Beneath Baikunthapur
February, 1912
At the threshold of the chamber; Arun Sen paused – the air felt wrong, his breath caught as he felt a cold shiver rush down his spine, his eyes flicked left to right.
Usually, the Baikunthapur was warm, even in February, almost pleasant; but, the chamber that was before him felt utterly still, heavy and touched by something that did not belong.
His grandmother would have told him such a place, that such signs…., that it meant an evil spirit might be present.
Swallowing; Arun stepped forwards, crossing the threshold, he noticed how the basalt walls drank in the light cast by his lantern; the remains of the cultists still lay where they had fallen during the earlier firefight, their last shouts of ‘Imperium’ and ‘Defend the Jaba-Sutra’ still echoing faintly in his mind – it had meant little at first, but now….
As soldiers of the regiment were finally able to investigate; he had taken the chance to explore the chamber that had drawn his attention at the offset, the thing that had sparked his curiosity from the very beginning.
As he slowly moved forwards, his lantern finally brought it into focus.
At the back of the room hung a black cloth from an iron stand; coarse as jute, stitched with a crimson hibiscus framed by a downward-curved sickle and an upward-pointing khanda sword.
He felt his heart thumping against his chest as he drew closer “Ma…” he whispered with a soft Bengali drawl “What is this?”
Curiosity tugged at him like a hook; reaching forwards, his fingers hovered inches from the cloth, then…, he touched it; his fingers contacted the cloth, it felt…, cold.
Not the pleasant cool of a forest, or the chill cold of the night, nor the cold of a stone in water, it felt ‘grave’ like; he jerked his hand back, his breath stuttering.
“Arun!” a stern, deep Bengali voice barked from the corridor, Arun flinched, spinning around; Naik Bimal stood at the doorway, his eyes sharp and unblinking “Do. Not. Touch” Bimal stated, each word was firm and heavy
His gaze never left the emblem “This place…, it carries evil; and it remembers”
Arun turned back, his eyes returning to the hibiscus emblem; before he could speak, another voice echoed from the corridor; older, heavier and carrying the weight of command “Sepoy Sen!”
Both Arun and Bimal turned as Subedar Major Harinath Bose stepped into the chamber, his lantern held high, his eyes swept the room, landing onto the emblem, his expression instantly tightened, his teeth clenching.
“Sir…” Arun said quickly, straightening “We were just looking….”
Bose’s gaze remain fixed on the hibiscus emblem; Bimal glanced at Arun then back at the Subedar Major, Arun tried again “Sir…, who were these people; was this some kind of rebellion?”
Bose didn’t answer at first, he simply stood very still, thinking; processing – he had heard stories before, whispers from an old friend; a Boer War veteran named Wilson, a man whose word he trusted.
Wilson had spoken of a group he had encountered when he and his regiment had chased a group of bandits into the Himalayan mountains in 1907, encountering some strange group led by a woman, Cathryn he recalled, and her daughter Lydia who were searching for an ancient Temple; initially, Bose had dismissed it.
Now, he wasn’t so sure; slowly shaking his head “No” Bose said at last, his voice rough “It was not a rebellion Sepoy”
His gaze finally froke from the emblem, his voice softening, but losing its usual authority, replaced by something more strained…, more…, flat “Move along; we are finished on this level”
“But..” Arun began, only to be cut across by Bimal
“Subedar Major” Bimal said quickly, gesturing towards the emblem “Whoever this group was, they were highly organised, shouldn’t we be preparing a report for command?”
Bose’s eyes flicked between the two men; he looked at them, truly looked; both were young, but it was Arun’s innocence that struck him; innocence that would not survive this place “We shall report nothing Bose said firmly, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper “Not if we wish to sleep again”
Arun and Bimal exchanged a confused glance “Sir..” Arun said quietly, his eyes returning to the Subedar Major “It is just some cloth and old stones…”
“It is what it represents” Bose replied sharply; turning slightly, his gaze drifting down the corridor towards movement of the regiment; men returning from the lower levels, their faces pale “That cloth is the least of our concern” he said
Returning his gaze back towards Arun and Bimal “I have just been to the lower chambers”
Arun’s eyes widened a fraction, curiosity flickering behind Bimal’s “Whatever they were doing down there….” Bose continued, concern threading his voice “It woke something they could not contain”
He paused, letting the words hang in the air
“All that remains down there now…., is ash”
Written By: Westley H.
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