Preface

Part 1

The Wanderer

The Guest

The Swami

The Banyan Grove

The Police Station

A Strange Encounter

Part 2

Inner Struggle

Desi Pardesi

Strange Revelation

The Weekend Before the Trip

Dual or Nondual? What Was the Question?

Part 3

Awakening

Contact

Cultivation

Srinagar

Totems and Artifacts of Power

The Chosen One and the Council of the Virtuous

Part 4

Peering Through the Crack Between the Worlds

Secrets Are Spilled

The 1/10000th Percent

The First Salvo

A Map of the Human World

Part 5

Closing the Portals

Step on Through to the Other Side

A New Dawn of Awakening

A Most Opportune Meeting

To Save a Dying Land

Negotiating for Freedom

The War to End All Wars

The Final Battle

What’s a Good Reason to Help?

Mending Fences

Next...The Mahāsiddha Reclamation

About the Author

Preface

Given that this is my first full-length novel—EVER, I am at a loss at what to write in a preface. But having read enough novels in my life so far, I’ll try to paint a picture of what it took for me to finish writing it and what inspired me to write it in the first place.

I started this novel about nine years ago, and it started as a series of short stories to be published on the online magazine I run, The Medhajournal, in line with the short stories I used to write for sulekha.com, the pre-eminent writers’ portal on the internet, for the Indian diaspora back in the early 2000s. Back then, I had assumed the pseudonym ‘Rudra’, and it was my way to pay obeisance to Lord Shiva, Rudra being his Vedic form.

However, as I started writing, the idea of developing it into a web-series arose. Being a father to my young daughter Vedānti (eleven years of age at the time of writing this preface), and due to life’s demands, aka samsāra, I put that project on the back-burner for an extended period of time. After having written the first part of this novel, it sat in the hard drive of my computer for a few years.

Fast-forward to 2016; I was flying from Chicago to India alone, and suddenly found myself being driven towards the urge of writing again. And in that cramped economy class seat of the flight, the ideas started to flow. During that trip, I spent the entire duration at my mother’s place, unexpectedly responsible for overseeing a home renovation that was scheduled to finish a day after I arrived there, but didn’t end until I had to pull the plug on it, about sixteen days later, on the day I was scheduled to fly back to Chicago with my mother!

Unable to go anywhere during the daytime, while construction was underway, I decided to make the most of the situation and continue to write, and Goddess Sarasvati blessed me with an incessant flow of ideas, during that period.

My style of writing has always been very spontaneous. If I don’t feel the inspiration, I cannot force myself to write even a paragraph. Yet, when the ideas start to flow, page after page manifest themselves. The process is so mysterious that it makes me wonder whether some other force acted through me to produce the work!

During that period in 2016, and subsequently a few months after returning to Chicago, I was able to write parts two through four. And again, there was a hiatus as samsāra caught up with me, and the book went on the back-burner.

However, I was determined to write this book, even if it were the only book I would ever write. You see, my late paternal grandfather, Sri Abani Kanta Lahiri—who was my first guru, and with whom I had the most incredible and unconditional loving relationship—was an author too. He wrote in Bangla (Bengali) and had penned full-length plays, novels, short stories and poetry. I remember in my childhood when we would gather around him on warm summer evenings, in the living room of my parents’ home in Mysuru, he would read the stories. My grandfather had the ability to make his stories come to life, in the way he would narrate, modulating his voice, inserting poignant and vivid imagery and emotion into the process.

I remember sitting mesmerized by his stories, mind reeling from the vivid imagery and emotions he would evoke. Thus, from a very young age, I secretly held the desire to write at least one book, if the opportunity ever arose. So, that was the motivation for finishing the book, which I did with one last burst of loving effort, during a visit to Kumaon in Uttarakhand, India and then back again in Chicago, over the summer of 2019. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was difficult to get out of my own way at times—as is the way to creating works of art; but by the grace of my teacher, the Daoist wizard of Baraboo, Wisconsin - Sifu Jose Perez, and the blessings of my grandparents, my parents and the support of my dear wife Anaghā, I was able to pull it off!

As far as the motif of this book is concerned, I wanted to bridge the world of Indian spirituality and mythology with my love for sci-fi and fantasy. Indian mythology is replete with tales of Dévas battling the Asuras constantly. The interesting thing to note is that whether it is a god or an incarnation of a deity in human form, aka an Avatār, there was also a human element involved in these stories. The teachers of the Dévas (Gods) and Asuras were human sages, known as Rishis. There are tales of great psychic, spiritual and martial prowess of these Rishis, and so much so, that there are those, myself included that consider the Rishis and their culture to be India’s crowning glory! The Rishis were the bridge between the Dévas, Asuras and the rest of humanity, as well as philosophers and teachers of these three groups around whom Indian mythology revolves.

