“In this world you’re arguing with me. But in a different world we might not have even met. That’s alternate reality.”, I said.
“Nolan’s Interstellar is all rubbish.”, Nihar confronted.
“But that’s Schrodinger’s theory. Not rubbish.”, I defended.
“That cat-experiment, you mean?”, Nihar smirked.
“Yes. Don’t forget the argument in favour. Till the box is opened, the cat could be alive. Or dead. Both the probabilities are valid. In one reality, the cat is still kicking. In the other, it has already kicked the bucket.”
Bipul is constantly shifting his gaze from Nihar to me, not understanding a bit why we are arguing.
Nihar asked, “So you believe in Doppelgangers as well ?”
I held my ground firmly, “An absolute replica of Nihar. Yes, I believe, could exist.”
Nihar was losing his rational edge and got a bit acerbic, “How can you call yourself a student of science?”
I smiled at him and showed him the point, “I believe in science. That’s why I stay open-minded. Disregarding something just because I haven’t seen it, is ignorance. No one knew of virus until electron microscope was invented. But virus still existed, isn’t it?
Bipul cut us short. “Bhute-da is here.” (‘da’ is basically a truncation of ‘dada’, meaning brother in Bengali, as is ‘bro’ for ‘brother’ in English)
In came the stress-busting storyteller, Nirakar Bhattacharya or Bhute-da.
Ours is a small club, where we resort to during weekends. Throttled by the week’s workload, these evening-sessions recharge us for the new week.
I am a research scientist at a biotech firm. Bipul looks after his family-business. Nihar is working on his doctoral thesis on the medieval history of Bengal. We three are childhood-buddies. Bhute-da is a freelance journalist, way too senior than us, but has been a part of our group for many years. He has a strong grasp on a myriad of subjects and is a living omnibus of stories, which is why we never miss this rendezvous.
Bipul put a packet of hot samosas on the wooden tepoy in front of Bhute-da.
“Fresh from Janardan’s wok.”, commented Bipul.
“Wow!”, exclaimed Bhute-da, “Even if the whole world becomes adulterated, I would rely on Janardan.”
“So”, Bhute-da crunched on the tip of his samosa, “what were you discussing?”
“Alternate reality.”, I answered.
“Fancy! Don’t have much idea about it, though.”, Bhute-da remarked.
Nihar slapped the back of my head and mocked, “This one has become a certified pundit from Youtube University.”
“Pundit, eh?”, Bhute-da’s eyes dazzled, “reminds me of an erudite king in Bengal. But before that, does the name Malik-ul-Ghazi Ikhtiyar-uddin Muhammad-bin-Bakhtiyar Khilji ring any bell?”
Bhute-da surveyed us minutely through his minus-power convex lenses.
It’s been ages since we read about him in school. We stayed quiet and let the storyteller unfurl the tale.
Bhute-da lit a Dunhill.
Bipul asked, “Did you quit Marlboro?”
Bhute-da smiled shyly.
He puffed a ring of smoke and narrated, “Bakhtiyar Khilji was a skilled man. He was dedicated and persevering, unfettered by his meek origin. He was from the Khalj clan of the Garmsir province, in the south of present-day Afghanistan. He was a man of small stature, very lean. His long arms outstretched his knees. When he applied for a job in the darbar of Sultan Muizuddin of Ghazni, his unappealing presence couldn’t earn him but a meagre salary. Dissatisfied, Khilji came down to Hindustan – straight to the court of Qutb-uddin Aibak in Delhi. He was rejected again. But he was still unperturbed.
With his courage and enterprise he moved to Badaun and worked under Sipahsalar Hizabar-uddin for a while. Finally, he got rewarded for his valour while in Audh. Malik Husam-uddin granted him a jaigir, an estate in the south-east part of the current Mirzapur district in Uttar Pradesh.
Khilji took charge of his own army and occasionally attacked and looted the neighbouring areas. Gradually his fame spread and his militia started growing. This reached the ears of Qutb-uddin in Delhi. The Sultan who had once discarded him, welcomed Bakhtiyar respectfully.”
We were listening with rapt attention, unaware of the worldly din and bustle.
“By this time, Qutb had set his eyes on Bihar and Bengal. Under his orders Bakhtiyar’s cavalry marched eastwards, in the direction of Magadh, the province of southern Bihar.
In 1202 A.D. the Pala king, Pala Pala was ruling Magadh. Their ruling streak of four hundred years was nearly over. Their vast empire had been diminished to Magadh. It was just a matter of time for Bakhtiyar to hammer the last nail into the coffin of the age-old dynasty.
