Chereads / chiranjeevi : the untold immortal / Chapter 2 - 1-Unidentified journey

Chapter 2 - 1-Unidentified journey

It was one of those rare days during summer when the sun didn't shine at its brightest. The blue sky and the early morning breeze were refreshing. The sound of a chopper

was enough to break the silence of the surroundings. In this picture-perfect scenario lay a man in the helicopter, unconscious and oblivious. Four well-built gunmen had set

their eyes on him, as if they had been waiting since eternity for the man to open his eyes. The man's face was painted white and he had an unevenly grown beard and moustache.

His long, black, dishevelled hair added to his mysterious look. For a forty-year-old, he appeared quite young. His face was ethereally carved, his skin so clear and luminous that it

formed an aura of beauty around him. His body showed signs of motion to the sound of the helicopter's thrust. And at times, when he moved, his body shed ashes into the air.

His unconsciousness didn't stop people around him from wondering who he was. This man aroused curiosity and awe in everyone who saw him.

The pilot announced, '11.6755 degree North, 92.7626 degree East; Landing at Ross Island in three minutes.' Ross Island happened to be the most aesthetic piece of land in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, about 2 km east of PortBlair. It beckoned one to take in the serenity of nature's finest gifts with the inheritance of rare yet significant species. Adorning the island was a dome-shaped high-tech facility.

Built purely for the purpose of research on the isolated land, the magnificent structure could leave even the greatest sceptics awestruck. Equipped with the latest

technology, the facility boasted state-of-the-art coastal and marine monitoring systems. Constructed using only glass, the facility exploited surface technology to its best. Each

screen one touched started talking to them as if it were part of an advanced species, altering the temperature and atmospheric pressure around them, thus making life easier in ways unimagined.

As brilliant as it was in these aspects, it was even more so when it came to security. Motion sensor cameras were installed in each corner of the arched roof. No one was ever alone inside the dome. A digital eye accompanied people wherever they went.

Veerbhadra, a voluntarily retired former Indian army brigadier, left his station and walked straight towards the dome's lobby. As soon as he entered, he spotted the captive surrounded by four armed guards. They were dragging his

handcuffed and blindfolded insentient body through the corridor. His bare feet continued to leave traces of ashes on the floor. He is 'The Man', thought Veerbhadra. The detainee

was wearing minimal clothes; only a short and narrow loincloth covered his lower abdomen. His body was smeared with ashes. A rosary made of rudraksha seeds hung around his neck. Half of his matted hair was rolled up into a topknot and adorned with a rusted iron trident.

Veerbhadra had come to this place as the security chief with a team of twenty-one, including gunmen and guards.

He was there on a mission. Being the finest of the men that his cult possessed, he was summoned for various missions, confidential or public, by various organizations throughout

the world. But this one was different from the others.

Veerbhadra was 6 feet tall. He had lived well past the common life expectancy of forty years, a substantial part of it devoted to the army. His face was that of an average man,

not particularly well-featured. His dusky skin, with his salt-and-pepper military haircut, added to his rough look. Some bruises and scars on both his hands, not very old, pointed to the battles he fought and their intensities. His hard muscular body was evident under his black jeans, white T-shirt and brown leather jacket. His eyes were masked by black aviator glares. He was always aware of his pistol,

concealed at his waist inside the jacket, no matter what the situation at hand.

He ordered one of the guards to unmask the man and free his hands. He took off his glares. A scar parallel to his right eye was now in view and his jet-black eyes were set upon the man before him. Veerbhadra stood amazed for a

moment.

Veerbhadra and his boss had been waiting for this man, though he didn't know precisely why. All he knew was that the man they were searching for had been found and was to

be interrogated. Interrogated about what, he didn't know, but was sure that it was something serious. His impatience

was at its peak; he wanted to know the whole story. He deserved to stand in the innermost circle. If not, why had he been summoned at all?

He had worked with the most powerful of men and knew their ways well. However, his new high command was strange. He had been anxious about everything, but still managed to keep it a big secret.

'Veerbhadra!' He nearly jumped when his name echoed in a familiar voice in the lobby. It was Dr Srinivasan, his boss. 'Yes sir,' he replied.

