Taandav.

27

February, 2018

Writer

Mythological

Epic Music

No one knew when he arrived in the neighbourhood.

One fine day he was just there. Some said that he was there for the last 2 years, some said he arrived 6 months back, some even claimed that he got there last week. No one was sure. No one even knew what he looked like. He sat for hours without moving, under the banyan tree, covered in a thick coarse blanket which he packed tightly around him as if he wanted to hide from the world. If one tried hard enough, one would have noticed the fiery eyes. It appeared as if he was a drug addict because a thick plume of strong smelling smoke constantly hung over him. Once or twice people did notice him filling his chillum but no one really bothered. He ate whatever people threw in front of him. It was a tough neighbourhood and people were used to weird things going on there. The name was Kashipura which was a small mohalla in the outskirts of Banaras but it seemed the eyes of the law had been shut on it for years thanks to a man called Zoravar who ruled this mohalla with bloody hands using the ruthless reigns of terror.

Cops and netas were in his pocket and with an army of tough guys working for him, no one dared to challenge him. Collecting hafta from the locals & helping builders acquire land forcibly were a profitable part of his business. The real money for him though, came from selling young underage girls to wealthy sheikhs in the middle east. Poor families with young girls were terrorized by this but could not do a thing. The neighbourhood was lawless and Zoravar’s word was the ultimate law.

It was just another morning in the neighbourhood when all hell was about to be set loose. Loud screams shattered the silence of the morning with all residents running out of their homes to see what was happening. It was not a sight for the faint-hearted. Zoravar came out of the blue painted house in the corner of the street, followed by a screaming couple and surrounded by the goons. The mother had fainted in grief and the badly beaten up father watched helplessly as Zoravar dragged their daughter out by her hair ruthlessly walking ahead towards his car. The girl was screaming for help as the residents hung their heads in shame and looked down. Using one hand to smoke a beedi and the other hand dragging the girl by her hair, Zoravar walked like a lion dragging his prey along to eat towards his lair. Being dragged on the road, her dress was being torn to shreds and her hands and legs were bleeding. Not one person watching dared to help preferring to mutely watch the spectacle because they knew what happened to people who interfered. Everyone knew what had happened to Govind, a man who had tried to help Acharya-ji’s daughter 5 years back. He disappeared overnight and was not seen again for a week later. One fine day the entire mohalla of Kashipura woke up to see his beheaded head placed in the central chowk. The residents learnt their lesson and never raised their voice again. Another girl would be sold to the Arabs today and would never be seen again.

But today was not just another day.

(from this point please keep the following video on and read further to this background music playing…Imagine that the following is shot like a scene with this music playing in the background. Try and imagine the fighting scene shot in slo-mo)

 

Zoravar was 10 feet away from his car and just about to cross the banyan tree when the blanket moved apart. It rose from the ground as the person under it stood up on shaky legs. Holding his arms wide he threw the blanket off and what a sight it was to behold! Matted unwashed hair grew long up to his neck, powerful sinewy arms so huge that they almost reached his knees, tight muscular torso, a waist that looked to be the centre of gravity of his strength and long powerful legs…this man looked like he was a force to reckon with. He spread his arms wide and screamed loudly. It sounded terrifying even more so than a tiger’s roar. Everyone turned to look at the strange man and gawked at him with awe.

Walking on shaking legs and with the demeanour of a drunk man he walked right into Zoravar’s path and stopped three feet away from him. Zoravar stopped in his tracks and stared him down. No one in the neighbourhood had tried this before and he had no intention of setting a precedent. In one second they were surrounded by Zoravar’s men and it looked like the man was going to get busted.

Clearly, he had other plans. Staring into Zoravar’s eyes steadily, he noticed the man behind him making a move. In one split second, he moved his elbow behind in one fluid motion and hit him in in his midriff. The man bent over in pain only to have his face meet with his leg which came so fast up that it shattered his teeth as the man fell down unconscious.

The goon to his right brought a punch to his face which was caught by him in midair. Continuing to stare into Zoravar’s eyes he twisted his arm and jerked it counterclockwise with such force that the hand got ripped off from the body. Looking at his severed hand in shock, the man staggered away in pain and collapsed on the road. This was a terrifying sight to watch.

He stood calmly with a severed arm in his fist. Still looking straight into Zoravar’s eyes, he threw the arm nonchalantly at his feet. Shaking with fear Zoravar let go of the girl’s hair and stood in front of him waiting for his men who were frozen with fear, to deal with this man. One of his men suddenly discovered his gun and steadying his shaking hands pulled his trigger and shot at him from 5 feet away. The bullet hit him in the shoulder.

A lesser man would have fallen down but he did not even flinch. It was as if his body had not even registered the pain. He walked up to the goon who shot him and stared him in the face. He held out his hand for the gun. The man who shot him was so shocked that he handed it over to him with shaking legs. Taking the gun from his hand he gave him a punch that smashed into his face with such force that his skull cracked like an egg and splattered his brains on the floor. The town had not seen a brutality of this kind ever before and even the girl who he was protecting ran away in sheer terror.

Suddenly the man straightened up and started dancing wildly. The movements though aggressive, had so much grace that everyone was mesmerized by the sight. Loose hair blowing in the wind and with a poise never seen before ever, the dance left everyone awestruck. Everyone, including Zoravar, could not believe what they were seeing and stared at this unexpected performance. It seemed as if the whole world itself had stopped to take this glorious sight in.

And as suddenly he had started, he abruptly stopped. He looked at everyone with eyes blazing with fury and the next moment he moved like lightning. The next thing people saw was an array of bodies with butchered limbs and shattered skulls lying all around them. In a matter of seconds, he had single-handedly destroyed about 10-15 of Zoravar’s men and all that could be seen was a flurry of movements and his arms and legs hitting out in all directions.

Now it was just the two of them left. Zoravar, in a shocked trance, and the wild looking man looking at him with such anger that his eyes were blazing like fire. He walked up to Zoravar and held his face in both hands. Looking into his eyes, he held the stare for just a moment before he twisted his neck with such brutal force, that the next moment people saw Zoravar’s headless body walking a few drunken steps and collapsing on the ground with a loud thud. Blood gushed out of his headless body in spurts and pooled around it.

The man standing all alone with a severed bleeding head in his hand was a sight that no one would forget in their lifetimes. There was silence all around. As if nothing had happened, he flung the head away and walked up to the banyan tree. He filled his chillum with some powder, covered himself with his blanket and sat down again. Thick smoke hung over his head. If someone would have looked at him carefully, they would have noticed that his neck had a strange bluish tattoo on it and on his forehead was an angry looking scar probably from an old wound that had not healed properly.

The town of Kashipura had not heard the last of this wild man.