Gods Among Us
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Gods Of Power Ch. 01 free porn video
The temple shrine rose majestically above the ancient foliage of the Nilgiri forests in Southern India, shining brightly in the backdrop of the rising sun.
The shadows of the numerous statues on the shrine depicting the glory of the forgotten civilization, gave it an eerie look. Hymns in the strange language filled the morning calm yet formed a melodious harmony with the sounds of nature.
The thousand year old temple complex is the only structural remnant of a fervent religion, which at its popularity peak, walked apace with Hinduism in the Indian subcontinent.
The complex spread over an acre, remained unfazed by the modern spoils, mainly owing to its uninhabited surroundings and the hard unforgiving terrain that stood between it and the nearest town, Himapur. Built of stone with most of the walls giving way to creepers and shrubs that sprouted everywhere, nature provided most of the complex with a perfect camouflage to blend with the green surroundings.
The immediate area around the temple, for a radius of about a mile, is the hardest to pass through, even for the natives of the forest. It is filled with the most venomous cobras, the fiercest panthers and the thickest undergrowth.
The area witnessed rainfall almost throughout the year making the terrain slippery and muddy, compounding to the isolation.
A native tribe of Dravidian origin, Ekavamsas, lived about fifty miles from the temple complex in a hamlet. They followed the religion and are fiercely possessive of the temple and any exploration attempts are seen as intrusion and invasion of the sanctity of the gods.
Although the temple complex was discovered twice, first by Devasimha from the time of Pallavas followed by Mike Cottons, the colonial explorer in the eighteenth century, the discovery was soon forgotten on both occasions.
Cottons returned twenty years later much like the Spanish crusaders of the Americas, in search of the enormous riches of the temple but never went back. His fate followed either of the rumours that surfaced, one being that the natives found out his motives, killed and had eaten him and the other that he found the treasures but also witnessed the miracles of the temple and joined the natives.
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Monish opened his eyes as the morning rays pierced his skin through the window of the room in the only hotel in Himapur. Every muscle in his five foot eight inch seventy kilos, ached from the journey he undertook over the past two days to get to Himapur. The hard bed and the aggressive mosquitoes didn’t help the cause.
He got up from the bed, stretched his limbs and looked around for the door to the bathroom. Obviously there was just one door and that was to enter into the room. He grabbed the essentials from his backpack and wandered out.
The dusty dark corridor opened into a ten by ten foot lobby area. The main door facing the corridor directly led onto the road. The manager’s desk was empty and an old lady was sweeping the floor.
Sensing him approach she looked up. Her eyes made no attempt to hide the anger that burned like molten lava. Before he could ask, she signed towards another door to the right. He smiled at her and went towards the door. As he was about to open the door she said, ‘You will die like the others – in the forest’. He turned around, smiled again and went inside the common bathroom of the hotel.
When he returned, the manager greeted him with a broad smile. The lanky dark man stooped behind his desk shaking his pen between his long fingers expertly, like a magician performing a routine trick.
‘I would’ve thought you were a traveler making a night stop at my hotel, but the jeep that brought you here had left’ said the manager, ‘Neither are you from Himapur. I know most of the families that live here. And I don’t think you are here for a job.’
Monish leaned onto the desk and said, ‘Yeah, I’m not here for a job. And you don’t want to know what my purpose in town is or outside it.’
‘It doesn’t matter to me as long as you pay for the room. I have a hunch you are a crazy nutcase who wants to make money from the artifacts of the temple’ the manager’s eyes narrowed and his voice lowered as he said, ‘And if my hunch is right, you’ve already dug your grave. There are no artifacts in there. There is no treasure. There is only death.’
Monish stared into the eyes of the manager for a few seconds before turning his head away. He pulled out a wad of notes from his pocket and threw them on the desk. He turned away and walked towards his room as the manager’s laughter echoed in the empty lobby.
He appeared back in the lobby in a few minutes with his backpack hanging behind. As he went out, the manager was all smiles again confirming the money was good enough, actually, pretty good enough for the stay.