The man Veerbhadra answered to was 4 feet and 8  inches tall, about sixty-five years old. His lips were dark brownish, which revealed that he was a chronic smoker. His

white hair covered only part of his scalp. Another aspect that revealed his age was his dowdy appearance. Dr Srinivasan had donned a brown matte suit with a white

shirt beneath it. A broad red tie hung loose from his collar. He also wore obsolete black square-framed glasses over his eyes, with a string that hung low from the two edges and

went around his neck.

Dr Srinivasan's appearance was comical, but his eyes brimmed with discipline. His conduct could command the attention of even the topmost officials. He was a boss by

default. He could give everyone a sense of being a subordinate in his presence. He was funny only as long as he was quiet. It could be easily concluded that he was a no-nonsense man and highly dedicated to his work.

Dr Srinivasan was followed by another man, Dr Batra. He introduced Dr Batra to Veerbhadra and vice versa. They shook hands. Dr Batra was Dr Srinivasan's colleague, or so

it seemed to Veerbhadra.

Veerbhadra took him to be a not-so-jovial kind of man. He wore a grumpy look and seemed infuriated. He looked even more educated than Dr Srinivasan. His eyes were those of an intellectual.

Dr Batra was a tall, fair man of around fifty years of age and belonged to the Sikh community. He had brown eyes and a chubby face. He wore a formal maroon shirt and black

trousers that went well with his black leather shoes. Most of the fat in his body was accumulated around his abdomen.

His beard and moustache were trimmed stylishly. He wore a metallic kada (bangle) on his right wrist and a classic watch with Roman numerals on the left.

'Is he the one?' asked Dr Srinivasan in his heavy voice and south Indian accent.

'Aaunu, sir,' replied Veerbhadra in Telegu and rectified it immediately. 'I mean, yes, sir.'

'So who are we waiting for? Take him to the interrogation room.'

The guards followed Veerbhadra, dragging the captive and holding their positions around him. They entered an L-shaped corridor. Dr Srinivasan walked straight ahead and

Veerbhadra followed him. The passage was sandwiched between a plain wall on the left and a few doors on the right with a dead end ahead, preceded by a sharp left. They

reached the dead end of the wall, guarded by two men. Veerbhadra was still unaware what this man was being interrogated about.

The room that they entered was about 12 feet high and done up in the same posh and ritzy decor as the rest of the dome. A chair crafted out of stainless steel, with a footrest affixed to it, iron rods serving as its backrest, a black leather seat and handcuffs integrated into the armrests, happened to be the only furniture in the room. It was a laboratory, or so it seemed. Surrounding the chair were a number of

polished wooden tables. Each table had computer screen on it.

The facility also had a projector hanging from the ceiling and a white screen was nailed to the wall opposite the projector. The captive would sit in the centre and the interrogator would debrief him, digging out answers by hook or by crook.

The man was dragged, pushed into the central seat and tied to it by the guards using the available provisions. His waist, head and legs were fastened to the chair using leather belts. His fingers were now the only movable parts of his body.

Meanwhile, Veerbhadra was sitting silently observing the cameras. He could sense that not only the captive, but everyone else present in the room was also being watched.

It was around 11 a.m. when the man slowly started regaining consciousness. His eyes were still closed but he could feel that someone was cleaning the white paint on his

face using wet tissues. He overheard someone talking about him. The conversation was about his identity as an Aghori. 'He looks so weird. What kind of an unpleasing look is this?' exclaimed a girl. 'I know who he is,' replied a confident male voice. 'Before introducing this weirdo . . . first things first . . .

who are you?' asked the girl.

'Abhilash,' the man replied instantly.

'And how do you know him?' the girl asked.

'I don't know him or who he is. I know what he is. He is an Aghori.' 'Aghori?' asked the girl in surprise, as if she had heard the word for the first time.

'Aghori. The word in itself is enough to send shivers down the spine. There are stories about Aghoris in each and every hamlet of India and Nepal. It is said that they possess

unlimited powers over nature, can conquer death, materialize objects, eat human flesh and faeces and live in extreme impurity, sometimes totally naked.

