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Bhairavi: Inside the Maha-Asura Series’ Explosive Tale of Power, Deception, and Destiny

In Bhairavi, the second book of the Maha-Asura series, Prakash Om Bhatt takes us from the blood-soaked battlefields of Tretayuga to the shadows of modern-day India, where gods, demons, and humans are all pawns in a deadly cosmic game. Read an excerpt below!

Naari

Tretayuga

Lanka

The killing of Sita had led to a deafening silence in the camp. Not only Sri Ram, but the entire army of apes, along with Hanuman, Lakshman, Sugreev, Nala, Jamabavat and others, felt the clasp of rage, agony, sorrow, anguish and pain in their hearts. ‘Brother, we shall avenge every drop of blood spilt from Maa Sita’s body!’ Lakshman, adrenaline rushing through his veins, declared as he put his hand on his elder brother’s shoulder. ‘Lanka will be destroyed!’ ‘That scoundrel will pay for his sins!’ Hanuman said, clenching his fist. ‘Indrajit will be dead, O Lord!’ Just then, Vibhishana, the son of Vishrava, entered the camp. He could sense the thick tension in the air. He comprehended the entire situation as he looked at the bodiless head of Maa Sita lying on a rock, and then at the distress on everyone’s face. ‘Maharaj, I didn’t think you would have fallen for the dubious scheme of Ravana’s son!’ Vibhishana said in a sympathizing tone. ‘What you think is Maa Sita’s head, is simply a deception!’ ‘Deception?’ Hanuman asked, flabbergasted.

 

Front Cover Bhairavi
Bhairavi || Brahmachari Parakh Om

 

‘I have known Indrajit since before he learnt to walk. I am well aware of his crooked schemes and deceitful plans!’ Vibhishana said as he took the head of Maa Sita in his hands. ‘To ensure that Ram and his army grow despondent before the war, Indrajit has created this optical illusion with the help of the great illusory asura, Vidyutjihva. My spies have just confirmed that Maa Sita is still in Ashokavatika, the garden with the Ashoka trees!’ ‘What is the reason for doing this right now?’ Ram sneered, almost shouting the words at Vibhishana, Ravana’s younger brother. ‘The point is . . .’ Fear lurked in Vibhishana’s eyes as he said the next words. He lowered his voice to a whisper. He knew that only the people present in this camp had the ability to stop the catastrophe Ravana was about to bring to the world—a secret that would mutate the future of the universe.

Present Day

Coimbatore

There was a light murmur in the air, indicating that the birds would soon fly away to find food for the day. The midnight blue of the night was gradually fading away. The golden glow of dawn was about to paint the sky. Bhairavi Maa, Sadhvi Maa, Manasvi and ten other faithful devotees reached the enormous 112-feet idol of Adiyogini. Everyone bowed to this Mahayogini; she represented all the sixty-four yogini forms of the Devi. ‘ॐ नमश्चण्डि􀇷काायैै! Om Namashchandikayai!’ Bhairavi Maa folded her hands as an expression of gratitude for her devotees and said, ‘You may all rest now.’ Everyone, except Sadhvi Maa and Manasvi, bowed down to her and started walking towards their huts. And the trio of Bhairavi Maa, Sadhvi Maa and Manasvi walked for about a kilometre to arrive at a private chamber of the ashram where none of the disciples or devotees were allowed. They walked through an enormous gopura, the monumental entrance of a temple. There was a naagbandham—literally, the bond of the serpents—figurine on the gopura. On crossing it, they reached a temple-like structure, beside which stood a small hut. A six-feet-tall trishul, or trident, had been wedged into the ground at a forty-five-degree angle in the courtyard of the temple. Numerous trees, small and big, lent a sense of serenity to the place.

It seemed as if it would need three or four people to open the wooden door of the temple. There was the ॐ carved on either panel of the door. Bhairavi Maa looked at Manasvi and Sadhvi Maa. Taking the cue, they went inside the hut to get a huge salver laden with a variety of fruit. Sadhvi Maa and Manasvi held the platter, which weighed almost eight kilos, with both their hands. Reaching the gate, Bhairavi Maa assumed the yoni mudra, a hand gesture to call upon the Mother Divine, and started the chanting of the beej mantras, the seed syllables.

‘लँँ . . . वँँ . . . रँँ . . . यँँ . . . हँँ . . . ॐ . . . ’ ‘Lam . . . Vam . . . Ram . . . Yam . . . Ham . . . Om . . .’ Sadhvi Maa and Manasvi joined her in the chanting. ‘लँँ . . . वँँ . . . रँँ . . . यँँ . . . हँँ . . . ॐ . . .’ ‘Lam . . . Vam . . . Ram . . . Yam . . . Ham . . . Om . . .’ After chanting the beej mantras thrice, Bhairavi Maa raised her hands in the air and the doors opened without being given the slightest nudge! Before stepping into the temple, the three women bowed their heads in obeisance. This had become a daily routine for the three of them. Manasvi and Sadhvi Maa knew a secret that even the closest devotees of Bhairavi Maa had no inkling about! ‘Amma,’ Manasvi’s voice was laced with worry. ‘The agitation is quickly growing. Isn’t it?’ Bhairavi Maa remained silent as they walked a few paces before coming face to face with the deepest secret and the most mysterious aspect of Shakti Ashram. It appeared as if their arrival had been awaited for hours.

 

Present Day

Rajkot

The city of Rajkot was about to hit the sack. The dulled sound of the winter winds filled the otherwise quiet hour. The truck had stopped about an hour ago on the university road to make a delivery. Before the driver could finish the formalities and unload the sacks of wheat, Riya jumped out of the back. This caused her wound to start bleeding again. But who had the time to tend to the physical injury right now! The garden in front of the famous love temple was bustling with people. Riya was still wearing Hamid’s jacket and cap. It would be foolish and dangerous for her to start her journey towards Vasant Niwas before the city slipped into slumber. She had no option but to wait. She found a secluded spot in the garden, put her cap on her face and sat there quietly for about an hour. The city seemed unaffected by worldly affairs, and exuded peace. At around 9.30 p.m., when it was nearly time to shut the garden to visitors, the guard went around requesting everyone to leave. Riya, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, walked out of the garden. With a careful stride, she entered the nearby Mayur bookstore. Though there was no customer in the store at this hour, from the body language of the store owner, it was evident he was not going to shut down anytime soon. She did not have any money, so she wouldn’t be able to buy anything. However, she had to pass her time, and so Riya picked up a month-old Bharat Today magazine from the rack. Coincidentally, the cover story was about the owner of a multinational company and the most eligible bachelor in the country. INDIA’S HEART-THROB AND GEN-Z’S INSPIRATION . . . VIVAAN ARYA! A photograph of Vivaan sitting on a royal throne was on the cover page. In the picture, he looked no less than an emperor born to conquer the world! Can someone who was an inspiration yesterday become a traitor today? Can the hero of the youth suddenly become the most wanted criminal in the country?

