The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows over the bustling city of Jaipur. At the heart of the city, the Sharma family, once from a rural farming village and known for their humble beginnings, was engrossed in the grand preparations for the upcoming wedding of their eldest daughter, Priya. The house was adorned with marigold garlands and sparkling lights, and the air was filled with the intoxicating scent of incense and the soft rhythm of traditional music. In a place of honor, the family displayed an old farming hoe, a relic from their past, and a symbol of the legacy of Alok’s grandfather, Anok, who was considered a hero.
The Sharma family, led by patriarch Alok, was highly respected in Jaipur. From humble beginnings and a lower caste, they had risen to prominence over generations, gaining both wealth and influence. But more so, they were known for their charitable endeavors. Alok’s life was guided by dharma, the moral duty, and karma, the belief that actions in this life will determine their fate in the next.
Yet, as the wedding festivities reached their peak, a disconcerting unease clouded Alok’s heart. Each night he was enveloped in feverish dreams, all growing to a crescendo. In the last of which, he saw the whole of it. A fearsome half-man, half-lion figure loomed above, its mane made from shadow and Its teeth bared gleaming and oily black. The abyss-like mouth of the beats opened as it introduced itself and began to speak. The creature introduced itself as Narasimha, an avatar of Lord Vishnu, the preserver and protector of the universe. It had come to exact justice for a grave sin committed by his ancestors; it was a debt having come long past due.
Despite his growing anxiety, Alok dismissed the dream as a stress-induced illusion. However, strange things began happening around the Sharma household. Late at night, strange roars echoed in the distance. Flickers of a giant figure were seen on the outskirts of the family estate. Servants whispered of a curse, but Alok assured them it was simply the wilderness around Jaipur, which had long been known for its ferocious wilds.
One day, a sadhu – a holy man arrived at their doorstep. He claimed that the deity Narasimha had come to balance karma, demanding a sacrifice to atone for the sins of Alok’s forefathers. As proof, he presented a token, a shiny black canine, much like the teeth inside the abyssal mouth of the beats in his dreams. Fear gripped the household, but Alok remained skeptical, unable to fathom what sin his ancestors had committed that warranted divine retribution.
The fear turned into reality when, during the sangeet ceremony, a roaring figure, a terrifying blend of man and lion, charged into the gathering. Panic ensued, and in the chaos, the figure seized Priya, and nobody dared interrupt the inhuman beast before it disappeared into the night. Enraged and desperate, Alok turned to the sadhu for help in rescuing Priya. The sadhu, however, initially showed little interest, claiming that Priya’s seizure was the will of Narasimha. Undeterred, Alok had foreseen this possibility and prepared a response.
“Justice is the advocate of the innocent,” Alok declared, his voice filled with conviction. “One should not bear the burden of another’s sins. If there is a cost to be paid for my ancestors’ actions, I will gladly shoulder it to protect Priya. I do not believe this to be the work of Narasimha. Though he embodies wrath, he is also compassionate and just. Taking a life for the sins of forefathers would not align with true justice.”
As the sadhu questioned whether Alok understood the potential consequences of challenging the gods, Alok’s response was swift and unwavering. “Dharma protects those who protect it,” he proclaimed, emphasizing his unwavering faith.
Witnessing the sincerity in Alok’s words and being familiar with his family’s reputation and deep-rooted values, the sadhu relented. He agreed to accompany Alok on their perilous journey to find and rescue Priya. Guided by the sadhu’s profound knowledge of scriptures and the spiritual realm, they embarked on their quest, their steps leading them to an ancient, forgotten temple, nearly swallowed by the dense forest.
Inside the temple, Alok and the sadhu discovered Priya lying unconscious at the altar, overshadowed by the looming figure. Its breaths were heaving, causing its torso to expand and contract with each exhale. Summoning his courage, Alok confronted the figure, ready to face whatever lay before him.
As Alok stood firm, the figure began its transformation. Its paw-like feet elongated into a more humanoid shape, lengthening until its toes resembled razor-sharp blades. Its hands underwent a similar metamorphosis, turning into menacing, demonic appendages with jet-black skin and fingers that ended in wickedly sharp points. The lion’s head split into two, each one surrounded by a massive mane, with its bulging eyes radiating unrelenting fury. Its body was covered in short black and white fur, except for a prominent scar, about twenty centimeters in length, etched into the temple of its right head, where hair no longer grew.
In the face of this horrifying spectacle, the sadhu took a step back in terror, uttering only one word, “Rakshasa,” before slowly retreating toward the temple’s entrance.
Everything fell into place for Alok. Memories flooded his mind of the tales his grandfather had shared—a tale he had heard since childhood. He vividly imagined his grandfather Anok, armed only with the traditional Indian gardening hoe, bravely battling a mythical, two-headed lion monster. Alok had envisioned the terror his grandfather must have faced, summoning every ounce of strength to strike down the beast. Anok had driven the creature relentlessly toward a cliff with his long-handled Kassi, ultimately delivering a swift, decisive blow to its head. Now, as the shape-shifter had revealed its true form, Alok recognized the scar on its black skin—a silvery mark that traced a straight, long line along the side of its head, forever devoid of hair.