The Palas were Buddhists. Over time they had erected monasteries at Nalanda, Vikramshila and Odantapuri for the Buddhist monks or bhikshus.
“Bakhtiyar demolished Nalanda, didn’t he?”, I asked.
“Modern history says so. But Minhaj-uddin Siraj’s Tabaqat-i-Nasiri disagrees. In fact, Odantapuri monastery was the one, destroyed.”, Bhute-da enlightened.
“Then who massacred Nalanda?”, Nihar questioned incredulously.
“Well, Nalanda was attacked thrice. But it had met its end about a century before Bakhtiyar arrived. He is wrongly held responsible for the plunder of Nalanda. The vihar or monastery, he marauded was Odantapuri.
Try to visualise. The Buddhist monasteries were very sturdy with thick,high walls. As a result, Bakhtiyar mistook Odantapuri monastery for a fortress and attacked. But inside he discovered the inhabitants were monks. Despite that, he ordered his men to kill those innocent people, who were far from worldly matters.
Shamsam-uddin and Nizam-uddin, two brothers from Samarkand, from whom Minhaj later gathered anecdotes for his Tabaqat, were two comrades in Bakhtiyar’s troop. Wise and religious, they didn’t like this unnecessary killing. They couldn’t protest but were very disappointed.
Piles of manuscripts were discovered in the library of Odantapuri. Bakhtiyar ordered for those to be deciphered. But who would read? The monastery had been razed to the ground and the monks were slaughtered. What could be done now? The soldiers arrested some pundits from the adjacent villages and made them read those. Bakhtiyar understood how valuable those assets are. What did he do next?
Well, he didn’t seize those. Instead, he commanded those to be burnt down. Just imagine, such an abundance of priceless knowledge, gathered by wise men over centuries, were made to perish for good.”
Bhute-da sighed.
“Morons have come here over the ages and looted all they could.”, sulked Bipul.
Nihar was gutted.
“Guess it wouldn’t be bad to steal the Kohinoor back from the Queen’s crown.”, Bipul cackled into a burst of laughter. What a daydream! We too joined in the fun.
Bhute-da seems mesmerized by the thought of the burning manuscripts.
“Ah”, Bhute-da shrieked in pain and started shaking his right hand fiercely.
We were astounded.
“What happened Bhute-da?”, I asked, leaning towards him.
“The cigarette had almost burnt out. Didn’t notice. Might swell up soon.”, said Bhute-da with a contorted face.
There was an inflammation on his index-finger.
Bipul enthusiastically said, “Let me check if they have ice in the fridge. Toothpaste would have been better.”
Bipul tried his luck but couldn’t find any ice.
“Sorry Bhute-da. No luck.”, he announced.
“It’s okay Bipul. Leave it. Will treat it once I get back home.”, Bhute-da reconciled with the pain.
He resumed his story, “Where was I?”
“Bakhtiyar burnt down Odantapuri.”, I passed him the cue.
“Yes.”, Bhute-da continued, “Now let’s focus on Bengal. While the Palas were reigning in Bengal, Samanta Sena, the predecessor of the Senas, became a feudal lord here itself, in the mid-eleventh century. He hailed from present-day Karnataka. Once he grew old, he settled down in the Rarh area of Bengal.
During the tenure of his grandson, Vijay Sena, the supremacy of the Senas reached its height. He conquered Gauda defeating a weak Madan Pala and grabbed the reins of Bengal. In his regime of more than sixty years, Vijay Sena annexed Mithila, Chedi, Kamrup, Utkal and so on to his empire. In all these battles his young grandson, Laxman Sena alias Rae Laxmania, played a vital part.
After Ballal Sena his son, Laxman Sena ascended the throne in 1179 A.D.Then he was fifty-five years old. He put on the crown almost at an age of retirement.”
We chuckled.
“When the news of Odantapuri’s pillage reached Rae Laxmania, he was eighty. He had lost his reflex. His vitality and energy from the yesteryears were long gone. All he had was his seasoned brain.
He had an inclination towards literature and science alike and was an avid reader of Sanskrit manuscripts. That’s why, the three-day incineration of Odantapuri left a scar in the old man’s mind. Now he had to defend his motherland against the incoming horde of foreign enemies.
Nabadwip was the heart of wise astrologers in those days. Laxman Sena sought their counsel. They foretold his empire would fall at the hands of a person of lean stature with long arms.
The royal spies reached Magadh to gather intel to see if the vanquisher of Odantapuri was the same person, mentioned by the astrologers.
They affirmed.
The freckles on the forehead of the octogenarian got deeper. A foolproof plan had to be charted.