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21 Habits to Yogic Living: Discover Jivha Mulashodhana — The Morning Kriya for Total Well-being

In her book 21 Habits to Yogic Living, Juhi Kapoor shares simple yet powerful practices to transform your day—starting with this foundational morning kriya.

‘Every morning is a fresh beginning. Every day is the world made new.’ —Sarah Chauncey Woolsey Mornings are important, after all, it’s the start of your whole day ahead. So, how do we start it right? Well, there’s the standard—brush your teeth, take a shower, comb your head, get dressed. Is it enough?

In our bodies, the excretion process eliminates waste products such as feces, urine and sweat. If these waste products accumulate excessively or become imbalanced, they can contribute to the development of various health disorders.

Front Cover 21 Habits to Yogic Living
21 Habits to Yogic Living || Juhi Kapoor

 

 

Nothing against the humble shower, but it doesn’t do a thorough cleanse. In fact, if you are to embark on the path of yoga, cleansing is paramount per Ashtanga Yoga. One of the concepts in Ashtanga Yoga, saucha, which translates to ‘cleanliness’ or ‘purity’, is an essential niyama (rule) in the practice of yoga. It emphasizes the purification and cleanliness of both the external and internal aspects of our being.

Cleansing forms the foundation of our day—not just a warm-up or precursor to yoga, but an integral part of the practice itself. Kriya is a yogic practice to cleanse or detoxify. In this section, we will delve into four kriyas that to be inculcated as daily habits at the beginning of your day for cleansing the body and mind.

Habit 1/21: Jivha Mulashodhana

Time taken: 2 minutes

Jivha Mulashodhana translates to ‘cleansing the root of the tongue’. In Sanskrit, the term ‘jivha’ refers to the tongue, ‘mula’ represents the root, and shodhana signifies the act of cleansing.

In many traditional healing systems, including Ayurveda and traditional Chinese medicine, tongue analysis is an important diagnostic tool.

Cleansing the tongue is seen as a holistic practice that promotes overall well-being by supporting the harmonious functioning of the body’s systems.

The tongue is a significant organ in human development, closely related to the three germ layers: ectoderm, endoderm and mesoderm. It plays a crucial role in intercommunication within the body. Additionally, the tongue holds cultural importance, symbolizing language, intellect, and verbal expression. Early texts of Chinese Medicine, such as the Ling-Shu Jing,2 recognized the connection between the tongue, heart, mind and spirit. The tongue serves as a diagnostic tool and an essential instrument for skilled physicians during examinations.

According to Ling-Shu Jing, the appearance of the tongue is closely linked to the internal organs. Here’s a summary of the relationships described [1]:

• The entire tongue corresponds to the heart.

• The kidney vessels terminate at the root of the tongue.

• The spleen vessels enter the body and reach the lower side of the tongue.

• The margin of the tongue is associated with the liver vessels.

• The tip of the tongue is connected to the lung and heart vessels.

• The tongue is related to the upper burner (heater), lung, large intestine, stomach and their respective vessels.

• The tongue is also connected to the lung and pericardium vessels through branches of the kidney vessels.

The significance of the tongue in the body becomes evident when considering its connection to various organ systems. Cleansing the tongue can have a far-reaching impact on overall health, influencing the functioning of multiple organs.

How to Practice Jiva Mulashodhana

1. Find yourself a basin or a sink.

2. Put your index and middle finger together and gently insert them in your mouth onto your tongue (pic 1.1). You have to reach as far back as possible to the back of your mouth, while also gently rubbing the tongue with your fingers. This may feel uncomfortable at first, and you may feel the need to regurgitate. But, you cannot stop here.

3. Continue rubbing in a manner that your fingertips are at the farthest corner of your tongue, while the finger is laid atop it. Placing your fingers carefully and as mentioned ensures the whole tongue is cleaned simultaneously. However, you have to stay at the farthest part of your tongue for as long as possible. With time, it will get less uncomfortable.

4. Naturally, after two to three trials, you may feel like throwing up, but these are only sensations triggered by a foreign object stimulating your digestive tract’s delicate openings. These convulsions are perfectly normal and, in fact, expected. After you are done, rinse and gargle.

5. You may notice a white residue sticking on your fingers. Make sure to clean well.

Benefits

• First and foremost, it cleans the tongue thoroughly.

• Did you know an unhygienic tongue is to blame for bad mouth odour? The tongue provides for a warm uneven surface, where bacteria can latch on leading to infections, unwanted white slime, and bad odour. Jivha Mulashodhana helps you shake their foundation and eliminate them from the roots.

• The tongue, a crucial muscle in digestion, is also remarkably delicate. You would notice just the touch of your fingers makes your tongue move, clench your jaws. And the farther you reach, the more sensations you experience. You will essentially be stimulating your food pipe and stomach, leading to an improved digestion.

• This technique helps to stimulate tongue function, which leads to improved digestion. When you pull at the tauter end of the tongue, you gradually increase its length and flexibility, which in turn helps move food particles around and promotes healthy lubrication.

• Jivha Mulashodhana not only removes residue from the taste buds but also stimulates them through a massaging motion, allowing them to fully experience sensations. Stimulated and exposed taste buds enhance your whole experience of a meal.

• The tongue can be a breeding ground for bacteria, and over time, as the impurities collect, they start to impact your food pipe and throat. Tongue infections have been known to spread as far down as your larynx. Hence, this kriya is a must do.

• The kriya also causes contractions in your stomach’s walls. These contractions further send nervous signals to your intestines to commence elimination. Thus, it is beneficial in getting rid of constipation and irregular bowel movements.

