Nasteya Read online

  BLOOMSBURY INDIA

  Bloomsbury Publishing India Pvt. Ltd

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  BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY PRIME and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  First published 2019

  Copyright © Nirvan Singh and Kirandeep Singh, 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers

  Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes

  ISBN: 978-93-87863-11-8

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  This book is dedicated to all the readers out there.

  – KIRANDEEP SINGH

  I dedicate this story to Nani, Biji, Parents, Didi, Aarushi, Mamu and Mami, Sultan and Scooby.

  I also dedicate this story to all the storytellers waiting to be heard.

  – NIRVAN SINGH

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  1. The Prophecy

  2. Love, Betrayal and Mutiny

  3. The Ugly Truth

  4. Unfortunately, We Didn’t Die!

  5. The Shadows in the Woods

  6. The Yetis’ Stronghold

  7. Another Unexpected Surprise

  8. The Incredible World of Kanchana

  9. An Unseen Acquaintance

  10. The Paradox

  11. The Paradox, Resolved

  12. Surprises are not Always Good, Nor Always Bad

  13. Fickleness of Fate

  14. The Kushya’s Sword

  15. It’s Always Hard to Say Goodbye

  16. Terrific Power Revealed

  17. Trouble Comes Cheap

  18. The Mehrgarhian Welcoming

  19. Barter with the Priest-King

  20. It’s Called LOVE

  21. The Resistance

  22. Choice... Truth

  23. Friends ‘For-never’

  24. Abhuva – Nature’s Monstrous Abberation

  25. The Lost King

  26. The Plot that Failed

  27. A Father’s Greed

  28. The Silver Lining

  29. Gods are Never Born

  30. From Lothal to Myos Hormos

  31. Yima’s Bloodline

  32. Revenge, Rage and Fate

  About the Authors

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I was born in the lineage of writers but never wrote until lately. I was happy giving ideas to other writers. One fine day, someone advised me to write and I tried to follow the advice. I wrote, wrote and just wrote. But when I read, it was nothing meaningful. Before long, I realised that I was trying to fly with just one wing. It was then when Nirvan Singh helped me fit another one and together we started on this flight. The flight, which was going through shaking turbulence, was then guided right by Suhail Mathur who helped us land it safely at our destination. I thank you, Suhail and the team of The Book Bakers.

  I express gratitude to Bloomsbury Publishers for giving us an opportunity such as this. It is a big responsibility and I believe I will be able to bear it. Further, I am indebted to my grandfather Dr. Gurdial Singh Phul and my parents for instilling story telling skills in me. These skills are polished daily by my son Pavitdeep Singh who doesn’t sleep without a new bed time story every night. I am also thankful to every person who never asked me about my book or was ever bothered about it.

  Whenever a writer formulates a new plot, he needs someone who would listen to it and assess it and thankfully, there was my wife, Jiwan Jyoti, my friends, Vikas Mittal, TejinderPal Singh (JP), Ranjit Singh, Gursahib Singh & my student and confidante Rabia Arora who were all ears.

  I also thank Dr. Sangeet Phul and S. Jaspal Singh (Paternal Aunt and Uncle) for always hosting my morning breakfast and never letting me starve after a long and hard night of writing and editing.

  Lastly, I express my thanks to Dr. Akashdeep Singh Chandi, Vice Chairman Global Institutes, Amritsar, who motivated me to write even at my workplace and helped me when needed.

  Sincere thanks to all those people who either by motivation or by criticism made me a writer, a storyteller.

  – Kirandeep Singh

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Writing Nasteya wasn’t a typical writing-a-book process but more like a tiresome journey of eight long years. There’s a lot that you can learn from such journeys of life, the first is being patient and then you slowly get to know how resolute and adamant you are, when you continue writing nevertheless.

  The list is long and yet it is important for the readers to know who my co-passengers were on this journey.

  This book would have remained a dream without the proper guidance of my mentor and co-author, Kirandeep Singh. If I was the orchestra, he was the metronome.

  I would like to sincerely thank my Parents, for not disturbing me while I dreamt of being a writer and not scolding me much as I ate up all the inverter battery on long electricity-cut days.

  I would like to thank my Sister for never pronouncing my book’s title correctly, which helped me believe it surely is unique.

  After this, I would like to thank my friends Sajan, Suraj, Parth, Mohit, Nitin, Tanya, Savleen and Aasmeet for hopelessly believeing in my immature stories and plots, always pretending they understood them all. You were humble and tolerant, my friends.

  I would like to thank my cousins Ashish and Pranav for motivating me on my bad days and diverting my mind from writing on the good ones. Brothers will be brothers.

  How can I forget Harpeet, Raja and Arpit for always telling me that ‘Nasteya’ belonged to Hollywood. I desperately wish they’re right.

  I would like to thank my school Principal, Sudha Bhandari Ma’am, for helping me explore my capabilities in the field of writing and Inderjeet Aunty for reminding me of my embarrassing storytelling skills from childhood.

  A special thanks to you too, Amandeep Singh, for the elder-brotherly help you always provided.

