अन्तः अस्ति प्रारंभः।
The end is the beginning.
A caterpillar dies, to birth a butterfly. Water evaporates to rain down. Dead carcasses fill the stomachs of vultures.Life gives way to death and death to life. In a vicious circle of different karmas...
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Garud Puran had warned her of hell of twenty eight different types for many vicious humans, the curse of a better imagination searing scenes in her young mind.
The after death was quite simple, according to Mihira.
When one died, their soul was judged by Yamraj according to their karma. They would be sent to the types of Narakas they deserved, then, earning scars as well as lessons that they would soon forget again in their new lives. The souls that would leave, would attain the ultimate moksha that they deserved and would engage their enlightened souls in the service of their lords; safe from perishing into the flames of materialism.
Perhaps that was why children wailed when they were born. No one would wish to come to the filthy, savage world that was once the legacy of great men and women.
Mihira, who had wished to give up her life under the chant of the names of ever merciful parents of the agonized Earth, had not felt as alive since her girlhood as she felt when she read the sigils and shlokas that lined the marble walls of the City of Light.
She ached for the moment the weight of blood and terror would be washed away from her soul. Standing at the doors of what she knew was a beautiful mirage of another Swarga, her soul felt dirtied.
Mihira wished to be in the feet of the Jagatjananni, to be in Her arms and wait as She wiped the dirt from Mihira's soul that had played in the dark forest that Kaliyug was.
"I have come," she said, her throat scratching due to lack of use of her vocals and voice coming out thick, as if rusted. It might have been true, Mihira had lost track of when she had last spoken outloud. Not since leaving her home, surely.
She cleared her throat and tried again to speak, above the light thudding of her heart that she could hear in her ears with all the blood rushing to her head,"I have come to seek shelter, Mahodaya."
The soldier did not say anything for a moment before he raised his chin, looking down at her in suspicion and distrust.
"Shelter from what, Kaliyugi? Has not your world already succumbed to the darkness that shall lead us all to salvation by the way of damnation? Have humans finally reverted to their silly theory of being nothing but wild beasts and come to a circle?" His biting words cut more than the harsh cold of Kailash, an instinctual offense made at her mind.
She swallowed the bitter reply that instantly made her way onto her tongue and said,"Shelter from this world that now plays sports in manner to catch any Sanatanis and hunt them like wild beasts. Shelter from the world that no longer remains civil, far be it to be habitable. In my world that has drowned in darkness, the only hope I have is the One who had taken birth as Matsya to guide man to safety."
The soldier hummed,"Impressive words, Kaliyugi. Tell me, what proves you a Sanatani? What tells this pious city, unscathed, you are not a virulent Mlecha?"
Mihira scowled at the word. She was born on the land that embraced Mata Sita, the Earth that deserved to be cradled like a flower in Prajapati's hand. She was not an invader, foreigner, in her own country.
"Mlecha?" Mihira echoed blankly before glaring at the soldier,"A Mlecha would not have the manners to converse with you, Mahodaya, or they would not dare to set foot near the reverent Kailash! They do not believe in Kalki Prabhu, moreover, do not risk their lives for anything but their sadistic pleasure."
The soldier sneered at her, "Righteous tirade. However, there are crores of Hindus who read the holy scriptures and betray us, insulting their own Parabrahma and Prakriti. They use the stones Swayambhu Brahma gave them to make homes and pelt those stones towards sincere Sanatanis and our merciful Creators."
With hot shame flustering her face, Mihira looked down in silent apology and acknowledgement of his true statement.
A memory came to mind, Ayodhya temple once again attacked— only this time, it gained no indignant shouts enough to garner attention to the acute hurt, distress and pain flowing through the tears and blood of the descendants of Raghunath.
She remembered, with clarity, how the massacre had taken place just the day her friend's parents were to return home from pilgrimage. She remembered, finding no bodies intact to even burn. Her exams had held her back and the poor girl had lost her whole family.
Mihira remembered the realisation that had gripped her. Realisation that Mihira's parents, who had not gone to that pilgrimage due to a wedding they had to attend.
Mihira had laughed later that day, knowing how wistful of her it was to wish for such a thing in the peak of Kaliyuga. But perhaps, that was what love was. Naive, selfless hope.
The soldier spoke again, breaking her trance,"In your world, anything can happen, by the wish of Kali. Tell me, Kaliyugi, how does Shambala know that you are not a spy of the butchering, Islamic countries that wish to rob us of our Dharma? Or that you are not a spy of another conquering country? Worse, are you a Hindu who wishes to come to Shambala to fullfill your disgustingly selfish desires?"
Mihira looked at him and sighed,"Mahodaya, I understand your distrust as it is the peak of Kaliyug and humans have become worse than the asuras we were afraid of. However, tell me, how shall I prove myself to you?
I left my home before martial law was declared so I could come here and rest my soul, as even if I am fated to die in a calamity, I wish to die on the land that has been blessed with the dust of the lotus feet of my Mata and Prabhu."
He didn't look convinced, the spear in his hand still glinting dangerously.
"Please," Mihira pleaded, eyes closed and hands joined, head bowed. "Let me go in, please, Mahodaya. I know I shall die soon as the end is near, but giving up has never been our Sanskaar nor our Sanskriti. I wish to aid my Lord, to see Mlecha devils perish under His mighty sword. I want to see justice delivered for the death and atrocities committed to crores of Hindus."
There was no moment nor voice to answer her plea. Mihira resigned herself to her tantalizing fate and opened her eyes, expecting to only see mountains coated in melting snow and jagged rocks.
But, the gate and the soldier were still there. Shambala was still there. Something akin to hope fluttered in Mihira's heart for a moment.
The soldier said heavily,"You're not the first one to come here and say this, Kaliyugi. A barbarian would kill and nourish on his own family, as long as it benefits him. Over politeness is a sign of the wicked."
Mihira swallowed, sensing he had yet to continue. He took out a dagger that was tucked in a seath on his waist, so covertly that Mihira's experienced eyes hadn't noticed.
Afterall, she had learnt to notice armed people before she knew how to spell her own name.
He threw the unseathed dagger towards her with deadly accuracy, it fell inches from her feet with a resounding clang.
"Go and bring a sacrifice, then. I hear some boars do occupy this region." He said, absolutely casual.
Mihira stared at him in mute disbelief and horror, wondering if this was an illusion created by Kali's demons to tempt and seduce her with the idea of Shambala and then, they would tear her apart— if she was lucky.