At this point, you may feel that this practice has been successfully replaced by the invention of U-shaped steel tongue cleaners and flexible toothbrushes, which claim to pluck out any hidden impurity.

But is this kriya an alternative to that tongue cleaner in your bathroom?

Jivha Mula Shodhana does not just clean the tongue, it also activates the organ systems.

That being said, neither is a replacement for either. Rather, each complements the other. You can continue cleaning your tongue with a tongue cleaner after you brush your teeth.

When to do it?

The best time to do it is first thing in the morning. Prior to doing any forms of yoga, doing cleaning is important. EVEN BEFORE YOU BRUSH!

CAUTION

• Practice empty stomach

• Use gentle pressure and avoid any harsh movements

• Make sure your hands are clean and disinfected before you start

• Avoid eating or drinking anything immediately.

Who should avoid?

The oral cleanse is a standard and easy-to-do exercise. Most people will find it easy once they get comfortable with the regurgitating sensation. There are no side effects. However, you may need to exercise more caution if you are suffering from any of the following:

• Hypertension

• Stomach irritation

• Cardiac disease

• Tonsilitis

• Cold or cough/respiration-related discomfort

• Mouth/tongue ulcers

In such cases, it is advised to use one finger and be gentler. Pregnant women should also avoid this practice if they experience nausea or morning sickness.

  ***

 

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The Long Journey Out of India: Tracing the Roots of a Global Diaspora

Read an exclusive excerpt from Secession of the Successful below!

 

The Indian diaspora, a heterogenous grouping of people of Indian origin (PIO) settled overseas for more than a generation, and non-resident Indians (NRI) who have emigrated in the post-Independence period, is both a natural phenomenon, arising from the migration of people over centuries, and a creation of recent historical and developmental processes, including European colonialism, global demographic shifts and the emergence of knowledge-based economies. More than half the population of what are referred to as ‘overseas Indians’ or the Indian diaspora, is comprised of PIOs. These are Indian-origin persons who are either descendants of Indian slave labour or of Indian communities settled overseas over along period of time, as traders, teachers or travellers globally spread out, from Fiji in the Pacific, to Mauritius in the Indian Ocean and to the Caribbean in the Atlantic, a large number of PIOs, now constituting over a dozen different nationalities, are the children of Indians exported as slaves or who travelled as managers, doctors, book-keepers and such like, working the plantation economies of the nineteenth century. 

Front Cover Secession of the Successful
Secession of the Successful || Sanjaya Baru

 

 

Through the early part of the nineteenth century, the UK and other European nations took half-hearted measures to abolish slavery both at home and in their overseas colonies. These high-minded actions, prompted by domestic political pressures, exerted a squeeze on the supply of labour across colonial territories. Demand for such labour was, however, on the increase across the world. The abolition of slavery and the slave trade placed in jeopardy the plantation businesses of the empire. From sugar to tea, rubber to cinnamon, British and European colonial possessions from the Pacific to the Atlantic and through the territories in between were in need of cheap, sweated labour. European planters and their financiers were all looking for a way to address this demand by ensuring supply. The door, to quote Amitav Ghosh’s character, Mr Burnham, had been shut in London. A window had then to be opened. Fortuitously for the empire and its masters, that window was opened in Calcutta. 

 

Land, and what came with it, was aplenty for the imperial powers of Europe. What they lacked was adequate labour. That too sweated labour. It was this desperate need for captive labour, who could be worked to death on the hot and humid plantations of sugar, rubber and such like, that prompted a search across the plains of northern India. The export of labour from India, of the ‘Asiatick’, to the plantation islands of the British Empire began early in the nineteenth century. Archival records and family histories tell us of such labour export to British and other European colonies dating back to the early 1830s.4 By the late 1830s, reports had already reached India of the ill-treatment of such labour. Following such complaints, the Government of India formulated certain rules and regulations for the export of labour and, in 1837, appointed a ‘Committee to Enquire into the Abuses Alleged to Exist in Exporting from Bengal Hill Coolies and Indian Labourers of Various Classes, to Other Countries’.5 The committee met in Calcutta over a period of six months, from August 1838 till January 1839, recording evidence presented by shipowners involved in carting labour out of the Calcutta port.

 

This included merchants engaged in the export of labour, port officials and police officers responsible for the management and security of the port, and the likes of a doctor who travelled on such ships, a male labourer and a female attendant accompanying a British couple on a boat to Mauritius. One such labourer, Sheikh Manik, and an attendant, Bibee Zuhoorun, were among the few who returned home and so could be summoned for questioning by the committee. A total of 1061 questions were posed, over a six-month period, to the ten persons who had appeared before the committee. The testimonies of Sheikh Manik, Bibee Zuhoorun and Dr Abdoolah Khan, the medical doctor on board the ship Gaillardon, owned by Boyd & Co. of Calcutta, constituted a clear indictment of the methods used to secure and transport labour and of the conditions of their life and work on plantations in Mauritius. Defending their business interests before thecommittee, Calcutta’s European merchants claimed that Indian labour would not only secure better remuneration overseas but would also have an opportunity to see the world and widen their horizons, liberating themselves from the narrow confines of their insular and wasted lives. 

 

  ***

 

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‘Kya Karoon Tera?’ — The Day Col. R.K. Sharma Made His CO Speechless

Read an exclusive excerpt from Shoorveer below.

In 1999, Pakistan began sending infiltrators to occupy the heights of Kargil and in turn, India began a major operation, known as Operation Vijay, to push them back. The Kargil War, as the operation is now known, was a turning point in the career of Raj. 

Front Cover Shoorveer
Shoorveer || Col. R.K. Sharma

 

The Indian Army pushed through the heights and beat back the Pakistani soldiers, and the valour and courage of its soldiers was a shining beacon for all of India. Raj was not far behind. Raj’s battalion had completed its tenure as a peace station in Hyderabad. By December 1999, they learnt that their next posting was in Kargil. At that time, the war hadn’t yet begun, so 

it was intended to be a regular posting at first and Kargil, with its beautiful landscape and tall mountains, was considered to be an easier posting than the Kashmir valley. Major Ajit was detailed as the OC advance party for the move to Kargil, which was to transport all the military stores to Kargil, with Major G.S. Walia and Captain Hamir Rathore detailed with him. As the advance party’s movement was being prepared, Major Ajit appreciated Raj’s assistance on several occasions, boosting his morale. Before proceeding, Major Ajit handed over the company to Raj, giving him instructions to ensure a smooth mobilization and induction of the main body to Kargil. Major Ajit would also write regularly to Raj telling him about the welfare of the troops and details like the packing of materials and the type of clothing that would be required at Kargil. 