'Aghoris even indulge in macabre practices like mating with corpses in their urge to obliterate any duality even between pure and impure and to achieve the non-dual state

of mind. They obsessively indulge in the ugly, the impure,and in social taboos in the process of their self-discovery. They drink alcohol, take drugs and eat meat. Nothing is considered taboo. But the thing that makes their ancient

traditions bizarre is that their temples are cremation grounds. Their clothing comes from the dead, firewood from the funeral pyres and food from the river. When a person is

cremated, they coat themselves in the ashes of the dead and meditate on the dead. Aghoris survive by begging with bowls made from human skulls. Still, the most shocking

aspect of the Aghori life remains their cannibalism. The corpses, which may either be pulled from a river (like the

Ganga) or obtained from cremation grounds, are consumed both raw and cooked on an open flame, as the Aghoris believe that what others consider a "dead man" is, in fact,

nothing but natural matter devoid of the life force it once contained. Therefore, while for ordinary folks cannibalism may be seen as primitive, barbaric and unclean, for Aghoris,

it's being both resourceful and subverting the common stereotypes placed on such taboos into a spiritual ascertainment that indeed, nothing is profane or separate from God, who is hailed to be all and in all. In fact, the Aghoris see it as a scientific approach towards trying to discover how matter converts from one form to another.

'One may find many Aghoris walking the streets of northern India with their skull cups. They let their hair grow to great lengths without ever bothering about the need to

cut it. They follow the pure, non discriminatory path of using the body to conquer fear and prejudices, and to achieve the ultimate state of non-duality. Now, for centuries, they have

been mesmerizing people around the globe with their eerie and mysterious lifestyle.

'While tracing the history of Aghoris, one may find that the very first Aghori, who laid down the foundation of thelives of future Aghoris, was Kina Ram. According to urban legend, he lived up to 150 years and died during the second half of the eighteenth century.

'Aghoris believe that Shiva is absolute and omnipotent,omnipresent and omniscient. According to them, whatever happens in this universe happens because of Shiva. Among

the female deities, Kali is the most sacred form for them.' Another voice intervened in the conversation. This time, the voice was too close to the man. It was Dr Batra joining

the conversation, saying, 'Aghoris claim that they have the cure for the deadliest of diseases that we have today, even AIDS and cancer. These medicines, which they refer to as

"Human oils", are collected from the burning pyre after a dead body is cremated. Although they have not been tested

scientifically, according to Aghoris, they are highly effective.' The captive could feel that Dr Batra, while shedding the light of his knowledge on Aghoris, was injecting a syringe into his hand.

'From snow-clad mountains and hot deserts to tiger-infested jungles, Aghoris are known to live in places where no other human beings are known to survive.'

Abhilash took it further, 'For Aghoris, nothing is impure or nasty or filthy. According to them, if you are able to concentrate on God even while doing the most perverted acts, then you reach unison with God. That would take the

guts out of the majority of the population: to meditate sitting on a corpse in a cemetery.

'Aghoris believe that everyone is born an Aghori. A newborn child doesn't distinguish between his faeces, dirt and toys and plays with everything. It starts distinguishing

among them only after its parents and society tell it to do so. As the child grows up and makes choices on a materialistic basis, only then does she or he lose the traits of an Aghori.

'They believe having sex in the midst of dead bodies gives rise to supernatural powers. The women partners are also smeared in the ashes of the dead and the sexual act

takes place while drums are beaten and mantras chanted. They make sure that no women are forced to have sex with them and also that the women are menstruating while the act goes on. Now, when you practise cannibalism in a city like Varanasi, where even eating non-vegetarian food is still frowned upon, you know you bring trouble upon yourself. But surprisingly, even after consuming human meat in public, no particular action is taken against them. This might be because they eat dead human flesh and do not kill anyone to eat them. Pure Aghoris are innocent, lovely, ever-kind, merciful and bless you whenever you seek them out. They spend most of their time in meditation, chanting "Om Namah Sivaya".'

The word 'Om' echoed in the man's ears and he slowly opened his eyes.