The Brahmins and the Vaishyas had already started abandoning their homeland and relocating to East Bengal.
Laxman Sena sat with his ministers behind locked doors. During those days one had to cross lots of mighty rivers in order to reach Bengal from the northern provinces. Now, Khilji and his troops were people from rugged terrain. They couldn’t possibly know swimming. Now there was only a couple of convenient routes to Nabadwip. One was via Purnia in Bihar. The other one was through Teliagarh pass in the south of the Ganges. Laxman Sena stationed large armies in both the regions.
But Bakhtiyar didn’t take any of those routes because of a reason. A few days back, Laxman Sena’s prime minister, Halayudh Mishra, had reached Bakhtiyar’s camp, haggardly dressed in tattered clothes, begging for mercy and protection. He divulged the secret plans of his king. Bakhtiyar listened to every detail of the locations of Rae’s garrisons.
The minister suggested to him the route through the hills and jungles of Chotanagpur region. He intimated him about this daunting forest region of the Santhal Parganas.
Halayudh even revealed that the king had in possession, something so precious, that could change Bakhtiyar’s fortune forever. After learning all this, Bakhtiyar let him leave with a small bag of gold.
Bakhtiyar understood that it would be challenging to move with the entire cavalry through the forest. So he divided the entire army into smaller factions.
The eighteen prime cavalrymen moved like a gust of wind. The others followed their tracks.
Bakhtiyar was a shrewd military strategist. His plan was to enter stealthily and wreak havoc. He knew Laxman Sena admired fast horses of good pedigree. In contemplation of a surgical strike in Nabadwip, Bakhtiyar’s entire cavalry took the guise of horsemongers, selling Turkish stallions.
Their sabres were concealed in their long chogas. Everyone was travelling with two horses, as was customary in those times. In case the horses got fatigued, they would have another as backup. On reaching the destination, they would sell the better horse and return with the other one.
10th May, 1204.
At the palace-gate Bakhtiyar sought permission to go inside. It was noon. Naturally the guards halted them.
That was all it took for Bakhtiyar to start the unprecedented attack. The security was a bit lax. Afterall it was not a fortress. The guards stood no chance in front of the blades of Bakhtiyar’s cavalry.
Bakhtiyar trespassed without any resistance. However, all that noise had sent a warning within the palace. Laxman Sena had just started his lunch. He felt a sense of premonition. The old man hurried up and tried to leave through the back door. Just then Bakhtiyar entered with his sabre – Shamsam-uddin and Nizam-uddin, reinforcing him. One of the two servants, who were serving food, had already dashed out of the door. The other one stood there petrified. Laxman Sena tripped in his own dhoti and fell down.”
“Whoa! Bhute-da! Wait a second.”
We swiftly turned to Nihar. Bhute-da was taken aback by Nihar’s sudden interruption in the same way as Laxman Sena.
I protested, “What’s with you now?”
“Shut up!”, Nihar reprimanded me.
He turned to Bhute-da and said in a dubious tone, “What do you mean by Laxman Sena fell down? He left through the back-door and crossed the Bhagirathi river to reach Bikrampur.”
Bhute-da smiled cockily. “Well, your Minhaj has said thus in his Tabaqat, hasn’t he?”, he added another twist to his riddle.
Nihar argued, “What do you mean by ‘our Minhaj’? Do you disagree?”
Now Bipul got exasperated, “Hey! Why are you making a fuss for nothing?”
It was my grand opportunity to avenge myself. I slapped the back of Nihar’s head harder than he had and said, “No one cares for your review.”
Nihar whined.
That was the green signal for Bhute-da to recommence. With a soft nod, he hit the play button.
“The fallen king turned back to find his nemesis, holding a gleaming blade over his right shoulder. Their eyes met for the first time. The intruder’s hands truly outstretch his knees. Even for a man of a small stature, his commandeering personality couldn’t be missed, especially those two burning eyes. So this was the scourge of the nation – Bakhtiyar Khilji!
Rae was sure to meet the same fate as the Buddhist monks of Odantapuri. Once a great warrior, the fragile king would succumb to an alien at the fag end of his life. With tears in his eyes, he clasped his hands in petition.
“Take all I have. But please don’t sin by killing a harmless, old man. Spare me.”, implored Rae.
Shamsam-uddin and Nizam-uddin came forth to dissuade Bakhtiyar. Bakhtiyar understood he could ask for anything in lieu of the old man’s life. He grabbed the king by his shoulders and made him stand. Then in a hissing voice he asked in his own language, “Where are your kauris?”