However, being a long-time practitioner of the Chinese internal martial art of Taijiquan and also an avid student of the Daoist tradition, I could not help but infuse the spirit of ‘wuxia’ into the story as well.

With regards to how this book should be read, I only have a piece of simple advice. I’ve used many Indian words which need footnotes for purposes of elucidation. Please feel free to refer the footnotes, of which there is a copious amount.

I dedicate this book to the memory of my beloved grandfather, Sri Abani Kanta Lahiri, his late wife, my gentle and loving grandmother, Srimati Moni Mala Lahiri, and my late father, Sri Dilip Kumar Lahiri.

Acknowledgements

The process of writing the book was an interesting and, at times, challenging experience. I would like to acknowledge the contributions of a few individuals without whose influence and help, I would not have been able to complete the book.

My two teachers, Master George Bolger and Master Jose Perez, who taught me the martial art of Taijiquan, transmitted Daoist meditation techniques and their wonderful spiritual insights to me have been a crucial part of my spiritual progress and in defining who I am today.

Also a special shout out to my spiritual brothers—Ajay, Fabie, Evgeny, Kosana and Juan who’ve kindly put up with my crazy ways, and continue to work with me, exploring the various modalities of Advaita Vedanta, Taijiquan, meditation and spiritual cultivation.

I’d like to thank my friends Aparna Pai, Shruti Harish and Liz Moran who took on the arduous task of reading my first completed draft and provided excellent suggestions and feedback. Moreover, they liked my work, took time out of their busy schedules to both read and offer insights into how I could tighten the plot, make it more plausible and so on.

Another person whom I should thank is my school classmate and fellow bookworm, Mallika Galagali. Mallika is an amazing writer and I remember getting goosebumps after reading a short story she’d written. Mallika too agreed to beta-read my book and provided many valuable pointers and tips, including the one to have copious footnotes.

I’d like to thank my friends from the online forum ‘The Dao Bums’ who encouraged me to write the book. I don’t know all their real names, but they have been an amazing community of spiritual practitioners for me—a true online sat sangha. If you read this book, and remember having encouraged me by reading the preliminary section of my book, I thank you. Jeff, you were also crucial in helping me understand the process of Guru Yoga and Kashmir Shaivism, both of which provided inspiration towards this book.

Also a huge shout out to the artist par excellence, my friend Eulalio Fabie de Silva, who painted original artwork for this book!

Last but not least, I’d like to thank the entire team at Author’s Channel for their collaboration and assistance.

There are many others who have inspired me and helped me strive to be a better person every day of my life—my grandparents, parents, sister, wife, daughter and other members of my family—I thank you all.

Part 1

The Wanderer

From afar, the villagers could see a little silhouette, more a shadow lined in the light from the setting sun. It looked like that of a man, but it was hard to tell... they just saw something transposed against the backdrop of a very large red blob on the horizon, where the lone road leading up to the village sloped up—almost as though it were reaching into the very heavens, or perhaps the heavens were bending low to touch the earth.

Gathered around an old banyan tree, some sitting on the clay embankment around it and some just standing, they watched on as the figure approached them.

It was an old man... about five feet and eight inches in height, graying hair with a little bald patch showing, right on top of his head. He had a long, flowing beard and unkempt hair that reached down to his shoulders. He must have been about sixty-five or seventy, but walked with a sturdy and springy gait. On his back was a frayed, old and stained cloth sack (which used to be white) that he held onto with one hand, while his other hand held a four-foot-long crude wooden staff. His kurta was ripped and patched over in many places and his dhoti was old, weather beaten and showed the effects of a possibly long walk.

Anyhow, as he approached the group congregated around the banyan tree, the villagers looked on out of curiosity. The old man cut a strange figure, even among this motley bunch of poor farmers.

Namaskara[1], hailed a strong voice, as the villagers looked fixedly.

Namaskara, a chorus of voices (with different levels of enthusiasm) chimed back at him.

Is there any place around here where a weary traveller can rest for a while? Perhaps even get a bite to eat and a cool drink of water? the old man inquired.

Madappa along with the villagers gathered around and replied, There's the local hotel[2] you can go to... They don't close till 9 PM. They serve a fine idli[3] and sāmbār[4], mister. But you are welcome to sit here on this katte[5] with us and rest a while if you'd like. There's fresh water from the tube-well a few yards from here, you can even freshen up a bit if you'd like.

I think I will do just that Sir, said the old man and walked in the direction that Madappa had pointed towards. A good fifteen minutes later, he returned, looking refreshed, his face and hands washed and some water sprinkled on his gray hair.

Madappa and the others had an animated discussion while the old man had stepped away, each having a differing opinion on what he did/who he was. Rameshanna, the local barber, was of the opinion that the old man was a wandering Sadhu[6]. Siddamma, the village fishmonger, thought he was a homeless destitute but not a Sadhu. Others have differing opinions on whether he was a Sadhu or not... for he sure did have an air of serenity and quiet strength about it. 