At Hyderabad, a brigade-level handball competition was announced. Raj received instructions from the 47 Brigade that 22 Grenadiers had been detailed as a conducting unit for the competition. The advance party had already moved out and this would perhaps be the last sporting contest before the main body left for the war, so there were few objections from their side to conduct the event. The CO simply told them to get it done so that they could focus on their own move to the front. The Brigade staff wanted to milk them to the max before they left. So, Raj and Lt Sajjan were detailed as part of the team as officers were required to participate in the competition. 

Raj was called in by Major S.P. Yadav to go and meet the Brigade Major to be briefed about the finals and the prize distribution ceremony. Raj went to the office of BM Major D.A.S. Lohamaror from the Bihar Regiment, where Deputy Quarter Master General Major Day from Mahar Regiment was also sitting. Both briefed him about what needed to be done for the evening. Major Lohamaror then told Raj that for the prizes, he could buy anything from the Canteen Stores Department (CSD) priced between Rs 80–100, but the prizes should look big. Raj searched two or three canteens but there was nothing in that price range. At his own CSD, Raj found a set of six Borosil glasses worth Rs 60 and a few sets of ladies’ underwear costing about Rs 30. Raj told the canteen NCO to count if they had fourteen pairs of glasses as well as the underwear. The NCO told him, ‘Sahib, we have enough and this will be in your price range too.’ Poor Raj couldn’t think and just to fulfil the condition set by the staff officer, he purchased both sets and directed an INT Section Havildar to make fourteen gift sets by pairing both together. 

That evening, everything went well. Although the 17 Bihar team was very good and Raj’s team missed a few players who had already left with the advance party, Raj’s team won the final with a huge margin. When the time came for the prize distribution ceremony, the teams came up to receive the prizes for the winners and runners-up; but when the time came to give away the two referee prizes, the referee from Bihar was nowhere to be found. No one knew where he was, perhaps he was being taught the rules of the game by his team-mates! When he didn’t appear even after some time, the commander asked what the prizes were. He suddenly tore open one of them—and in his hands appeared a packet of ladies’ undergarments. He hurriedly pushed it back into the pack as there were women there too, but the expression on his face was enough to tell Raj that he had made a serious mistake and he quietly backed away from the scene. Besides, Colonel Mehr had also noticed it and the same expression appeared on his face, too. Soon after, Raj saw the CO and the BM discussing something in hushed tones. 

When the group photographs had been clicked, Colonel Mehra called Raj to a corner with, ‘Kya karoon tera? What should I do with you?’ Raj very innocently told him that nothing else was available in that price range. ‘You should have just got men’s underwear. Why did you need to pack women’s underwear?’ the colonel told him angrily. When the other officers heard the story, they laughed and told Raj he was responsible for making his own life hell.

 

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One Minute Wisdom: Unlocking the Rishis’ Secret to a Fulfilled and Meaningful Life

Read and exclusive excerpt from One Minute Wisdom.

Over 4000 years ago, the rishis of ancient India uncovered a profound truth: The universe is not chaotic but an intelligent, self-aware ecosystem. They observed life deeply and found patterns that connect us to something infinite. Their discovery, Satchitananda, offers a map of human potential rooted in three timeless principles: Sat (Reality), Chit (Consciousness) and Ananda (Bliss). 

This ancient wisdom is as relevant today as it was then. Satchitananda invites us to explore who we truly are and what it means to live a fulfilling life. 

Front Cover One Minute Wisdom
One Minute Wisdom || Debashis Chatterjee

 

 

The Map of Satchitananda 

Below is a simple diagram to illustrate how Sat, Chit and Ananda work together: 

 

  • Sat grounds you in what is real. 
  • Chit keeps you curious and aware. 
  • Ananda reminds you that bliss and fulfilment lie within. 

 

Together, these three principles form a timeless guide to living a life of purpose and joy.  

 

 1. Sat: The Quest for What Is Real 

Sat is about finding the truth behind appearances. At first, we rely on our five senses to understand the world—what we see, hear, touch, taste and smell. But our senses only scratch the surface. They reveal objects and events but not the invisible space that holds them all. 

Imagine standing in a room filled with furniture. You see the objects, but do you notice the space they occupy? Similarly, Sat points to the infinite existence that underlies everything, including us. Our personality, body and mind are forms shaped by this infinite being called existence. Deep down, we long to reconnect with that vastness of our existence. Sat anchors us in reality. It asks us: ‘What is truly real?’ In seeking this, we find the power to make a genuine impact on our world. 

 

2. Chit: The Light of Awareness 

Chit is consciousness itself, the universal awareness that illuminates everything. In our daily lives, we experience different states of being waking, dreaming and deep sleep. Yet, in all these states, consciousness quietly exists in the background, like the screen on which a movie plays. 

We often get lost in the drama of this ‘movie’ of life and forget the screen itself. Chit is the will to know, the spark of curiosity that drives us to uncover the secrets of existence. It keeps us asking: ‘How do I truly know myself and the world? ‘By being curious and aware, we connect to the universal intelligence that guides everything. 

 

3. Ananda: The Ocean of Bliss 

Ananda is the deep, infinite joy that lies at the heart of existence. At first, we seek happiness in external things—a delicious meal, a thrilling experience or the company of loved ones. These moments bring joy, but they don’t last. So, we search for the next high, the next wave of pleasure. The rishis discovered that true bliss doesn’t depend on anything outside us. Ananda is not the fleeting happiness we chase; it’s the timeless ocean of joy within us. It’s where our ups and downs merge, and we feel whole again. 

Ananda teaches us to look inward for fulfilment. It’s not about rejecting life but embracing it with detachment from its passing forms. In doing so, we find balance—a state the rishis called samata, where our individual self stands in harmony with the universal. 

 

 Satchitananda: The Trinity of Life 

Reality, Awareness and Bliss—Sat, Chit and Ananda—are not separate ideas. They are the foundation of all existence. Everything in the universe begins with them and returns to them. They are always present, shaping who we are and why we are here. 