Rae was shocked to hear kauri from Bakhtiyar. How could he know about his personal collection of sea-shells! He understood he had been betrayed. Crestfallen, he shook his head in defeat. Then he looked up and gestured to Bakhtiyar to follow him. Bakhtiyar and his companions followed Rae and reached a secret locker. No one else could have ever traced it.
In the mysterious light of an oil-lamp, Laxman Sena knocked at the locker in a certain pattern. Its panes opened up slowly. Rae took out a medium-sized, ornate, copper chest. He opened its latch and revealed the treasure within.
Even an unemotional man like Bakhtiyar was awestruck at the opalescence of the kauris of varied shapes and colours. With all that wealth he could build his own independent sultanate in Bengal. He would be the next Qutb-uddin. His gaze transfixed at the chest, Bakhtiyar carelessly waved at Rae, asking him to leave.
The old king retreated through the back-door with his servant and reached the ghat. The latter left to summon the boatman. Laxman Sena stood there in silence. He could hear the cacophony of the ecstatic invaders – the revelry of capturing wealth beyond imagination.
The boat arrived. The king boarded it with his servant. For one last time, Rae gazed at his residence through moistened eyes.
Bipul was drenched in melancholy. He sighed, “All of what he cared for fell into some vandal’s hands.”
Bhute-da stopped him, “Wait, wait. Let me finish the story.”
I exclaimed, “There’s more?”
Bhute-da winked, “Yes sir. The actual story starts now.”
Bipul and I got curious. Nihar, however, was cynically vivisecting Bhute-da’s story – mentally of course.
Bhute-da took a long puff off his Dunhill, “Rae’s boat had sailed some distance. Bursts of laughter were still audible. Suddenly all that frivolity morphed into a state of terror and anguish. People wailed in high pitch as if something terrible had befallen someone.
A soft smile appeared across the wrinkled lips of the old king. He relaxed his legs inside the bow of the boat.
His servant asked, “Maharaj, would you like a paan?”
The king made an affirming hand gesture.
Some recent memories emerged one after another like a cascade in front of his gleaming eyes.
News has arrived that Bakhtiyar Khilji has conquered Magadh and unleashed hell in Odantapuri monastery. He has butchered innocents and set ablaze century-old manuscripts. Now his target is Nabadwip.
Laxman Sena believed in winning mental battles. The crux is to keep the enemy engulfed in illusion. That the king is senile, coward and panic-stricken – if this idea could be sowed into the heart of Bakhtiyar, he would make a wrong move out of complacence.
A rumour was to be spread that Bakhtiyar would soon arrive in Nabadwip but the king is clueless how to defend the city. The frightened city-dwellers would leave. Knowing this, Bakhtiyar would bring along a lesser force. Defeating a feeble king is, afterall, a child’s play for him.
The royal guards would have to be sent on leave. As substitutes, the notorious criminals in the prison would be asked to guard the palace as a chance for their redemption..
Halayudh Mishra was the most loyal of ministers of Rae Laxmania. The duo had covert sessions, discussing the role of Mishra. His assignment would be as dangerous as crucial. This idea was the brain-child of Mishra himself. Rae saw through the perils and abandoned the plan immediately. But after several persuasions and assurances from Mishra, the king agreed to the advantages and approved of it.
The plan was like this. The way Bakhtiyar had been advancing, the eastern part of Bharat would come under his hegemony in no time. If that happened, our indigenous culture, heritage and identity would be lost forever. The only way to stop Bakhtiyar was his death. But it would be a colossal task to shape that into reality. Every step had to be taken with utmost caution.
Laxman Sena advised that Bakhtiyar had to be lured anyhow to Nabadwip’s palace. If that happened, the king would be able to thwart him. But he didn’t want to disclose the way he would accomplish that.
At this, Halayudh suggested he would reach Bakhtiyar’s camp as a traitor, who had ditched his own king and would beg for his life. Slowly he would win Bakhtiyar’s trust and reveal the safe way to reach Nabadwip.
The king was elated, hearing this masterplan. He wanted Bakhtiyar to know one more thing. Halayudh was to inform him about the king’s precious chest of kauris. Greed would work as an unfailing bait and mar his wits.
Halayudh Mishra sought the king’s blessings and left the next day.
The wise king concentrated on his final task. He opened his chest of kauris. Since his youth it was his sheer interest to collect these unique shells. He retrieved these from different parts of the Indian and Pacific oceans in all these years.
He had learned about the kauris when he was young. As a voracious reader, he had a penchant in various subjects. He would learn about the mysteries and wonders of the world. While studying about kauris, he came across a special type of snail. All other species of snail are non-lethal – save for these ‘cone snails’.”
