting Ashadevi, who was about to enter the house.
Turning, Ashadevi raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"
Shivatmika's gaze was earnest. "About the story Dad told me, what's the harm in knowing it earlier? It's just a tale, isn't it?"
Ashadevi's expression grew serious. "We've always heard that the snake guarding the treasure was a Gandharva cursed by Indra. We feared that if you took an interest in the story, you might be tempted to seek out the treasure. Given your adventurous spirit and the team you have..."
Shivatmika chuckled, a laugh escaping her despite the tension. "Haha... Dad's story is quite the drama. British army, a snake, hidden treasure... and a map that's nowhere to be found. It sounds like something right out of a movie. Maybe Dad missed his calling as a screenwriter."
Ashadevi's face remained stern. "Don't make light of it. I know you're skeptical. If you're set on uncovering the truth about your birth, why not speak to your grandmother about it?"
With that, Ashadevi turned and walked inside, leaving Shivatmika standing alone. Her mother's anger was palpable, and Shivatmika's amusement faded as she stared after her, feeling a pang of frustration and helplessness.
********
The next morning, the members of the Blue Dragons Music Band gathered beneath the sprawling banyan tree in front of the Shiva Parvati temple. The air was thick with curiosity as they waited for Ajmal, who had called them together with an urgent tone.
"What's going on, Ajmal Dada?" Sanju asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
"Is something wrong with Surya?" Neeraja added, searching for an answer.
Ajmal's face remained solemn as he replied, "No, it's not about Surya. We've moved past that."
The group exchanged puzzled glances, their curiosity piqued. Ajmal held up his hand, signaling that something important was about to be revealed.
"There's a matter of great significance," Ajmal announced, his voice carrying an edge of gravity.
The band members leaned in, their attention riveted to Ajmal's face.
"A new group has arrived, searching for the treasure at Muthimala," Ajmal continued.
A wave of disbelief swept through the group. They exchanged incredulous looks, unable to fathom the news.
"How did you find out about this?" Deepak asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Ajmal turned to Sachin, who was standing nearby. Placing a reassuring hand on Sachin's shoulder, Ajmal said, "Sachin saw them."
The group's eyes widened in astonishment as they regarded Sachin, who now seemed like an unexpected oracle.
Ajmal gestured for Sachin to speak. Sachin stood up with a clear sense of purpose, cleared his throat, and prepared to recount the startling events. The band's anticipation was palpable as they awaited Sachin's account.
"In the fading light of the afternoon, Abid and I had decided to catch the noon show at the cinema, a rare treat on a holiday. The film had been a spectacle of color and sound, but as the final credits rolled and we stepped out, a different world awaited us. I wandered along the winding paths at the foothills of Muthimala, the day's warmth giving way to a cooler evening.
The sky darkened as the sun dipped below the horizon, and an unsettling hush fell over the landscape. The air was thick with an ominous chill, and the treetops groaned and swayed under the gusts of an approaching storm."
Celine's gaze was fixed on Sachin, a hint of impatience in her voice. "And then?"
Sachin hesitated, drawing out the suspense. "It was almost dusk. The darkness was creeping in, but through the sliver of moonlight, I saw something unusual."
Shivatmika, leaning forward with curiosity, interjected playfully, "Darkness and moonlight—sounds like a recipe for something interesting."
"Don't tease me. Let me finish," Sachin retorted, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Alright, go on," Shivatmika urged, eyes wide with anticipation.
Sachin continued, "As I glanced back towards Muthimala from the valley, I saw two figures standing near the ancient banyan tree. They were draped in black cloth, their faces obscured. They wore dark clothing, blending almost seamlessly into the encroaching night. I hid behind a tree, my heart racing."
Shivatmika's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And let me guess, you were so scared you nearly peed yourself."
Sachin gave a rueful smile, acknowledging the truth in her jest.
Ajmal surveyed the eager faces of the gang members, their anticipation palpable.