 

When we understand and live by Satchitananda, life reveals its deeper purpose. The rishis showed us that this understanding is the key to a fulfilling, harmonious life. It connects us to the infinite within and around us. 

Satchitananda is not just ancient wisdom; it’s a practical way to live meaningfully. When we align with Sat, Chit and Ananda, Reality, Awareness and Bliss, we discover that life itself is the greatest gift—and that we are already part of something infinite. 

 

In the process of reaching towards the creation of this book, we conducted a poll on my LinkedIn page. This page is followed by more than 55,000 professionals, managers and leaders. The poll revealed the following responses of leaders relating to Sat (real impact), Chit (Self-Awareness) and Joy of Fulfilment (Ananda): 

 

An achiever in a leadership role needs transformative influence to unlock their full potential. What does it take for them to succeed 

 

Leadership is seen as a role dominated by Self-Awareness; Real Impact beiną the second factor in line while Joy and Fulfilment come as a distant third. 

 

 

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The Harvest of Racism: What America’s 1967 Black Rebellion Meant for Dalits in India

This chapter deals with the complexities of the Dalit and Black movements in India and the United States respectively, and the possibilities of their similarities and solidarities as framed in both academic literature and the popular media.1 Though appealing, such a comparison exaggerates what both movements stood for. To begin with, the positions of the Dalit and Black movements, generally speaking, were divergent. In America, from the 1960s there were radical uprisings among the educated Black youth, who were unfair targets of police harassment and brutality. For the Dalits in India, whose status was that of a subordinate minority and untouchables, any demands they made for equality as enshrined in the Constitution were met with localized violence, either committed against individuals or the Dalit ghettoes. Dalit women were a particularly vulnerable target. 

Front Cover Caste
Caste || Suraj Milind Yengde

 

Through media coverage of Black atrocities in the United States, Dalits in India became aware of the situation faced by the descendants of slaves in white-ruled America. Reports in the American media made their way to the larger Indian cities such as Mumbai, where they were picked up by the Dalit literati, who read Time magazine, the New York Times and Newsweek, and discussed the reports with friends in literary circles drawn from diverse castes. What happened in America resonated with Dalits in India. They read of the American state going rogue against Black people in a spate of racial attacks. In one incident, which took place on a Wednesday evening in July 1967, two white police officers dragged a Black man, John William Smith, into their precinct building in the city of Newark, New Jersey. Smith, a taxi driver, had just been arrested for the alleged crime of improperly passing the officers’ car, and was beaten so brutally that he could not walk. Residents of a nearby housing project saw him being dragged inside the precinct, and a rumour was set off that the cops had killed another Black man. A crowd formed and resorted to attacking the police station. For five days, violence tore through the city, with a toll of over two dozen lives. Some called it rioting, others a rebellion. 

 

That was just one flashpoint in what came to be known as “the long, hot summer of 1967”. The United States witnessed over 150 “race riots” that season, with police brutality against Black people a common spark, extending a long lineage of rage—Hough in 1966, Watts in 1965, Harlem in 1964 and 1943, Chicago in 1935 and 1919, and so on. This has been termed a rebellion of the urban class of America, with 1967 the pivotal year. The US president Lyndon B. Johnson, already battling public anger over the invasion of Vietnam and faced with a fresh crisis, formed a committee to answer three questions: “What happened? Why did it happen? What can be done to prevent it from happening again?” 

 

Te Kerner Commission, as part of its work, hired a group of social scientists to bolster its research. Their draft submission to the commission echoed the radical language and ideas of the rising Black Power movement, and came to some alarming conclusions. Under the present course, the researchers wrote, the United States was headed for a full-blown race war, involving “guerrilla warfare of Black youth against white power in the major cities of the United States.” It foretold civil war on the streets, which would turn American cities into “garrisons”.

 

The only way out of this impending war was a radical programme to tackle the poverty and socio-economic stagnation facing Black communities, to reform the police and other institutions that plainly discriminated against Black people, and to make drastic changes that went far beyond the “token concessions” offered to the community till then. “There is still time”, the researchers added, “for one nation to make a concerted attack on the racism that persists in its midst.” If it did not, “The harvest of racism will be the end of the American dream.”5 The document was entitled The Harvest of Racism 

 

 

  ***

 

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Inside the Secret Ballot That Made Indira Gandhi Prime Minister

Read this defining moment from Indira Gandhi and the Years that Transformed India!

 

THE END OF CONGRESS RAJ

 

Prime Minister Shastri’s unforeseen death in January 1966 touched off a tussle for power within the ruling party. While Indira Gandhi was certainly quick off the blocks in declaring her interest, she could not previously have contemplated this as a serious possibility. Yet, as a member of Shastri’s cabinet, she had pondered the state of the country and the Congress party as well as her own role in politics. Writing to an old friend, P.N. Haksar, two months earlier, she had struck a deeply pessimistic note: “The state of affairs is quite extraordinary here . . . As I see it, we are at the beginning of a new dark age. The food situation is precarious, industries are closing. There is no direction, no policy on any matter.” Not only was the country’s development juddering to a halt, but the response was to dilute its autonomy. “Brave words notwithstanding,” she wrote, “there is anxiety to go to America, who will I have no doubt give PL 480 food aid and everything at a price. The manner of execution will be so deft and subtle that no one will realize it until it is too late and India’s freedom of thought and action will both have been bartered away.” Meanwhile, the Congress party was “dormant and inactive.” Her personal predicament seemed equally stark: “When I am depressed, which is often, I feel I must quit. At other times, that I must fight it out.” Indira Gandhi regarded herself as the custodian of her father’s legacy. Yet, as the Nehruvian project of planned economic development and nonaligned foreign policy ran out of steam, this legacy could well be turned against her: “As a child I wanted to be like Joan of Arc – I may yet be burnt at the stake.” 

