Sikhs With A Mission

This is a fairy tale. Children are unable to grasp adult concepts of the world we live in. So wise people of old would spin their wisdoms into fairy stories. We all grew up loving them. And much was learned from them. Red Riding Hood taught us not to talk to strangers. Three Little Pigs taught us the importance of ‘delayed gratification’. And so on. 

Whereas Indian art and culture is full of mythology, the Sikhs, being very practical people perhaps are almost devoid of it. Our children have to borrow the world of witches and wizards, demons and dragons from others. Yet as discussed above, fairy stories are the substance of childhood.

Dragon Mountain

Part 1 

Dedication 

This story is dedicated to the members of the Sikh Society of Sek. Sri Dasmesh in Kuala Lumpur, who were my inspiration and who helped me turn this story into a play that they presented to an audience at the P.J. Civic Centre on the 30^th April 2005.  

A Village in the Sky 

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little village high up in the Himalayan mountains. These mountains were the highest and most beautiful in the world. Standing tall and proud, reaching all the way to the sky and covered with pristine snows all year round, they make no attempts to look humble. But despite their uncomparable beauty, they hid a dark secret. No one knew the terrible truth that haunted the mountains, except for the people of Akashpuri.  

Akaash means sky in the language of north India. Akashpuri was so named because it was so high up that it always felt as if it was somewhere in the sky. It was a beautiful name. And it was a beautiful village. When the winter snows melted, the whole valley would burst into life. Wild flowers of every size and the most gorgeous colours would spring forth and cover everything. The gardens, the roads, the window boxes, the footpaths, everything would be covered in a sea of colours. 

Inspired by this unimaginable beauty, the birds would sing from the trees, the bees would busy themselves in collecting nectar from the millions of flowers, so absorbed in this natural wonderland that they would forget what time it was! Floating about in the cool fresh mountain air without a care in the world, even the insects were so happy. Every creature was. Except the people of Akashpuri. 

And it was just as wonderful for the animals. For Akashpuri was just one big playground. Every morning, little bear cubs would be seen wrestling each other on the soft green grass of the meadows, while mama and papa bears would be collecting berries and honey for their lunch. Herds of antelope would graze nearby. And those unmistakable white balls of fur, lamb, ran about chasing each other in the pasture, still wobbly on their yet unsteady feet. In the bright spring sunshine, everyone would be so happy. Except for the people of Akashpuri. 

But again, they had not always been like that. They could all remember of a time told to them by their elders when even they, the people, had been happy. Living in such a delightful place without a care in the world, the people had known nothing but joy and peace. The sound of laughter and happy voices would always be heard from every hearth, from every home. 

Spring was always a happy time anyway. As the weather warmed, people put away their winter clothes. As if to join the wild flowers in their celebration, they would come out of their homes to enjoy the bright warm sunshine, dressed in their favourite colourful clothes. The people of Akashpuri loved colour. They were very colourful people. Any excuse was good enough to celebrate and to dress out in colours. 

Their favourite was ‘Vesakhi’. Every year, it came on the 13^th of April. The people of northern India too were very fond of that number. It reminded them of Guru Nanak. 13 in India is pronounced ‘tera’. Tera also means ‘yours’. It was a beautiful word. It was a word that meant ‘surrender’, to give everything back to God. All praise was to God. All worship was to God. All thanks was to God. Tera. Tera. Tera. The people of Akashpuri loved to tell their children the story of Guru Nanak, when he worked in the ‘modhi khanna’ in Sultanpur. 

As a young man, He had been employed by the ‘Nawab’ to supervise the distribution of grain to the people. As He counted out the cups of corn and wheat into their cloth bags, everytime he reached the number thirteen, he would lose Himself in meditation. He would merge into the Lord. His face would glow like a thousand suns. Joy would radiate in every direction. Sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours, Nanak would remain motionless, totally soaked with the love of God, just repeating, just chanting, just singing. “Tera! Tera! Tera! 

So, the people of Akashpuri loved their ‘tera’, their number thirteen. They celebrated their favourite festival on ‘tera’ the 13^th of April. And they celebrated it with the colours of life itself. 

