A Game of Gods: The End is Only the Beginning (The Anunnaki Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  K HARI KUMAR’s

  A

  GAME

  OF

  GODS

  Book 1

  THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING

  First published by Red Olyfaunt Books

  Copyright © K Hari Kumar, 2016

  Official Pages

  www.facebook.com/KathaHariK

  www.twitter.com/TerrenozHari

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  Printed & Bound in India

  Disclaimer

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This is not a religious book and neither is it commenting on any belief systems. This work is purely a creation of the authors’ imagination and must be taken in that way only. All religious references in the book have been made to suit the needs of the story and must not be mistaken for fact. The elements of religion are purely fictitious in nature.

  To Mankind

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  27

  26

  25

  28

  29

  32

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Memphis, 2018 B.C.E

  On the darkest night of the year, even the stars would hide behind thick clouds that hovered over the dusty sands that embraced the red face of the North African desert. The Egyptian tribe gathered around the sacrificial fire to pay tributes to Atem, the God of destruction. They gathered around a huge pyre adorning their genitals with the skin peeled off human corpses and chanted the name of the owner. They believed that the recital of the Holy name of Atem will save their world from the his wrath. For generations the Pharaohs had made sure that their people had defended the planet by pleasing the God of destruction, for Atem is the son of Anu, the One who created, and the One who can destroy, or so they believed. The Pharaoh Khasekhemwy was aware that the sacrifice of that year was the most important of the millennium for never again in a thousand years would the moon align itself perfectly with the Red Horus, Jupiter and Saturn. It was the night when the gods would descend on earth through the portal of time that will be opened by the sacrificial fire at the end of the ritual. A little shortcoming in the ritual shall close the portal and the Gods’ way shall be blocked forever, which meant that mankind will be exposed to the universe in the absence of its creator and protector- the gods.

  ‘Sekhmet is pleased, look at the fire, Oh my Mighty Pharaoh!’ The minister hailed Khasekhemwy as he rejoiced at the sight of the splintering fire.

  ‘The fire must not grow, my honourable minister. It must seize.’ The Pharaoh spoke like a stone.

  ‘But… but… the Gods? Stopping the fire, or throwing in any wrong element into the fire will close the portal and the Gods will never be able to enter our realm… ever again.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, the gods. They must never step on these sands again. They mean no good to our kind. They have arrived before, only to destroy everything and then create everything again, only for reasons known to them. I call it sadism and I, Khasekhemwy, am the Pharaoh of the people, and not of the gods. I shall not allow them to come and end everything.’

  ‘What are you saying, your Highness?’ the minister questioned the intentions of the Pharaoh.

  ‘How dare you question me?’

  ‘I’m… I was just… Pardon me, my Pharaoh, but I am not qualified enough to understand your thinking at this juncture. You say you are the Pharaoh of the people, but these people are expecting the Gods, for nobody has ever seen them, even me.’

  ‘And no one shall ever see of them again. These people are innocent, unaware of the sadists that the Gods are. They are extremely powerful and cannot be stopped once they enter our realm, so the only way to stop them is by trapping them in the portal.’

  ‘And sekhmet? What about her wrath?’ The Minister stated his doubt innocently.

  The Pharaoh answered the minister’s question with a wicked laughter that echoed through the sands of the river valley. And then it happened, the fire erupted, sending a burst of shining white light which ultimately settled into thick black ash on the surface of the sand where the fire had been burning a moment ago.

  Clouds battered against each other and released swords of lightning on to the cursed lands of Memphis as the Pharaoh had committed the greatest of sins. He had trapped the Gods, in the portal of time. However, little was he aware about the wrath of Atem, the son of Anu. He brought upon the human race, a curse that it shall be deprived of a visible God until the end of time. The curse of the Anunnakis.

  1

  Ooty, 2017 AD

  She held a surgical knife in her right hand, hiding it behind her back, hiding it from the man towering in front of her. The man, drowning in her beguiling brown eyes, had tears in his own eyes.

  She had silky brown hair that wavered unto his chest whilst touching his white cotton shirt from the distance. But the breeze couldn't move his long wavy locks. Drops of rain washed the dull Sun as it groomed for an ultimate burial. The rain poured down furiously; pinching the two lovers standing on the highway, looking into each other, eye to eye. But they were unmoved.

  The woman, pale as a ghost, spoke ‘We shall live together, forever. Just like we had wished. We can, can’t we?’ She raised her face to look into his eyes, seeking an answer.

  He spoke nothing nor did his eyes break the vow of his mouth. She looked downward in what was more of a spiral penalty for being a woman in freezing rain and a tear dropped down on the wet road. It merged with the water and could not be distinguished from the vast sea of rain water beneath.

  ‘Your silence explains it all’ She said, ‘you leave me no other option now,’ She wiped the tears off her face ‘This is the last time you are going to see me… You wouldn't see me again.’

  He didn't respond.

  He couldn't.

