Friday, 9 August 2013

WRITE TRIBE WHISPERERS - CHAPTER 6 - RA, THE SUN-GOD.

This is part 6 of the story series. You could read the beginnings here ..... Part1 at Akhils, Part2 at Pins, Part3 by Laxmi, Part4 by Leo and Part 5 by Meena.

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Triton of the mighty Rouls dynasty set his foot on the Mangaluru (modern day Mangalore) sands and thanked his Egyptian Sun God, Ra, for their safe escape and death-defying voyage from the Red Sea to the waters of the Arabian Sea. Triton opens the silver casket and removes the scimitar and holds it against the rays of the Sun to let it absorb the positive energy of Ra.



Detective Jamaluddin looks at his wrist watch. The night is still young and he has a long tryst with the royal family of Egypt. He adjusts his specs and taking an extra soft pillow cushioning behind his back continues to read Shastri's file. This is interesting and intriguing , he thought.

Triton and his clan along with their faithful servants disguise as merchants to allay suspicion and survive....................  

Qashif Ayhil is the direct decendant of the Roul dynasty.The leather bound manuscript and the scimitar , the last surviving vestiges of the Roul dynasty were carefully handed down to the male descendant. 

Interestingly , there were never two  siblings in one generation. Whether this was intentional or not is left to anyone's imagination. The manuscript was a systematic record of each generation, the details of further generation added till Qashif was the last known survivor. The scimitar was no ordinary weapon for it was a weapon and a shield combined into one , was a boon and a bane for the Roul dynasty. Their incognito living was the sole reason of their survival of Roul clan. The pots of gold, silver and precious stones brought from their native country enabled the Rouls to a good start in an alien land.

Qashif was a celebrated author but kept himself away from the prying media and his over-enthusiastic fans. His publishers never allowed him to interact with the outside world. The farmhouse at Bangalore was his safe haven to write in peace but was more of a fort to guard him against unwanted attention. His grandfather had dropped their last name Roul.

Every morning Qashif removed the scimitar from the silver casket and held it against the morning rays of the sun and this ritual was repeated in the evening as the last rays of the sun sank behind the hills.

Detective Jamal straightened his spine , forgetting momentarily of the back-pain , as he read further. His eyes popped out. The scimitar had a curse. The scimitar had to be electrified with positive energy twice daily . If this ritual was not carried out, the shield would act as a weapon, killing the male Roul descendant. Jamal was flabbergasted.  He did not believe in the rituals and their curses but this was something that could not be easily brushed aside. Did someone get a whiff of this secret? Who could it be , keeping the flame of enmity alive for so many generations? He did not have the answers to these questions. 
Jamal looked at the wrist-watch. He needed a few hours of sleep before he could reach the farm-house. He put-off his table lamp.

The housekeeper came scampering on sighting Jamal's vehicle near the entrance of the bungalow on the outskirts of the city. Jamal went inside and asked the house-keeper of the dead man's habits and routine. The house-keeper told him that on the fateful day his master asked him for food at 5 in the evening. This was very unusual.  He dismissed the housekeeper and entered the spacious library.The wooden shelves were full of books of all genres. A bronze figurine stood on the table at the far end of the library. Curious, he walked and bent down to examine the piece of art. His cell-phone rang and Detective Meera's number flashed on the screen. He answered it. Of the  two glasses seized along with the half eaten plates, one glass had a light lip-stick mark on it. The visitor was a lady. He had never thought from this angle. The house-keeper had kept repeating ,'I saw him , I saw him, saar'.
Confused and surprised at the strange chain of events , Jamal lifted the figurine to his eye-level. The base of the figurine was a square box. He tried opening it and to his surprise, it opened without much effort. A photograph fell down. On lifting the photograph Jamal was stunned to see a picture of a beautiful , finely chiselled woman in black with Aiyana written across it..............
     


Take over Apoorva..................