Orange is the colour of the sun. The sun is what gives life to all. Kesri, they called it in India. Orange to the rest of the world. On Vesakhi day, orange was always the most celebrated colour. After all, wasn’t Vesakhi a celebration of life? Orange would be splashed everywhere. Decorations were made of orange cloth and orange paper. There was something orange in everything they did. They prepared orange ‘ladoos’ and orange ‘jelebis’. They baked orange biscuits and orange cakes. Every visitor to the house would be served………you guessed it, a huge mug of orange juice !!! 

Orange cloth was hung over the doorways to every house. It was to symbolize the blessing of long life to all who looked upon it or walked underneath it. “May you shine like the sun” it softly whispered as it fluttered in the wind. It was the unspoken Indian greeting of ‘Jio Aayan Noo’, meaning ‘Long life to you, and thank you for gracing our house. May you live forever and ever. Of course if you entered any home, you would still be greeted by a chorus of ‘Jio Aayan Noo’. Everyone from the eldest to the youngest would take delight in welcoming you into their home and their life. 

Then there was also the ‘Oath of Orange’. On the morning of Vesakhi, 13^th April, they would rise early, bathe and put on their finest clothes. Then they would join as a family to worship and offer thanks to God Akaal Purakh for all His bounty, before making their way to join the congregation to celebrate together. But something very beautiful would happen at the end of family worship. 

The women of the family would tie and orange cloth band on the wrist of all the menfolk of the house. Mothers would tie it for their sons, wives for their husbands and sisters for their brothers. The orange band signified a wish and a prayer. “May you always be strong and bright as the sun. May you be grateful and appreciative of God’s gifts. May you always be loyal to the Orange flag of God. In return, the men would reaffirm their vow. To love, cherish and protect. When a boy first became a teenager, this ‘Kesrr Bandhi’ ceremony would commence. 

The whole day would be spent in rejoicing. Singing, dancing and merrymaking lasted throughout and into the night. Colourful people, colourful parades, delicacies and sweets, bangers and sparklers, fire crackers and fireworks. It would be such a fun filled day. Nobody even thought of doing any work. With family and friends, it was a time to celebrate life. And no one ever thought that this could ever change. 

Change it did. In one sudden and terrifying instant. Hence, everything would change. Those happy faces, those carefree days, those endless festivals would become a dream so distant, only remembered by the elders. And they too didn’t speak about that time much. You had to be happy to speak about happy times. But there were no happy people left in Akashpuri. 

The nightmare began on the day the earth shook beneath their feet. First there was a rumble. The people thought it was just another avalanche. That was all part of the snow and ice sliding down the steep slopes, crashing into the valleys when it could no longer support itself at the heights of the mountains. Whenever heavy snows fell on the high slopes, it would pile up so deep that where the slopes were steep, it would all come tumbling down, roaring like an unstoppable and fearsome ocean wave.

The thunderous noise made by this tons of snow that flattened and buried everything in its path would send shivers down the spine of anyone who heard it.  

But this rumbling was different. It seemed to come not from the mountains up above but from the ground down below, from the earth beneath. Even so, it was April. The weather was warming up. The snows were melting. It was the turn of the rivers and the waterfalls to roar. Overflowing with ice cold snowmelt, rivers were raging torrents of white bubbly surf, thundering through the valleys in the rush to reach the sea. If it was not the mountains of crashing snow, if it was not the torrents of impatient waters, then what was it? The first time the people heard and felt it, the people froze in their footsteps. It was definitely nothing like what they had ever heard before. Fear was all over their faces. They immediately knew that this was an omen, an omen of evil things that shall surely soon come upon them. 

Huddled together in visible confusion, frightened faces engaged in frightened conversations. Some tried to calm the others by offering explanations to what it could be. Some listened with guarded optimism. Others remained unconvinced. No one really knew. The disbelievers had the day. And no one even knew what to do. Then the village elders and the ‘Council of Five’ came to a decision. A journey would have to be made, they said. It held their only hope. 

