Age of Shiva (The Pantheon Series) (20 page)

“Namely?”

“Do you know, Hanuman – Zak – precisely how it is that we are Hindu gods and not any other kind?”

“Perhaps now is not time,” said Korolev. “You stray into classified territory, Rama.”

“
Bouf
.” Rama puffed out his cheeks. Pure Gallic couldn’t-give-a-flying-fuck. “I think Zak is past that now. He is a deva and has a right to know this.”

“But Trinity...”

“Forgive me, Professor Korolev, but since when do you care what the Trinity think? You are their employee, but not their slave. As long as they keep funding your research and paying you, you are happy to work for them, but you are not some lapdog, obedient to their every whim. Are you?”

“
Nyet
,
nyet
,
nyet
,” Korolev said, as dogmatically as Khrushchev banging his shoe on the table at the UN.

“This is not Soviet Russia, after all.”

“Do not talk to me about Soviet Russia. I am old enough to remember Soviet Russia. Old enough to remember bread queues and bad cinema. Old enough to remember my father disappearing to gulag for two years and coming back a husk, with many toes lost to frostbite. Just for making joke in bar about Brezhnev counting medals on chest instead of sheep to go to sleep at night.” He looked at me. “And you wonder why I do not find anything funny.”

“Hardly surprising if that’s the standard of humour you grew up with,” I said.

“The point,” said Rama, shepherding us back on track, “is that Zak is Hanuman now, one of us. We know the truth, so why not him too? The Trinity will no doubt reveal it to him in due course, but why should he have to wait?”

“Cannot hurt, I suppose,” begrudged Korolev.

“We are Hindu gods,” Rama said to me, “not just because we were designed that way or because the Dashavatara are a convenient, ready-made superhero team. We are Hindu gods because the Hindu faith powers us.”

“Huh?” I said, articulately.

“The footage shown to you in the Induction Cocoon is drawn from current Hindu religious practice. It is worship in electronic form, distilled, compacted, refined to its essence. Dick Lombard culls it from various origins using his media empire. With his TV stations, his satellite and cable services, and his internet interests, he has ‘eyes’ all across the planet. But recently, in this region, in India especially, he has been growing his market share, and in fact has gained a near monopoly. Little is broadcast around here that he doesn’t have access to or owns outright. He has algorithms and search bots programmed to hunt through his networks, seeking out anything that involves the Hindu gods, which is then retrieved and routed to Mount Meru through satellite uplinks. Lombard harvests it and stores it like wheat, and then it is fed to us as part of the theogenesis process.”

“Is soil you sprout in,” said Korolev. “Fertiliser that makes you grow.”

“Hindus’ worship is what gives us our shape and function,” said Rama. “Hinduism is a living, thriving religion. ‘The world’s most popular form of polytheism,’ as Aanandi described it to me. Did I pronounce that right? ‘Polytheism’ is a very difficult word for a Frenchman.”

“Even I can’t say it, and I’m English,” I said.

“How many people are there in India?” Rama asked Korolev.

“Over one billion,” said the biochemist. “One and a quarter, I think.”

“And it is they who have made us. They who supply us with our siddhis and our deva characteristics. We are supported by one and a quarter billion individuals and their beliefs. They do not realise it, but every time they make an offering or perform a ritual, they are empowering us. Charging us up.”

“Like a kind of living battery,” I said.

“
Exactement
.”

“Shit. Is that really true?”

“To me, the lotus visions confirms it,” said Rama. “It is an acknowledgement of the change we have undergone as devas. It is proof that we have been transformed as much by spirituality as by science, that we
are
gods, or at least the living incarnations of gods. No disrespect to
monsieur le professeur
here and his skills, of course.”

“I am not so sure,” said Korolev. “Is possible to explain theogenesis in purely non-metaphysical terms. Induction Cocoon, for example? Simple rerouting of neural pathways through intensive neurolinguistic conditioning. Process alters brain’s chemistry and reinforces belief that you are deva.”

“And how about the transfer of power to us from the Hindu faithful?”

“I have hypotheses. Quantum entanglement. Interaction through morphogenetic field. Something just a notch or two above us on the Clarke magic/science spectrum.”

“That sound you hear is the sound of straws being clutched,” said Rama to me.

“However theogenesis works,” Korolev declared, “what is true is that it does work and my science has made it possible. If I have harnessed spirituality through biochemical principles, then is to my credit. Is triumph of intellect – using religious faith as tool, bending it to my will in laboratory. I have fashioned men into vessels that are capable of receiving and storing the power of worship. Is kind of energy source, and I have turned you devas into conduits for it.”

“He says that, but it wasn’t
all
his doing.”

“Bah.” The Russian gave a dismissive shake of the head, like a terrier killing a rabbit. “So Krieger helped. So what?”

“More than helped, as I understand it. Krieger came up with the basic theory,
n’est-ce pas
? And supplied the fundamental building blocks for your, what is the name? God virus.”

“Who is builder? Man who brings bricks to site or man who places them on top of one another to make house?” Korolev was the picture of defiant pride, thumping his chest, jutting his jaw. “Amrita at least is all mine, that cannot be denied. Except name, which comes from Bhatnagar, after so-called nectar of Hindu gods which gave them their immortality.”

“So Krieger’s more than just the man with the MBA?” I said. “He knows the stuff he trades in?”

“He is a biochemist of some repute,” said Rama.

“Or someone who makes lucky discoveries,” Korolev muttered, mostly under his breath. “Which is not same thing.”