 

Front Cover Indira Gandhi and the Years that Transformed India
Indira Gandhi and the Years that Transformed India || Srinath Raghavan

 

Indira Gandhi was prone to mythologizing her past, but she was no diffident dreamer. She knew that her ascent to the highest office could only be piloted by the powerful president of the Congress party, K. Kamaraj. Of humble origins in a poor family of the discriminated Nadar caste in southern Tamil Nadu, Kamaraj had had little formal education but formidable political experience. Starting out in anticolonial politics and a Congress party dominated by the upper castes, he had served as chief minister of Tamil Nadu for nearly a decade. In 1963, he had been asked by Nehru to take over as Congress president and help renew the party’s organizational fabric. In fact, Nehru’s own position had been enfeebled by the ignominious defeat against China the previous year, and he had been looking to strengthen his flanks. Kamaraj had shrewdly suggested that the road to organizational revival lay in getting all Congress chief ministers to resign and work for the party. The “Kamaraj Plan” had duly been implemented, so scotching any potential challenge to prime ministerial authority. After Nehru’s death, he had tactfully taken soundings from scores of Congress leaders and had paved the way for Shastri’s uncontested ascension.

 

After Shastri’s passing, Kamaraj was pressed by his admirers to assume leadership of the government. Yet the canny Tamil politician was aware of his limitations in a political system dominated by an Anglophone elite and the Hindi belt of north India. Kamaraj also conveyed his disinterest to President Radhakrishnan and suggested that he was favorably inclined towards Indira Gandhi. Radhakrishnan now advised her to press ahead. But she was hardly the sole claimant for the job. Home Minister Nanda and Defence Minister Y.B. Chavan were also in contention. The former was the senior-most minister, who sported the curious ideological credentials of being the patron of both the socialist forum and the sadhu samaj (Hindu monks association); the latter had been chief minister of Maharashtra before being inducted into the union cabinet after the debacle against China. Above all, there was Morarji Desai.

 

The erstwhile chief minister of the old Bombay state and longserving finance minister of India, Desai was an able and experienced administrator who exuded an aura of high-minded rectitude. To many of his colleagues in government and party, this came across as puritanic inflexibility. His unwillingness ever to concede a point, as well as his refusal to dismount such hobby horses as prohibition of alcohol or regulation of gold, made many congressmen wary of him. Desai had fancied his chances after Nehru’s death but had been thwarted by Kamaraj and other party bosses. Collectively known as the “syndicate,” this group of regional grandees included Atulya Ghosh from West Bengal, Sanjiva Reddy from Andhra Pradesh, Nijalingappa from Karnataka, and S.K. Patil from Maharashtra.

 

Desai had stayed out of Shastri’s cabinet but now pressed his claims with adamantine force. In so doing, he inadvertently strengthened Indira Gandhi’s position. Stopping the implacable Desai became a high priority for the syndicate. By contrast, they regarded Indira Gandhi as politically unsure and ideologically indistinct: even the left wing of the Congress party, including those close to her father like V.K. Krishna Menon, had not supported her candidacy. Paradoxically, it was Indira Gandhi’s political weakness that commended her to the party bosses—a choice they would have adequate leisure to rue after she had pensioned them to political oblivion. But the syndicate also reckoned that her ability to borrow her father’s sheen would be a major asset in the coming general elections. Her case was further strengthened when in a deft move she enlisted the support of D.P. Mishra, the wily chief minister of Madhya Pradesh, and, through his machinations, the endorsement of eight other Congress chief ministers. Nanda and Chavan thought better of it and bowed out. But Desai was determined to have it out. On 19 January 1966, the Congress parliamentary party voted by secret ballot to choose the prime minister: the first and, it turned out, last time that the grand old party held such an election. Indira Gandhi took 355 votes to Desai’s 169. The same evening, President Radhakrishnan invited her to form a new government.

 

 

  ***

 

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Orchids, Traffic Jams, and a City on the Edge: Poems of Urban India

A selection of poems from The Penguin Book of Poems on the Indian City—verses that capture the moods, memories, and moments of urban India, from its ancient roots to its restless present.

 

Front Cover The Penguin Book of Poems on the Indian City
The Penguin Book of Poems on the Indian City || Bilal Moin

 

SUBURBAN FRIENDS

ESTHER SYIEM (B. 1958)

Orchids for city have-nots,

rotund potatoes rolling lustily in bamboo backpacks,

pungent, aromatic fish

freshly dusted with chaff

from fresh packing ice,

honey gathered from

the lowlands of Ri War.

They come, from barren hamlets,

windswept, buried in fog,

whittled down by poverty,

even crumbling shacks

of flattened kerosene tins

and makeshift days

of the city’s inner courtyards,

to strike a deal.

I’ve brought these bottles to you first

knowing how you chase the thing called time.

You look fidgety this morning

it’s Saturday em?

Yes I’m better now

should I tell you

how she stilled my palpitations

that woman from Sohiong,

who sees even in the dead of night?

That doctor you sent me to,

he was hopeless.

To sich ym lei lei,

believe me, I always know when

to bring the potatoes.

I’ve delivered here since the great flood.

how should I charge you?

Kong you hoarder, you, sell me

all your old clothes, old shoes, old newspapers.

Umm, your bitch knows me.

No discards for my grandchildren today?

Shi shi, so hefty and you can’t even lift this pot!

These orchids are called hybrids.

What other names would they have?

You call yourself a gardener,

look at insects feasting on shrunken buds,

those flowers so wilted!

Didi my fish, so alive,

look at gills glistening

I rush to catch truck early,

I choose best one for you

but I go now three months

to visit ma-baap and arrange shadi.

After Mei’s death

their visits they tailored

to suit mine;

only Saturdays and holidays.

Legal tender—strictly cash,

but always

something more

to bond us.

 

  ***

 

TRAFFIC JAM

NILIM KUMAR (B. 1961)

(Trans. from the Assamese by Bibekanandan Chaudhury)

As I drive out from home

I forget suddenly

where I’m headed.

But when I’m in a hurry

and stuck in traffic jams

I grow restless

and I remember

Many people tell me –

“I saw you the other day

in the traffic jam”

Yes!

But who was it that saw me in the traffic jam?

I have to enter another traffic jam

to remember.

 

 

  ***

 

THE CITY WANTS TO

COMMIT SUICIDE

SUSHILKUMAR SHINDE (B. 1988)

(Trans. from the Marathi by Dileep Chavan)

Rejecting the existence

of thousands of years

I began to walk

towards my primitive creation;

then

the city

calculating the income and expenses

sitting along the seashore

shivering in the cold,

a shelterless child on the verge of death

keeps knocking the door of Jama Masjid;

then the doors of the Masjid get stuck more firmly,

then the city begins to shiver fatally.