  She lifted her face again, looked into his eyes.

  They were diluted by tears.

  ‘But before I leave, I would like to,’ She paused; her right hand paved a slight movement. Hidden behind her back was a surgical knife, packed tightly within the pack of her fist. She tightened the grip over the knife, preparing it for the final blow, ‘gift you,’ she paused again, drew the knife towards his chest screaming, ‘DEATH!’

  She was wild and furious on the spur of moment. The man responded with quick reflexes, caught hold of both her hands at one go and snatched the knife.

  She screamed again ‘I want Your HEART, Its Mine!’

  She was insane; He could control her physically but couldn’t fight her mind. She was physically very weak, and that he knew very well. But she had the sharpest of minds and intelligence was her strength. So, he had to rule over her weakness to bring down her strength.

  He ha
d to be strong and act wisely, swiftly. He closed his eyes, and started raising his hand to stab her.

  ‘… and CUT!’ came the order from behind. The baritone carried the sharpness that could cut through the hardest of rocks. Manav Gandhi had the best decade of his life and with every blockbuster he delivered, the sharpness in his voice only intensified. However without giving a glance back on the monitor he got up from the director’s chair and started walking out of the set. Anirudha Shah, the cinematographer pulled his face off the camera’s interface and turned around to see the look of satisfaction on the face of the acclaimed director, an expression that was very rare to find after the first take. All he could see was the backside of the 6 feet inch frame fading into the fog that was created artificially for the scene. The other technicians on the set had their feet moving again upon hearing the term cut from the director. The first assistant director was busy cross checking the continuity of the shot with the spot-editor. Nobody took note of the Director leaving the set except for Anirudha, but he knew his director very well for this was the fifth time the two were collaborating for a Hindi feature film. Manav Gandhi would not say cut until he is sure by a hundred and twenty per cent. Besides, Anirudha knew Manav was going through something more serious at the moment. He passed a gentle smile and announced on behalf of his director, ‘Pack up! Well done guys!’ The switch for chaotic joy was pressed.

  Far away from the commotion, Manav alternated with holding himself tight and letting loose, reflecting the instability surfacing out of his mind. The mind that was responsible for 5 back to back blockbusters was now tying itself into a dead knot. The set was created in the middle of a jungle in the hill station of Ooty to resemble an ancient alien cave. The feeling of isolation and a horror that tasted Goth was what Manav had in his mind and that was exactly why he decided to shoot it there. He twisted his feet over the narrow pathway paved by footmarks; he closed in towards the cliff, very commonly tipped as ‘The suicide point’ by the locals. He walked towards the edge; he could see the mist and horror of depth down below. He closed his eyes. All those scenes from his movies that depicted death flashed in front of his mind, as if there was a screen inside his eye lashes where the scenes were being projected at an extremely low frame rate. They were all scenes from his movie, but here he was standing at the suicide point. He opened his eyes while his left hand went straight for the kurta’s pocket. He garnered an awfully pouched pack of Marlboro and a steel body lighter. In the spark of a moment, the cigarette was lit and the celebrated filmmaker stood there watching into the nothingness projected from the suicide point on the Doddabeta peak. He smoked in and then puffed out warm smoke into the chilled air of the hills.

  He stood there… reflecting into the wilderness of his mind. The fear of being exiled by true love had captivated his thoughts and his conscience had a raised a question that outnumbered his very existence. He wanted to end it all. He wanted to face his conscience again. He had run quite far only to be fooled by the belief that running away from his conscience would save him from facing it again. Every time he ran away, he would stop at a point to look back if it was there, and he wouldn’t see it. With a mild satisfaction his mind would turn back again only to find his conscience standing right in front of him, stronger than before, imposing a heavier feeling of guilt. It was time to face it.

  ‘Pack up!’ he said to himself as he exhaled a heavy line of smoke. He had decided to call off his stint as a filmmaker with those words.

  He heard that voice again.

  The quaint voice of a child... an infant... soft as a kitten...haunting as a spirit!

  2

  Mumbai, 26 November 2017

  ‘The entire Bollywood fraternity was taken by shock last night when acclaimed filmmaker Manav Gandhi announced his retirement on a micro-blogging site.’ The young female reporter spoke in her highly piercing voice, reflecting off the surface of her cylindrical spectacle lenses were the bright light from the halogen source, she adjusted her glasses to avoid blinking of her eye and continued, ‘He had tweeted last night from his handle these very words, It is high time… bidding goodbye to #cinema… for good… for bad… for the unknown between and beyond… thank u all for ur love… Alvida,’ she paused to give away a derivative puncture to her narration and continued, ‘this is exactly what he had tweeted last night from his verified profile and the only question that arises in our mind is… why? Why would a person who gave five blockbuster movies in a short span of ten years give up cinema when he’s only thirty five years old! What could lead such a dynamic young man to make such a baffling decision? Many people believe that he is sick, while others believe there could be the involvement of the Mumbai underworld. Whatever may the reason be, the validity of this statement has surely stirred a huge row in the Indian film industry and will be a huge loss for all of us. With cameraman Narendra Prasad, this is Pakhi Dutta for Mumbai Today.’ The reporter quickly packed the microphone into her bag and threw it into the backseat of the news van. The cameraman undid his camera and placed it gently on the backseat along with Pakhi’s bag pack and climbed into the driver’s seat, his alternate job.