Shruttva  

Deep in the mountain caves lived yogis and sadhus thousands of years old. They had spent lifetimes, centuries meditating on God, Akaal., the timeless one. Among them was one who had the power to divine. He could prophecise. With his divine powers, he could foretell the coming of events. They always came to pass. He had the powers of ‘trikutti’, the third eye. They called him Baba, the ‘Ancient One”. 

After making the long trek, they found him deep inside a secluded cave. There was something very startling about him. Because of his age, his eyebrows were so long that they reached all the way to the ground. Through complete mastery of the breath and life force, these sadhus could live for hundreds of years. And their eye-brows touched the floor of the caves they lived in. 

After making their obescience and offering salutations, they were ready to begin. But before they could say anything, he surprised the seekers. 

“I know why you have come. I have heard it too. A terrible time has come upon you. And from now on, you will not know a day of rest, not even a moment of peace.” “But what is it” interrupted the impatient and now frightened villagers. What is it that rumbles beneath the earth. It drives fear into our families. We tremble everytime we hear it. 

“It is Godar, the Dragon !” 

“What! A dragon, here in Akashpuri? But how? From where?  

The men were seized with fear. Their legs became weak under their weight, their faces turned pale. The oldest one looked like he was going to faint right then and there. The others swiftly moved to hold him and then lower him to the ground. Beads of cold sweat streamed down their faces. The chill of the cold and freezing cave was not enough to prevent that first sign of fear. The announcement of the ancient one had struck them like a bolt of lightening strikes a mountain top. It was just too much to bear. The men struggled with their thoughts. A torrent of them came rushing in, all at once.

“Yes”, said the ancient one. “Come close and sit down before me. I will tell you the story of how it all came to be. They moved closer. In frightened anticipation, they all fell silent. “Once, many years ago, there lived a yogi by the name of Godar. Right from the beginning, he was obsessed with a desire to be the most powerful of all yogis. He spent years acquiring occult powers and black magic. When he had mastered all the riddhis and siddhis, he became proud and arrogant. He would play humiliating tricks on the people. He would cast spells and turn people into dogs, cats, monkeys and bears.

Then he would make them perform tricks to entertain the crowds that would gather. The people would laugh at the antics of the poor helpless creatures. Many years went by. All suffered his misdeeds and were at a loss at resisting Godar. He was always boasting and showing off his powers. To prove that there was no one as powerful as him, he would never miss any chance to pour scorn and laughter on the helpless folk. The people of the villages then struck upon an idea. They thought that the only ones who would be able to help them would be the sadhus and yogis deep in the mountains. That’s when they came to us with their plea. 

At first, the yogis were at a loss too. They too knew there was no one as powerful as Godar. But seeing no other recourse, they chose one from amongst them to pursue Godar. He was a young and handsome yogi. His name was Shruttva. Shruttva was chosen because he was afraid of nothing. He also had the determination and one pointed-ness to pursue his goal to the end. When the elders offered him the ‘Robe of Honour’, he immediately stood up and accepted it. 

Word soon reached the evil Godar that the yogis had chosen one from amongst them to pursue him. He began to fear. He now decided that he had to find a way to protect himself. The only way open to him was to turn to the ‘dark side’. If he did that, no one would be able to destroy him except Akaal himself, through His chosen one. For Akaal was the final power, the final force. And He could bestow this power of life and death upon anyone He wished. 

After many more years of severe austerities and ‘tapasya’, Shruttva was finally ready. He challenged Godar to a duel. Now, unable to evade, and faced with his own humiliation if he did, Godar appeared at the appointed place. Even before the elders could call for the duel to begin, the evil Godar launched his attack. 