A life died without food

stands in the long queue of the temple as a beggar.

Then the senses of this city

that bakes the hunger

on the burning coals in the stomach

become numb.

To cover the stragglers

living in the open spaces

Don Bosco’s hands are short of length.

Then this city begins to tear itself to pieces;

it opens in the seam

exposing its limitations and the old wounds.

 

 

  ***

 

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The Fire in the Belly Never Dims: Leadership Lessons from 43 Years in Uniform

Read an exclusive except from Wafadari, Imaandari, Zimmedari!

 

‘Leadership is a journey, not a destination. It is a marathon, not a sprint. It is a process, not an outcome.’

—John Donahoe, CEO, Nike

‘I see what shines in you’—this simple but profound eulogy came my way from a charming lady I met for the first time in my life at a literary seminar in Chandigarh in February 2024. The occasion happened to coincide with the period when I was engaged in preparing the blueprint for my second book, which is this one. I had been invited to this ‘Members only’ literary event, to participate in an interactive session to discuss my first book Kitne Ghazi Aaye, Kitne Ghazi Gaye. I was seated in the front row waiting for my session to begin when a graceful lady walked in, and asked if she could sit in the vacant seat next to mine, after she had ostensibly failed to find any preferred seat in the rest of the hall. I politely gestured that she was welcome to sit there, and in accordance with the customary military civility that comes unbidden to a soldier due to the discipline imbibed after years of being in the army, I rose and wished her, ‘Good morning, Ma’am’, sitting down only after she had settled in her seat. After a while, as a precursor to my session, my photograph in full military uniform was displayed on the screen on stage along with a reading of my biodata. Surprised, the lady seated next to me turned and asked, ‘Is that you?’ I politely replied in the affirmative before moving up to the stage. After the session, some of the attendees complimented me for my services in the army, exchanging pleasantries and requests for some selfies.

 

Front Cover Wafadari Imaandari Zimmedari
Wafadari Imaandari Zimmedari || Lt Gen. K.J.S. ‘Tiny’ Dhillon

 

I ran into this graceful lady again a few months later at another literary event that was attended by the same audience as the previous one. Instantly recognizing me, she recalled our encounter at the earlier event, which I too remembered vividly. She recounted that she had narrated that incident to her parents, too, telling them that she had instantly guessed my military

antecedents from my gracious behaviour, which was confirmed when I was introduced and invited on stage by the master of ceremonies on that occasion. It is then that she delivered her

potent one-liner that absolutely caught me unawares, ‘I see what shines in you—your gentlemanly mannerisms and upbringing are instantly visible to anyone you come across.’ At that moment, I was too overwhelmed by the compliment to offer a suitable reaction, as I am sure anyone would have been. However, it was only later, as I ran through her words in my mind again, that I realized that the person who had stood up in deference to the lady in the hall was not me, K.J.S. Dhillon, but an officer of the Indian Army whose demeanour and actions had been conditioned by a strict military ethos and rigorous training, which has made such gentlemanly behaviour a way of life for all those who don the military uniform. So, yes, the inner ‘shine’ imparted to me by my four-decade-long service in the army was obvious to any onlooker, especially a clairvoyant lady who could recognize the value of that chivalry.

 

What Is It That Shines in Me?

The entire process of chiselling, moulding, polishing and buffing the rough edges of a teenager’s personality to create the inner ‘shine’ began over forty-five years ago, on 2 January 1980. The chilly evening when I, as a strapping lad of seventeen years, boarded the popular Punjab Mail train from Ferozepur to reach the hallowed gates of the National Defence Academy (NDA) at Khadakwasla, is still fresh in my memory. Barely out of school, I plunged into the deep waters of army pedagogy, when, after a stringent selection procedure, I was called to join the NDA, widely known as the ‘Cradle for Military Leadership’. The lanky boy, who had just started growing a wisp of a moustache, and who loved to sleep well past sunrise, was suddenly thrown into an alien world that was the complete antithesis of his hitherto easy-going life. However, it was the challenges of this highly regimented and disciplined environment at the NDA and subsequently at the Indian Military Academy (IMA) over the next four years that shaped a raw, scrappy youngster into a refined personality, sowing the seeds for my future leadership roles in different capacities in the army.

 

I had obviously been selected to join the army on the basis of certain qualities or leadership attributes that the Selection Board must have observed in me. The training at NDA and IMA not only served to extract and hone these dormant qualities but also imparted new ones that went on to define my character as I assumed a range of challenging roles in the course of my army career. Today, as I pen down the vital markers of the military leadership mindset that I have imbibed over forty-three years of my military life, entering it as a naïve seventeen-year old and ending it as a wizened sixty-year old in January 2022, I can say with certainty that the fire in the belly has not dimmed at all, with my immense reverence and love for the profession still intact. During the course of my long innings, I have commanded men and women from diverse backgrounds, following different languages and cultural practices, and served under bosses (not all of whom can be called ‘leaders’) of all shapes, sizes and characters. The environments and physical conditions I have encountered during these decades have ranged from extreme danger to the leisure of peacetime soldiering, both in India as well as during my various assignments abroad. And I daresay that I may have assimilated every possible leadership style delineated across various leadership manuals, practising them in my life as well, mostly obtrusively, others subconsciously and some with eyes wide open.

 

Leadership Approaches

This rich experience endows me with the ability to understand and share the nuances of some critical leadership theories.

So, here goes—my take on various leadership approaches (theoretical as they may sound). 

The Trait Theory, also called the Dispositional Theory, postulates that successful leadership emerges from certain innate personality traits that produce consistent behaviours across different situations, and only a person who has those traits can be called a leader. However, this theory does not take into account situational and environmental factors, also presuming that leaders are born and cannot be developed as they evolve into thinking adults. Notwithstanding the limitations of this approach, the fact that certain defining traits a person is born with are associated with good leadership across all circumstances is incontestable.

 

  ***

 

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Mahabharata Reimagined: When Loss Opens a Portal to the Past

Read an exclusive excerpt from the book Mahabharata 2025.

 

Prologue

 

The Battle of Kurukshetra

 

Before the first rays of light pierced the cyan sky, my grandfather was already afoot. Putting on a dusty grey coat and looping his favourite maroon muffler around his neck, he crept out of our house on the outskirts of Rishikesh in the very early hours. I was immune to this ritual of his. In the eighteen years that I had been breathing, I had caught him sneaking out of our house at odd hours to meet strangers more than I had heard bedtime stories from him.