  I express thanks to my bestseller friend Bhaavna Arora for guiding me through the editing and assessment process.

  My most sincere and heartiest gratitude to Suhail Mathur and The Book Bakers for bearing with the kind of pain I’ve been for them through the entire process of editing, finding a publisher and designing a book cover for Nasteya.

  I would like to thank Bloomsbury Publishers for giving me this opportunity to present the story of Nasteya to the world.

  A special thanks to Col Surjeet Singh (TayaJi) for the required motivation and sincere thanks to Y K Singh Sir, Saikat Sarkar Sir, Pankaj Awasthi Sir, Arun Sir, Aditya Sir, Charu Ma’am, Dewan Sir, Arnavaz ma’am, Thapa Sir, Chirag Sir, Ravi Sir (best roommate), Batth, Shaleen, Ashutosh, Agni, Tikkar, Kadyan, Vardaan, ‘Poonch Panthers 138R’ and all my fellow officers of Warhawks-149 for believing in my dreams.

  Lastly, I would like to thank my love, Aarushi, for being my constant audience throughout the last five years and for being the first reader to have read ‘Nasteya’ thoroughly and for not being jealous or finicky when I gave time to writing. (I know you lie when you say I’m the best storyteller).

  The entire credit of who I am as a person goes to my nani a
nd my late dadi (You showed me my worth, Biji, and then you left me too soon).

  I thank Waheguru for protecting me and letting me work.

  – Nirvan Singh

  ONE

  THE PROPHECY

  The town of Saarah was buzzing with excitement. It was the night on which Nasteya would be honoured for all that he had done for the kingdom. For twenty years, right since his battle with the grotesque tentacled creature of the Southern Marshes when he was just seven, till his more recent efforts in defeating the White Demons, Nasteya had been the marvel of Saarah. His willingness to leap to the aid of anyone in need, added to his heroic aura.

  In the weeks preceding the big day, tongues had begun to wag about the ceremony and the story was that on this day, Nasteya would be formally adopted by the king as his heir. Our mighty king, you see, was not blessed with a child and amongst the children in the court, Nasteya was his favorite. It was hard to believe that a king such as ours had no direct heir and the story behind this was a sad tale of love and grief. Songs in praise of the eternal love of King Anjaney and Queen Akshainee were still sung in Saarah. They spoke of how, when in his youth the king had gone to the great battle of Aryavarta, the queen had been poisoned by an enemy spy. To her ill fortune, she couldn’t even survive to see her king return from battle. His triumphant return was marred by the loss of his beloved queen and he sunk into never-ending grief. Though brave, young and capable of marrying any princess of any realm, he chose to live only with the beautiful memories of queen Akshainee.

  Between the king and Nasteya was a bond born of mutual respect. Nasteya’s own limitless valour and exceptional leadership qualities were recognised by the king. Maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but how can I not boast a little about the one who has been my best pal since childhood? Of course, he may have been brave, but in his everyday behaviour, he did not always display common sense—like on the night when the ceremony was about to begin and I was looking high and low for him.

  ‘It’s almost time, Maa and look at you, not even dressed yet!’ I yelled as I passed by my house. ‘Hurry up!’

  The king had charged me with the task of managing the whole event and I still remember what a pain that was. It was the first time that I had been assigned a task of such importance, and I had worked my fingers to the bone in order not to disgruntle the king. But Nasteya was making it tough for me.

  ‘And by any chance, have you seen Nasteya?’ I asked my mother as I hurried past.

  ‘You know well where Nasteya would be at this time,’ she replied while doing her hair.

  In the gathering dusk, I trotted along quickly towards the river, muttering and cussing. Nasteya, my chum, was more like a foe some times. If ever there were escapades that included both of us, trust me, I had the slightest share in bringing them about. Even then, I would be penalised more than him. He, after all, was the ‘golden’ one in everyone’s eyes. This really irritated me.

  ‘I’ll get my head slashed off for being late, and all because of you, Nasteya,’ I yelled when I saw him.

  ‘Simmer down Vasu. And don’t sweat, I’ll ask the king to go easy on you,’ he said and chuckled.

  ‘You’d better move now,’ I said and he stood up, saying: ‘All right, children, we’ll continue with the next part tomorrow. Until then, keep guessing what happened to that wild horse.’ And the children scampered off as soon as he gave them some coins.

  As always, at dusk, Nasteya had been by the River Sarsuti, regaling his audience with tales of his acts of valour, highly exaggerated of course, but this mattered little to his fond and devoted young admirers. For them and for all the other folks, Nasteya was an idol, a hero. How did he earn such fame? There are many ways to answer that question. Let us take a leap into the past.

  Seventeen years before this night of celebration, when we both were seven years old, Nasteya and I went south along with a convoy of traders. There were other kids of the town with us as well. All of us were excited as we were crossing the boundaries of Saarah for the first time, going so far away from our homes. It was a march of nine and thirty days with halts only at night, until we reached the marshes of the Mahanadi delta. As the fortieth day was drawing to its end and we were in the middle of the marshes with a faint moon glimmering high above the sunset, the traders suddenly halted.