First, a shower of arrows appeared from the clouds and rained on Shruttva. Then a shower of swords. Both of these Shruttva deflected with a shield he magically produced out of thin air! Then Godar caused gigantic boulders to come rolling down the mountain side. The people screamed. They thought it was the end. An avalanche of giant rocks. Thinking quickly, Shruttva jumped on to one of them that came his way. Balancing himself deftly on it, he brilliantly balanced himself while rolling it under his feet, thus staying above the ground and out of harm’s way. By doing this, he saved himself from being crushed by the tons of killer rocks. This he kept up until the boulder he was on rolled to a stop. Then he jumped off unscratched. The evil Godar had mastered all of the 9 riddhis and 18 siddhis, all the occult powers known to man, and he used every one of them to try defeat Shruttva. But Shruttva was ready for him. For he had trained under many masters, each an expert in his chosen ‘shakti’. 

When everything he did had failed, Godar started to look increasingly desperate. Physically drained against the much younger Shruttva, he made one last unexpected move. Turning himself into a huge fireball, he rolled along the ground towards Shruttva, burning and searing everything in his fiery path. As he came close to Shruttva, acting quickly, Shruttva turned himself into a wall of churning water. Then Shruttva, the wall of water, began to grow outwards, extending to encircle Godar the firewall, entrapping him in the middle of an inescapable ring of angry water. The people cheered. The people screamed. They could see. This was the end. Godar was doomed. 

Now Shruttva, the wall of churning water simply closed in and embraced Godar, drowning the fireball in one final flash. The people burst into a thunderous roar as they saw Godar go down. When it was over, the water melted into the ground and in its place stood Shruttva. In his strong muscular arms, he held Godar. Godar was struggling to breathe as Shruttva had both his arms around the fallen yogi’s chest, locked in an iron grip.

Godar was barely conscious. He had been finally beaten and totally defeated. Godar was weak and his energy was completely drained by the fierce battle. But he was still raging in an uncontrolled fury. Stumbling and falling to the ground as Shruttva released his iron grip, Godar tried to crawl away. He mumbled as he rose and fell, again and again. “You cannot destroy me Shruttva. I will be back. Pray that you never live to see that day.

The people trembled on hearing his words. But Shruttva had already meditated on what he would do at this moment. His victory had already been foretold to him. Well prepared for that moment, he proceeded to lift Godar off the ground again. “Because of the ‘vardhaan’ you have obtained by your austerities, I may not be able to destroy you. But I will condemn you to the middle of the earth, that you may never trouble anyone again. I will turn you into a dragon, and bury you in the deepest cave I can find. There you shall live and there you shall remain. Cursed will be your life and cursed your existence. And you shall never see daylight again. You shall never walk on the face of this earth again. 

Middle Earth.

 With that, Shruttva picked the half conscious Godar up in his powerful arms and walked away into the mountains. The people watched in silence, many too fearful to approach. The braver followed him, talking in whispers. Then Shruttva walked right up to a cave that seemed to reach almost to the middle of the earth. There he placed the mangled body of Godar on the ground at the edge of a ledge, inches away from a fall that would take Godar to the deepest recesses of Middle Earth.  

Shruttva picked up a fistful of sand. Taking a few steps back, he raised his sand filled fist to his mouth. Chanting a ‘mantra’ over it, he cast it at Godar. At the top of his voice, he screamed, ‘A dragon you shall be! A dragon you shall Beeeeeee!” then he rushed forward for the last time towards Godar. Placing his foot against Godar’s twisted body, he pushed it over the ledge. It was all so frightening. Even Shruttva showed it on his face. He almost appeared terrified to touch Godar’s body, even though with his foot. As Godar rolled over the edge, one could see that the spell had begun to transform Godar’s body. It had started to turn greenish black. His arms had started to turn scaly, and his fingers started to grow thick and ugly with sharp menacing claws at their ends. 

Without waiting to look, Shruttva turned and walked swiftly. Then he broke into a run, stealing looks of what lurked behind him, clearly showing fear of what the evil Godar might suddenly do. He had to move fast now. He had to seal the cave before Godar’s transformation was complete. Then there would only be a few minutes before Godar, now a monstrous and terrifying dragon, would recover his strength. There was no saying what he would do then. 