There were all sorts of rumours about him. Everybody who had ever been close to my grandfather wasn’t around any more. Grandma was found murdered in their bedroom on the day that I was born. The police never reached the truth about her death, and my stubborn grandfather refused to cooperate. I did hear a great deal about her, but I know for a fact that whatever had happened to her, it scarred my grandfather for life. Locally, she was known as ‘the red witch’. But then, my grandfather was known as a drug smuggler, sometimes a bootlegger, and even a gambling kingpin at one point, which, as adventurous as they sound, were all lies.

 

Front Cover Mahabharata 2025
Mahabharata 2025 || Divyansh Mundra

 

Yes, he did brew himself alcohol made out of rice in the crumbling shed behind our house. But he was just a sad, helpless, miserable man who wanted to indulge in vices to numb his pain. Some years later, my parents were gone as well. I was a shy, socially awkward teen when they set off for a pilgrimage to the Kedarnath temple in mid-June. There was a storm brewing at our home with the constant fights between my mother and grandfather. But then the next day, my world changed. A massive cloudburst triggered landslides and flash floods, in what became one of the worst natural disasters in recent Indian history. The popular eighth-century shrine dedicated to Lord Shiva is all that remained, while everything surrounding it was pelted with walls of waves and gigantic rocks. The official death toll raked up to 6000, which wasn’t even half of the real loss, while over 4000 villages were affected. I never saw my parents again. Thousands died. Entire villages were wiped out. Men who had seen a lifetime and infants who had barely been breathing for a few days—all gone. Their pain, anguish and grief silenced by the cold water that swept them away for miles and burnt their lungs till they prayed to their gods for a quick death.

But the temple remained unaffected. A gigantic rock that was swept by the flash floods parked itself right before the shrine and saved it from the calamity. I remember watching the news and hearing the anchors screaming ‘miracle’ at the top of their squeaky voices. It was the evidence of god.

 

But to my grieving mind, it did not make any sense. Why would god save only himself when he has the power to save everyone? I grieved for a few weeks. But then, when it was my

birthday, I finally stopped. My grandfather brought a cake for me and called a few friends from school so that I could feel normal. ‘What did you wish for?’ My friends inquired as I blew out the candles. ‘To see the bodies of my parents,’ my reply was prompt, which, understandably, ruined the celebrations. I remember having this thought even back then as a kid—wouldn’t it be better if their bodies were found? That way, it would have been certain, a definitive closure.

Pain is temporary. I could always heal. But that sliver of hope is what hurt the most. It was soon after this tragedy that my grandfather somehow found himself meeting these strangers in the

woods at the oddest of hours. But something was different about his walk on the morning of my eighteenth birthday. He didn’t look back cautiously before shutting the door, something that I had seen him always do. So I decided to follow. I saw his distinct shadow piercing the morning mist plaguing the valley and trotting down a path that led to nowhere. There was barely any colour, any liveliness to his walk. He might as well have been in a trance; under a spell of something sinister that was calling him into the wild. He went down that path for some time before suddenly coming to a halt, turning his face to the side for a moment and staring back from the corner of his eye. I hid behind a giant tree and prayed that he didn’t notice me. He never liked it when I followed him out. I was all of ten when I first learnt of my grandfather’s infamous temper. He was out with my father when they spotted me stalking them. The next moment, he was dragging me home and squeezing my fingers between the door as he shut it forcefully, making me promise that I would leave them alone while I poured out salty tears over my broken fingernails.

A year later, he caught me listening in on a conversation he was having with a strange woman whom he met in the woods. They weren’t speaking in Hindi or English but a language I couldn’t pinpoint—something that I still haven’t heard. He burnt my back with a hot iron rod that night, a scar that I still carry as a reward on my body, along with the various marks left behind by his favourite belt, the occasional scissor throws, and that one time he was holding a sharp knife to cut his onions. It was no secret that I didn’t love my family. It was no secret that they didn’t love me either. My father never stopped him. My mother would always leave the room and then refuse to make eye contact with me the next day. My grandfather had his demons—demons that only got worse after the death of my parents. He was an utterly complicated man, who would raise more questions than provide answers. And I had so many questions.

So as he aimlessly trotted past the lush forest cover and stepped into the ice-cold waters of the Ganga, a part of me wished that he would drown.

Little did I know that I would manifest it the very next moment.

 

I saw him sinking lower and lower—the water drank his bruised knees, the grey hair on his chest and then his balding

head. But just before he disappeared forever, he turned around and looked at me with his old weary dark eyes that had given up long ago.

Then he was gone. I ran as fast as my feet could carry me and plunged into the river while calling out to him. The icy cold waters froze me to my bones. I kept paddling my arms to race ahead to where I had last seen him, but he was never coming back.

The old man gave me the wildest eighteenth birthday present, and in that moment of despair it really hit me—I did not have a family any more. I must have searched for a good thirty minutes, diving in and out, trying to go further with each stretch and hoping to see his scarred face in the darkness of those depths. The current wasn’t as strong but moved with an authority that seemed to swallow everything around it. But just as I was about to give up, something strange

transpired. The waters started dancing around me in circles. The current became distorted. A sudden chaos gripped my surroundings. And right where I swam, the water started

parting, revealing a vortex that amplified in size more quickly than my tired brain could perceive.

With whatever little strength I had left in my arms and legs, I went for it—paddling hard at the disappearing water under my skin, which seemed to be vanishing and getting replaced by cold air.

I remember yelling as loud as I could as the swirling vortex swallowed me whole. For a moment, it all became a flash of vibrant, trippy colours and shapes, and then I woke up in a place I had no business being. The battle cries of the warriors shook my bones as the ground throbbed under the weight of the massive armies that could redefine the word chaos to being a gentle moment of discomfort. I saw animals that didn’t exist any more, giants that pulled apart people like dolls, and warriors who went about head-butting mammoth elephants casually and choking warhorses with a single hand.

The sun pelted down hard but wasn’t hot somehow. Storms of dust enveloped the giant land where hundreds were perishing every minute. A primaeval battle raged before my eyes, and I had absolutely no idea how I was thrown into it.

 

 

  ***

 

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