"And then?" Atul asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
Sachin paused, letting the suspense build. "One of them was digging the ground with a pickax."
Celine's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"
"Yes," Sachin confirmed.
"And the other one?" Naveen's voice was tinged with impatience.
"The other one was on the ground, holding a gun. Not a hunting rifle, but a highly sophisticated one. He had something else in his other hand, but I couldn't see what it was."
Robin, puzzled, asked, "You've never seen them before?"
Sachin nodded. "Like I mentioned, they had their faces covered with black cloths."
Abid, seeking more details, asked, "What about their appearance?"
"They're both tall," Sachin said. "The one on the ground is pretty stocky."
A deep silence settled over the group as they absorbed this new information. Ajmal's gaze wandered to the distant mountains, where Muthimala stood silent in the dimming light of evening.
"And what happened next?" Atul's voice cut through the silence, brimming with curiosity.
"The rhythmic clatter of hammers ceased abruptly, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. The workers, who had been laboring with unflagging energy, now exchanged furtive glances. They left their tools behind, their footsteps soft against the dust as they moved towards the ancient banyan tree. Its sprawling roots and twisted branches seemed to beckon them north, into the unknown. Whispers of danger flitted through the air—warnings that the land beyond the banyan was fraught with peril. So I turned back because there is no other way."
The gang members clustered around him, their faces a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Ajmal's eyes were locked on Muthimala, the imposing fortress in the distance, its silhouette framed against the setting sun.
"You all know," Ajmal began, his voice steady despite the uncertainty, "that this gang of ours was formed not just for the entertainment of the people of Durgapuri and the lands beyond. No, our true purpose lies in the legacy of the Ikshaku clan."
A murmur rippled through the group. Shivatmika snorted, a dismissive laugh escaping her lips. "Does Dada still believe in that old tale of treasure?"
Ajmal met her gaze unwaveringly. "I don't think it's merely a tale. History tells us there is treasure hidden in Muthimala. It's our duty to uphold that history."
Shivatmika's laughter died, leaving a contemplative silence. Ajmal pressed on, his voice a low rumble of conviction.
"The kings of the Ikshaku clan went to great lengths to guard their riches. Ensuring that this wealth remains safe in Durgapuri is one of our chief responsibilities. You might recall the Bihari who came seeking the treasure last year. He posed as a journalist, sneaking into our midst under the cover of darkness. Night after night, he attempted to scale the fortress of Muthimala. We apprehended him near the banyan tree, but we spared him. He was sobbing, after all."
Ajmal's gaze was unwavering as he stared at Muthimala, the fortress looming against the horizon. The shadows of the evening cast an ominous veil over the landscape, mirroring the weight of his words.
"It has now been a year since then," Ajmal said, his voice cutting through the silence with the authority of a leader accustomed to making hard decisions. "Our historic mission has returned."
He rose from his seat, the gravity of the moment settling in his clenched fists. The air was charged with tension as he addressed his team.
"We must stand against any enemy who dares to claim the wealth of our land. We have an action—a resistance that will define us. Are you ready to undertake this?"
A fervent murmur of agreement swept through the group. "Yes... Yes..." they responded, their excitement palpable.
Deepak, his eyes gleaming with determination, broke the momentary hush. "What is our plan, Dada?"
Ajmal's expression hardened. "We need to observe them closely."
Robin's brow furrowed with skepticism. "Sachin mentioned that they crossed the banyan tree and headed north. Is it even possible that they're still alive?"
Ajmal's eyes flashed with a mixture of defiance and resolve. "That's just a myth—one created to deter those who seek the treasure. The real danger has always been those who venture into the cave itself. The banyan tree has only served as a psychological barrier."
The gang members exchanged looks of understanding and renewed determination. Ajmal continued, his voice resolute.
"Whoever Sachin saw last night, we will monitor them closely. We will gather every detail about their movements and intentions."
The team nodded in agreement, their resolve solidifying as they prepared to embark on their mission, driven by the promise of treasure and the duty of protection.
Will continue