Madappa, being the oldest of the lot, automatically assumed the role of interpreter for the whole bunch and said, Banni saar[7]... Are you refreshed now?

And then he turned around to the little chai-walla, sitting in a shack by the road side and shouted Re Jawali... ondu masala chai kalasi illi[8]... And turning towards the old man again (semi-apologetically), he asked, I assumed that you wouldn't mind a cup of tea... I hope you don't mind?

The old man was really touched and said, Dear Sir... I am honored to have a cup of tea in your midst... me a simple wandering destitute...

Jawali, the Chai-walla sent his really young assistant with a little glass tumbler full of masala chai (made by boiling tea leaves, half water, half milk, ginger, cardamom and sugar), who promptly ran up to the banyan tree katte and after handing the tea glass to the old man, ran back just as quickly.

The old man started to feel around in his tattered shirt pocket for some change, but Madappa stopped him with a gesture, saying, Saar... don't worry, we all have a tab running with good old jawali and settle matters of money with him at the end of each month. Besides, you are a guest of the village and Srirangapura doesn't like to have its guests spend money on little things like chai and all.

The old man said with great gratitude and humility, Dear Sir, I am deeply honored and touched by your kindness... May you always be on the great way.

Madappa and the rest of the villagers were very curious as to who this interesting old man was. Where did he come from? Where was he headed to? So many questions were running around in their minds. It wasn't every day that they had visitors come their way. Srirangapura was quite a way off the beaten track, being about thirty kilometers south of the main highway, cradled between two really ancient mountains, almost totally bare and stark, standing in contrast against the green fields that matted the landscape.

The old man took a deep long noisy sip of tea and exhaled throatily right after gulping the bitter-sweet concoction down, Ahhhh...

And with a slight smile on his face, he started to speak—

My name is Bhadramanu, and I am an old homeless, wandering mendicant. I am on my way to the temple of mother Chamundeshwari in Kanakapura and felt that traveling through Srirangapura would be beneficial. As I can see now, my instinct was accurate... I got to meet such wonderful people such as my esteemed company right now!

Rameshanna, the short, skinny barber interjected, in his high-pitched voice—So you are a Swami, going to visit your deity Mother Chamundeshwari, and turning to the rest of his friends he crowed. See I was right... I was right... he IS a Sadhu.

Bhadramanu smiled gently and said, Dear Sir, you would be right in saying I am a devotee of Ma Chamundi, but I am not really a Sadhu... I am just an old homeless vagabond who has entrusted his life and everything else linked with it to the Divine Mother.

Madappa chimed in, Dear Swamiji, please accept our humble veneration, because even if you do claim that you are not a Sadhu, we can see in your countenance and presence that you are one. Please stay at my humble abode for as long as you would like, to rest up for your journey to Kanakapura. Should you want it, we do have occasional buses traveling between our village and Kanakapura. As I recall, the State Transport bus does come by this way every Monday. Since today is a Wednesday, you have whole four days you could spend with us and bless us, lowly villagers.

Bhadramanu, who was already very touched by the generosity and affection of these obviously not so well-off villagers towards a total stranger, said Dear Sir, I will gladly stay with you at your home if it is not too much of a burden on you. But like I said, I am a stupid vagabond, I don't really have any blessings or knowledge to share. However, if you do think there is something of mine that would benefit you, please ask and I will do everything in my capacity to respect your requests.

So Madappa and the rest of the villagers escorted their now honorable guest to Madappa's old home. Madappa's home was his ancestral home, built over seven hundred years ago. 

The Guest

Bhadramanu complimented Madappa on his beautiful home, which albeit was derelict from lack of maintenance and age by now. Pleased by the compliment, Madappa went on to share the history of his home and Srirangapura village with Bhadramanu.

Back then, his ancestor had the goodwill of the Maharaja and had been given several hectares of land, and enough money to establish a home. In those days, Srirangapura was nothing but the Sriranga Temple built by the Vijayanagara Kings. Madappa's ancestors and about one hundred other families settled down in the area, and developed a socio-economic center around the temple.

In those days, travelling was very difficult, especially for the poor, and yet pilgrims travelled for days on foot or bullock-carts to visit the presiding deity Lord Ranganatha. The legend was that King Vajrabahu (a Vijayanagara King) had almost been killed in a fierce battle going on with the army of the Muslim King from up north, but got saved, almost mysteriously after a vision of Lord Ranganatha flashed before his eyes, just as he was about to be served the death-blow by the Nawab's general, Yakub Khan.

Maharaja Vajrabahu literally got infused with the energy of a hundred warriors, despite being gravely wounded, and fought off about two hundred of the Nawab's men, until reinforcements from his army managed to fight their way to that particular area and help him. King Vajrabahu became a legend but he dedicated the eventual victory over the