Shruttva was running fast now. He had to make it to the mouth of the cave and seal it forever. He was relieved when he saw the dark cave start to brighten. It meant he was near the entrance. Running out of the cave, he turned around to face it. Then raising both arms up above him, with fists open and facing the mountain, he again began to chant. After all, he was chosen to face Godar for this very reason, his amazing powers. He had waited for this moment for a long long time. All the austerities he had performed. All the penances he had endured. All that training, was undertaken to live for this moment. It was after overcoming the greatest of challenges that he had finally attained the shakti’ to rid the land of the evil Godar. This was that moment that Shruttva had dreamed about for years. 

As he stood there with his arms outstretched, chanting the mystical words taught by his guru, the mountain began to rumble. Then it started to shake. As it shook ever more violently, the boulders broke away from the ceiling of the cave and came crashing down. Then the whole roof of the cave fell. With that the walls caved in. now, in one huge roar, the whole mountain collapsed onto itself, sealing forever the entrance from the gaze of men. Trapped in the dungeon of the earth, the world was finally rid of Godar, the evil yogi. Or so they would all believe”. 

Pausing to look at the village elders who had come to him for help, the ancient one who had told them this whole story took a deep breath, then exhaled with a deep sigh. It was like he had been waiting for this day for a long time. For as a diviner, he knew that the dragon will not be vanquished by a mere mortal like Shruttva. He had only won the first battle. Another one would have to be fought another day. And that day would surely come. And that day had come, as he had said it would. 

“The fearful rumbling you hear in the village”, he continued, “is neither an avalanche nor an earthquake. It is the evil Godar. He has come back. He has clawed his way back to the surface. That evil dragon has come back for his revenge. And you shall pay for it with the blood of your people. As mortal death does not touch him, he has outlived all those who could have protected you. Now you shall face him on your own.” 

The elders were so overcome with fear on hearing the words of the ancient one that their faces grew pale. 

“But Baba, tell us what we can do. There must be something we can do”, said one of them.
“Yes, there is. But it too will bring great pain to your people. Yet, it will be the only way”.
“Then tell us. For heavens sake tell us”. 

Twirling his prayer beads in his hands absent mindedly, he looked around as he spoke. 

“Every year, Godar will appear in front of you on the 12^th of April at 12 o’clock in the mid of night. He will demand of you the life of a 12 year old boy as a human sacrifice. When you make that offering, he shall devour him, and then leave you alone for the next 12 months. Year after year, on the 12^th of April, you will have to make that sacrifice, or in his mad rage, he will destroy everything. He will kill all of you, every single one”. 

The elders listened with horror. Their eyes showed their fear and their frail bodies trembled. Thoughts of their sons flashed through their minds. What shall become of their children. Then one of the elders interrupted.  

“But what if we all leave the village, run away, go to the lowlands to escape from his clutches. Yes! Why don’t we do that. I agree it will be hard to rebuild our lives there.

But at least we will be free of him”. “That will not be possible. If anyone of you tries to escape, he will destroy Akashpuri and also the villages of the lowlands. From Godar there is no escape. Tell the villagers when you go back. Make sure they understand you well. For the foolishness of one will be the death of us all”. 

After a pause, he continued.“

For was it not your ancestors who rejoiced when Godar was defeated. Wasn’t it they who celebrated, danced, put on new clothes, gave each other gifts, sweets and treats, let off fire crackers and fireworks? Godar has never forgotten. And he is back to make sure that you too never forget. You are condemned men. You are condemned to live under his curse, forever”. 

On hearing this pronouncement, one of the men started to cry. The cause of his grief was not known to the others. Then between sobs, he told them that he had a son who would be 12 years old just before the 12^th of April. As he spoke through his tears, they in turn did what they could to console him. One placed his arms around his shoulders. The others spoke to reassure him. But only a father of a 12 year old son, or yet younger could understand what difficult times lay ahead. 

There would have to be some kind of a draw for all the twelve year olds every year. The loser would be sacrificed to the dragon. It was an awful thought. But that would be the only way. It was the only way for the villagers to live another 12 months. And so it was. For years and years past, one 12 year old was offered as a sacrifice to Godar at 12 O’clock midnight on the 12^th of April every year. It became a ritual. It became a way of life. 

To be cont/