The Rakshasa reared its head back, its massive and powerful legs poised for a deadly strike against Alok. Yet, instead of lunging forward, it opened its heads wide, unleashing a chilling spectacle. The raspy and airy voice from one head blended with the deep and demanding tone from the other, creating a haunting stereo effect that echoed through the air. In this contrasting chorus, the Rakshasa unveiled its true purpose.
“I was brought low, made the lowest of the low when I fell into the hands of a humble farmer,” it proclaimed, the words seething with disdain. “And now, I shall make you and your family bear my shame eternally! I climbed from the depths of Naraka to return, and so I shall send each and every one of you to that same abyss, one by one, little man!”
The words hung in the air, pregnant with malice and the weight of the Rakshasa’s vengeful intent. It sought not only to harm Alok but to tarnish his entire family, subjecting them to the depths of suffering it had endured. The ferocity in its voice hinted at the depths of its fury and the lengths it would go to exact its revenge.
Alok’s hand instinctively reached to his side, desperately searching for a weapon that was not there, yearning for any means to vanquish the creature as his grandfather had once done. With a resolute gaze, he summoned every ounce of conviction within him and declared, “By the honor of my family and all that I hold dear, I will not allow it!” His words pierced the air, laden with unwavering determination. Though unsure of how he would achieve it, he knew that he must eradicate this abomination once and for all.
The creature, undeterred, responded with chilling confidence, its voice dripping with malevolence. “Your ancestor may have momentarily defeated me, but I have returned stronger and more astute than ever before. I have unraveled the secrets of Naraka, and I swear upon my very existence that your family will never find solace or tranquility!” Its vow reverberated through the air, resonating with a sinister certainty. Alok understood that he faced a formidable adversary, one who had harnessed the dark knowledge of the netherworld and was determined to bring unrelenting chaos to his lineage.
Shaken but resolute, Alok confronted the Rakshasa, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “How dare you disguise yourself as Narasimha to serve your wicked agenda?” Alok questioned, demanding an explanation for the manipulation of dharma and karma for malevolent purposes.
The Rakshasa, momentarily taken aback by Alok’s audacity, swiftly seized Priya by the throat and hoisted her high above, dangling her life precariously in his grasp. With a chilling juxtaposition, one face bore a sinister smile while the other emitted an eerie, airy cackle.
Rather than reaching out in desperation for Priya, Alok embarked on a different course. He commenced a sacred chant, a mantra handed down through generations from his grandfather to his father and now bestowed upon him. It was a humble plea, a fervent request from a humble servant of Dharma and Karma, beseeching divine intervention by the gods themselves.
The Rakshasa’s monstrous form trembled, its eyes widening in sheer horror as both heads fixated on Alok’s resounding chant. But amidst the reverberating echoes, another voice emerged, intertwining with the sacred incantation—the voice of the sadhu, resonating with unwavering devotion. Together, their unified chant took an unexpected turn. Instead of a mere plea, Alok invoked a name: Narasimha.
As their voices merged in harmonious synergy, Alok and the sadhu’s chant transformed into a potent ritual, a profound invocation calling upon the true Narasimha to intercede on their behalf. The ancient hymns reverberated through the temple, causing the very foundations to quake, while an incandescent radiance enveloped the room. And there, amidst the divine luminescence, the true Narasimha materialized, emanating an aura of unfathomable power.
With a swift and decisive movement, the Rakshasa’s hand that had gripped Priya shattered like fragile glass, replaced by the noble paw of a mighty and fearsome lion. With utmost tenderness, it gently lowered Priya to the ground, ensuring her safety. Meanwhile, the Rakshasa, consumed by fear, scuttled to the corner of the temple, desperately seeking refuge like a cockroach scurrying in the piercing light of day, searching for an elusive dark crevice to hide within.
Narasimha’s eyes blazed with fierce determination as he confronted the deceitful pretender, his divine wrath evident. Alok cradled Priya, his daughter, carefully and stepped out of the temple, with the sadhu leading the way toward the temple entrance. They paused at a safe distance, where Alok gently laid Priya on a soft patch of overgrown foliage, watching as she stirred awake.
As ominous cracks of thunder pierced the air, accompanied by the resounding beats of drums, the ground beneath them quivered, nearly causing Alok to lose his footing. Suddenly, a colossal roar and an eerie scream merged, resonating with the ghastly truth of what had unfolded within the temple. Narasimha had been impersonated, and such a transgression would not go unpunished.
In a magnificent display, Narasimha materialized before them, emanating an air of grace, power, and unwavering honor. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Alok, Priya, and the sadhu prostrated themselves before the divine deity, who bestowed his blessings upon them before disappearing, leaving behind a profound sense of serenity in his wake.
With Priya now safe from harm and the harrowing ordeal behind them, the Sharma family returned to their home. The wedding celebrations resumed, no longer just a union of two souls but a joyous celebration of truth, righteousness, and the unfailing justice of karma. From that point forward, Alok’s dreams became peaceful, and the haunting echoes of the past finally subsided. The tale of the Sharmas served as a potent reminder that dharma, karma, and truth could never be manipulated or thwarted by malicious forces, no matter how formidable they appeared.