“Cone snails? Those which dwell deep beneath the sea?”, I interrupted due to my sudden rush of adrenaline.
“Their long needle-like tooth can be propelled like a harpoon. There’s a venom-gland behind, containing neurotoxins which flow through that tooth. That’s how the cone snails paralyse their prey. The most poisonous are the ‘textile snails’. If their tooth punctures human skin, it could render the person numb and asphyxiate to death.”, I said under a single breath.
“Exactly. Spot on.”, said Bhute-da in excitement. Even though I intervened, he seemed to be impressed.
“Sorry Bhute-da. Couldn’t control my excitement. Please carry on.”, I apologised.
“The textile snails have intricate patterns on their shells. Hence, ‘textile’.”, Bhute-da explained.
The story had cast a magical effect on us. Even the ever-arguing Nihar was silent.
“These textile snails would be Laxman Sena’s trump card in this war. The snails in his collection, despite being dead, still had some poison left in their venom-glands. If the harpoon-like tooth could pierce the enemy’s skin, the toxin would get activated in contact with blood.
A brilliant masterstroke! There would be no face-off. Bakhtiyar’s temptation would be the key to his death. All Laxman Sena needed to do, would be handing the kauri chest over to Bakhtiyar. Those arabesque snail-shells beneath the kauris would make him dumbfounded.
Rae safely transferred his precious kauris. What remained in the chest was the common ones. But Bakhtiyar’s inexperienced eyes could never spot the difference.
The king took out another betel-quid. The fragrance of the masalas was gradually diffusing inside the boat.
Rae’s next task would be to coronate Bishwarup Sena as the new king. Afterwards, he would choose a recluse for himself and remain engrossed in studies. He had to finalise the remaining part of ‘Adbhut Sagar’.
The sun had set, splashing tints of red across the sky. The birds were returning home in flocks. The king kept staring at the scenery with a feeling of nonchalance. The boatman started singing a folk-song. The boat slowly steered along the waters of Bhagirathi towards Bikrampur.”
Bhute-da dumped his last Dunhill-stub into the ashtray. He looked at his wrist-watch and announced, “Time for me to leave.”
Bipul and I were sitting, still enthralled by the spell of the story. Nihar was looking down, unable to tally this story with textbook-history.
I murmured, “Shellshock!”
“What? Oh, yes.”, Bhute-da understood after a delay.
He appreciated, “That’s a good wordplay. A shell that shocked Bakhtiyar.”
Bipul wondered, “I’m stunned by the guts of that double-agent Halayudh Mishra.”
Bhute-da conformed, “That was a valiant move.”
Only Nihar was unperturbed. “All bogus.”, he criticised.
Bhute-da had almost left. He had heard Nihar’s remark. He smiled at him and said, “How much do you keep track of all that happens across the universe?”
Bhute-da left.
I was staring at the ceiling, retrospecting. Bipul was busy on his phone. I looked at the tepoy and noticed Bhute-da had left his lighter.
I chuckled, “Bhute-da would have to switch to matchsticks until tomorrow.”
Bipul grinned.
Nihar, still befuddled in a sea of contradiction, was busy in calculations with a deep frown on his forehead.
Suddenly Bhute-da came rushing and sat down on his chair.
“Good. So you remembered your lighter?”, Bipul asked jokingly.
“What?”, Bhute-da was perplexed.
Bipul clarified, “Your lighter is on the tepoy.”
Bhute-da rectified him, “My lighter is here.”
He took out an exact duplicate of the other lighter from his pocket. Next he grabbed a cigarette from his Marlboro carton.
“Sorry for the delay. My wife’s school-friend visited without any prior notice.”, explained Bhute-da.
“What’s wrong with you? Since evening you have been saying weird stuff, one after another. Now you are back to Marlboro again. Is this a practical joke?”, Nihar spat outrageously, avenging his loss a few moments ago.
“What are you all saying? I’m not getting a bit of it.”, Bhute-da looked even more startled than us.
We too were confused.
Suddenly I had a gut-feeling. I jumped towards him and held out his right hand, “Show me your index finger.”
Before Bhute-da could react, I examined what I needed to and I sat down thunderstruck.
“The inflammation has vanished.”, I said in a mechanical voice.
Bhute-da looked at us blankly. He couldn’t fathom anything of what was going on.
A tremor went down Bipul’s spine.
Nihar dishevelled his hair impatiently, “Your Minhaj? Changing the entire course of history? All that’s happening across the universe?”
He shook his head in disbelief, “No. No. It can’t be.”
I spoke out of desperation, “Doppelganger? Time travel? Alternate reality? What is this?”
The grandfather clock behind us chimed loudly.