Back then, this remark sounded like nothing more than the bitchiness of professional rivalry. Only later would I learn what Korolev had really meant by it.

“This may sound like a stupid question,” I said, “but what if Hindus stopped believing? Would our siddhis not work then?”

“That will not happen,” said Rama. “How could it? Religion is core to their lives. It is something they engage in every day, without fail. A billion-plus people would not just suddenly give up their faith.”

“Existence of Avatars only makes it stronger,” said Korolev. “Hindus are more ardent than ever, now that they see their gods in flesh.”

“Also, there have been converts. Hinduism is growing faster now than at any time in its history.”

I’d heard about that. Since the Dashavatara went public, new Hindu temples had opened up in all regions of the world, and the existing ones were packed with newcomers, full to capacity and beyond. Pilgrimages to India were being undertaken by all sorts, not just the hippies and airy-fairy tie-dyed mystical types that you’d expect, but hardnosed businesspeople and arch-rationalists, men and women who had had their materialistic worldview completely overturned. Foreigners thronged the banks of the Ganges, descending the stone-stepped ghats and washing themselves in the silty waters. Faith tourists were flocking to Srirangam in Tamil Nadu, Akshardham in Delhi, Jagganath in Orissa and all of the religion’s other principal holy shrines. Christians, Jews and Muslims were abandoning their solitary, aloof almighty in droves and prostrating themselves at the altars of gods who demonstrably existed, gods who didn’t demand blind trust and obedience, gods who were irrefutably flesh-and-blood and having a tangible and beneficial impact on the world.

“Is positive feedback loop,” said Korolev. “The more Avatars do, the more worshippers Hinduism gains. The more worshippers Hinduism gains, the more faith energy there is to fuel Avatars. Win-win situation.”

“And the asuras?” I said. “Does belief create them too?”

Rama shook his head noncommittally. “Asuras seem to be a law unto themselves. We’re not even sure where they sprang from.”

“Lombard said something about karmic balance. The whole yin-yang thing. You order gods, demons come as an unavoidable side dish whether you want it or not. Like those salady bits you always get with your Indian takeaway.”

“Is theory,” said Korolev.

Again, there was a subtext here, but one I would recognise only in hindsight.

“Yes, perhaps asuras do gain their power, their existence, from belief,” said Rama. “But that, too, works in our favour. With every asura we defeat our worldwide popularity increases, and so consequently do our siddhis grow. I have observed it in myself. During our most recent missions I have been even quicker with my bow, even more accurate. My marksmanship is such that it sometimes astounds me. It is as though I can
will
the arrow to its target. I only have to glance at what I wish to hit and the arrow goes there. I am barely aware of releasing the bowstring, and I no longer consciously think about variables such as wind speed and direction. It is automatic now, beyond instinct. I almost feel I could find the bullseye with my eyes shut.”

“You’re saying this is just the beginning?” I said. “I’m going to keep getting free upgrades?”

“While Hinduism continues to spread and prosper, yes.”

If I had any last lingering qualms about becoming a deva, they were now dispelled. It was as though I’d been handed the keys to my very own Ferrari, and I didn’t even have to pay for the petrol.

I couldn’t wait to take my new sports car self out for a proper spin.

24. DELEGATION FROM NEW DELHI

I
DIDN’T HAVE
to wait that long.

The following day Mount Meru received visitors. A pair of seaplanes decanted them at the docks, where they and the Trinity greeted one another with plenty of gladhanding and obsequious backslapping. A huge banquet was laid on outdoors in an open-sided marquee, and the visitors took full advantage of the hospitality, troughing down on swordfish steaks, mahi-mahi curry and dressed crab, along with Maldivian specialities such as garudhiya
¹
and thinly sliced strips of screwpine.
²

They were a dozen-strong delegation of bureaucrats from India. Among their number were senior politicians, including the Cabinet Secretary and the Minister of External Affairs. There were a couple of high-ranking spooks: the Director General of the Defence Intelligence Agency and the Deputy Director of the Intelligence Bureau. There was also a smattering of military top brass, notably the Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff Committee and a ramrod-spined official who oversaw defence procurement for the country’s entire armed forces.

After the last chunk of flatbread was used to sop up the last smear of curry sauce, but with the champagne still doing the rounds, we devas were ushered out and introduced personally to the Trinity’s guests. Our instructions were to mingle and hobnob, not say or do anything controversial, just be friendly and polite.

It was quite startling the way the Indian VIPs acted around us. These were top-echelon representatives of government, secret service and military, used to commanding respect, yet they fawned over us, head-bobbling like crazy, offering us namaste after namaste, almost genuflecting. They were like Bollywood fans meeting their silver screen idols. I swear that the Deputy Speaker of the Lok Sabha, the lower house of parliament, nearly fainted at the sight of us. In a flash she was reduced from dignified elder stateswoman to breathless, hand-fanning schoolgirl.

“So amazing,” the Minister of External Affairs kept saying. “So amazing.”

We put on a siddhi display for them. None of us particularly wanted to – it seemed cheap – but the Trinity insisted, and they were our paymasters, our benefactors, so how could we really say no?

Matsya swam out to sea, breasting the waves like a powerboat. He dived under for a while, and then resurfaced and came back to shore lugging a four-hundred-pound yellowfin tuna. The giant fish writhed in his clutches, its bright golden dorsal and ventral fins flashing in the sunlight, but Matsya held on tight and it couldn’t break free. Once everyone had had a good look, he released it, and the tuna thrashed away as fast as it could through the shallows, seeking the sanctuary of deeper waters.