  Pakhi got into the side seat and shut the door hard, the entire van trembled to a metallic thud, ‘This is not the end, there’s something very fishy about such a decision and I am going to get to the root of it!’ She declared to herself.

  ‘Chill! Why are you so worried? The editor wants you to cover America’s counter-terrorism operations in North Africa, it will be your biggest story, why waste time on some Bollywood guy?’ Narendra poised.

  ‘How would you know, you hardly watch films,’ she accused him, ‘this man my dear, is perhaps the most successful director in the history of Indian cinema itself and if he is quitting at this age, there must be something terribly wrong. His last film with all new faces grossed a stunning₹400 crore worldwide! Can you actually believe that? Even Salman Khan’s films haven’t touched that score yet.’

  ‘You’re such a fan of this Manav guy! Like teenage girls… you are obsessed, simple as that!’ Narendra smirked as he turned the vehicle key. The rusty van came into motion and they slowly started moving through the thickly crowded SV Marg near Andheri Station.

  ‘You don’t appreciate good cinema or I guess you are simply jealous that someone younger than you has achieved so much in his career while you are still here, holding camera for a news channel run by presstitute that only leftists and shopkeepers watch these days!’ She spat back.

  The chubby man driving the vehicle sighed mildly and spoke ‘I just want you to stay focused on things that would help you grow. I have been holding this camera for almost a decade and half now, I have seen some rise and the rest falling into pits dug by themselves. I am just trying to stop you from digging that pit.’

  ‘Oh how nice of you, Mr. Narendra Prasad’ she mocked him arrogantly, ‘Shut up and drive the damn van, its creaking’s getting louder with every passing second. Can’t you get it fixed or something?’ She banged her fist on top of the dashboard and a nut got lose and fell down on her feet. She picked it up and showed it to the man driving the vehicle, ‘see? Just a fist and it goes down! The whole thing! Instead of caring for me… could you please care for this old piece of crap?’

  He ignored her complaints and concentrated on the road ahead.

  ‘What would you know how much I care?’ He whispered to himself. She didn’t hear him.

  The traffic kept growing and if they didn’t cross the Junction in five minutes, they would be stuck in a traffic deadlock that would strand them there for hours! He pushed on to the accelerator and the vehicle puffed out smoke heavily as it moved ahead scratchily as the Grand Taj hotel slowly shrank into a nothingness which couldn’t be observed tangibly.

  3

  Taj Palace, Mumbai

  ‘He isn’t picking up his phone!’ said Khalid Abdullah throwing away his Galaxy note on the luxurious bed with white satin sheet neatly stacked over the feathery foam beneath.

&nbs
p; ‘Try that other number, the private one.’ Suggested another man, with thick yellow skin and neatly kept French beard.

  ‘It is switched off god damned! Every time I call on that number, it gives me the same status!’ Khalid yelled at the other man in the room. He kept puffing out thick fumes of grey from his royal cigar. Khalid irritation was further fueled by the attitude shown by the industry’s biggest superstar towards the richest producer. Khalid yelled at the superstar, ‘Rohan Kapoor, you might be the reigning superstar in Bollywood, but remember this, I took you up from a fallen piece of crap to a higher than the star superstar status, you owe me everything and that includes the shitload of respect which you are not giving me right now!’

  Rohan looked up at the producer’s reddened face, ‘Khalid Bhai, take a deep breath, I know a kind of Yoga where you can control your Blood Pressure. Do you know how bad it is for you?’ he enquired in his usual cool dude attitude.

  ‘You son of a...’

  Khalid was interrupted by a lady in glittering silver gown, who gushed inside through the open door, slamming it behind her. The makeup on her face was as fresh as the creases on her sparkling gown, perfect! She panted into the room and burst out at the two men who were already there ‘Is this fucking true? For God’s sake tell me it is not! Please!’

  ‘Couldn’t you knock on the door before coming in?’ Khalid complained.

  ‘Party? At this time of the day?’ Rohan asked the lady as he checked her sparkling attire from top to bottom.

  ‘Inauguration of an art gallery in Juhu,’ She loked back at Khalid and inquired, ‘now please tell me, what is going on. I have heard things that I didn’t want to hear from the regular circuit.’

  Khalid ignored the lady and she looked at Rohan for an answer. Rohan nodded his head laterally affirming her enquiry. The lady burst into a tearful curse ‘Son of a bitch, he has shown his middle class attitude once and for all!’ she dropped down on the bed.