  ‘I wouldn’t take that route unless there was no other alternative,’ one of the traders said in a tense voice full of fear. ‘It is nothing but suicide to attempt that path.’

  ‘All the alternatives have been tested,’ replied another. ‘Heavy rains in the east have filled the Mahanadi. Floods have destroyed the only two bridges and it would be a foolish decision to risk wading through the river with these children. I wish they had never come. And we cannot even return without some profits to show or we shall feel the wrath of king. We have to go around the marshes.’

  The matter was of great concern, yet those traders cared more about their trade than us.

  ‘Stick together and don’t stray out of our sight. You won’t find anything but deadly creatures in the shallow waters of these marshes,’ one of the traders warned all of us kids, turning all our curiosity into fear. He added fuel to the fire by reciting tales about traders who had succumbed to the dangers of these marshes. All he really wanted to do was to keep us silent, but even he wasn’t aware of the danger at hand.

  The ground became damper as we went on. We had to carefully avoid small pools of muddy water to keep dry footed. Even the trotting horses slowed to a walk. With flies and mosquitoes, moths and blood-sucking parasites of different kinds, the marshes were nothing but treacherous to us. After one of the regular counts that were done at short intervals, one of the traders announced that a child was missing. The silence that had lasted till now was killed by the sudden eruption of chaos and everyone began searching frantically for the lost child, Anuj.

  Soon, screams were carried to us by the wind and we dashed in the direction from where they came. Beyond a thick clump of trees, was a pool of dark green water. I shuddered with disgust at the touch of the unclean water on my feet, but there was more to the water than just slime. In the centre of the pool there was a creature with long and black leathery tentacles, one of which was wrapped around Anuj. He was struggling hard to escape. I don’t exactly remember how many tentacles it had, but surely more than twenty and that too, very long and strong. Great rings were widening outwards in the water from the point where the creature rested. Anuj screamed again. One of the traders attacked the creature with his bronze dagger. A long, wet tentacle crawled out from the water and its fingered end grasped the trader’s foot and overturned him. He was now slashing at the tentacles with his dagger. The annoyed creature tossed him away and twenty other arms came rippling out, making the dark unclean water boil. Another trader was taking all the kids away from the pool, but Nasteya broke out, snatching his dagger, and ran straight towards the marsh, diving into its dark green water. The groping tentacles writhed across the shallow water, came wriggling towards Nasteya and had him too. But Nasteya was quick in his actions—he sliced the tentacle and went back into the water. Anuj was still screaming at the top of his voice. All the other tentacles started thrashing the water restlessly.

  There was no sign of Nasteya.

  Then the splashing died away as the tentacles stopped coiling and the water started to become still. The limp tentacles now floated on the surface of water. A dead silence fell. Anuj freed himself and ran back to us, crying. There was still no sign of Nasteya. A minute later, he appeared, tearing apart the bosom of that lifeless monster—first, out came the dagger and then the hand that held it firmly, and then Nasteya, dripping with filthy translucent pale green scum. His eyes shone triumphantly. None of us could believe it, especially the traders.

  Cleaning himself up, Nasteya swam out of the shallow water. We all gazed at him in absolute stunned silence.

  ‘Why are you staring at me? Do you want to wait until some other awful creature shows up? I’m t
oo tired after this to handle another one,’ said Nasteya haughtily and made towards the horses while everyone was still staring at him.

  Upon return to Saarah, the story of this escapade was shared even before unloading the horses. It spread like wildfire and within an hour, had reached the king’s ears. He was no less surprised than anyone else, and at once, he set off for Nasteya’s home. There, Nasteya was getting a good scolding from his mother who was furious with him for taking such a dangerous and, it seemed to her, foolhardy risk.

  As the fleet of horses drew nearer, King Anjaney riding in front followed by his guards, all of us—Nasteya and his parents, Savaan, his brother, and Nasteya’s neighbours who were eavesdropping from a distance and I, bent our knees and bowed. In his mind, Nasteya thanked the king for saving him from the scolding that wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. The king’s horse paused in his stride, slowing to a walk and then it lifted his head and neighed when it stopped on the front lawn. The king dismounted and walked briskly towards us.

  ‘Damyanti, tidings have come to me concerning your son and his deeds,’ the king said to Nasteya’s mother. Then he turned his gaze to Nasteya and said, ‘Step forward.’

  Nasteya took a few steps forward and said with his head still bow, ‘Of what service can I be to my king?’

  ‘Is what I’ve heard about what happened in the marshes all true?’ The words came out from behind King Anjaney’s thick white beard, but they were clear and commanding.

  ‘If Your Majesty has heard that I used my dagger to slay that monster with monstrous tentacles to save Anuj, then my king, then there’s no falsehood in it,’ Nasteya said.

  Inquisitive about what had brought the king to Nasteya’s house, people had started to line up outside the house.

  ‘Are you not aware of what you’ve done? Only one who doesn’t fear death can show such bravery,’ the king said, praising Nasteya. Then, turning towards the boy’s parents he said, ‘His courage won’t go unrecognised. It seems that his destiny is not to be a craftsman like you but a well-trained warrior.’