Monish turned back one last time and said ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’ as he left the place. The manager dropped the pen from his fingers and fell into the chair behind his desk.
He kept looking at the doorway with his eyes not making any attempt to hide the fear. After a few minutes he wiped his brow and looked at the woman who stopped mopping the floor hearing what Monish said. She put her trembling hands together, closed her eyes and chanted, ‘Morrakkai! Morrakkai!’
Himapur is a small town that flourished on a market mainly based on products that the denizens collected from the jungle. As Monish walked through the small streets lined on either side with shops, he was amazed at how little things changed.
Fifteen years couldn’t bring any change to the little town or its people. He recognized every corner, every house he passed by, but nobody knew who he was. Some watched him with interest as he passed by because of the way he dressed and his backpack but nobody gave a worried look.
He quickly reached the edge of the town and noticed the crowd dwindling around him. As he reached the first bushes of the forest, for a second, his heart leaped. Huge trees stood at a little distance that seemed like a fortress wall. He could hardly see two meters beyond the first row of trees.
As he entered the shade of the trees he took out a shining samurai sword from his backpack. He held it like the master he was at the art and quickly swept through the undergrowth that came in his way.
He walked swiftly yet cautiously, well aware of the dangers that lurked all around him. As he reached a small clearing he heard the gurgling sound of the stream he knew so well. He quickly changed his direction towards the stream and as he approached the water, couldn’t stop smiling at the sparkling water. He bent down to drink a little when he felt a swift movement close to his ear. By the time he could realize what it was, a second dart hit his backpack.
He quickly stood on one knee, lifted his hands towards the sky and shouted, ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’. Seven men came out from the forest cover, on the other side of the stream.
Dark and naked but for the two foot bows they carried, they fell to the ground and bowed to Monish. Monish drank the water, filled his bottle from the backpack and waded through the knee deep stream. He didn’t give a second look at the natives who didn’t move, as he passed them into the forest beyond.
Noon was signified by the first rays of the sun that sneaked through the canopy. The constant buzz of the insects added to the eerie feeling around the place. Monish suddenly stopped walking. He listened with intent. He stood very still clutching the sword harder. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds around him.
He sensed the danger approach and then it stopped. The world seemed to stop around him. Nothing moved and he heard nothing. He knew better than to make the first move. He held his breath and waited for the danger to engulf him any second. Ten more seconds and nothing changed. And then it moved. Not a flash st
rike that he anticipated but a steady slow jog from his left to the right, in front of him. The black panther kept its green eyes locked on him as it passed. It then disappeared into the undergrowth as quietly as it approached.
He let his guard drop but waited for a few more minutes before he resumed his march. He avoided the Ekavamsa hamlet and took a longer route around it. He knew the patrol party he encountered would’ve alerted the tribe and his visit to the hamlet would only make the place tense and uncomfortable. He survived the rest of the day on Snikers from his backpack.
He arrived at the stone laden path as the sun was beginning to set. He walked along the path till he reached the clearing and saw the temple shrine. The temple looked deserted and in ruins.
He stepped onto the platform, put his fist against his heart and shouted ‘Ajeli Amaragyall Morrakkai’. It loosely translated to ‘Morrakkai has arrived home’. About a hundred naked men seemed to come out of the temple walls in the distance.
They ran towards him in two lines about ten meters apart along the edges of the platform. Their faces were painted with jungle dyes that made them look savage and fierce. Once they reached their marks, the two lines stood facing each other as Monish walked towards the temple.
The setting sun painted a deep grey picture of the surroundings. The platform was moist from the previous evening’s rain and as he reached the walls, Jallaro came out with open arms.
Jallaro is the chief priest of the temple for the past forty seven years and looked like he was in his thirties. Tall and hefty, he carried a thirty pound scepter in his hand. His forehead is smeared with a paste created out of mixing panther’s blood with a forest herb found only in the Nilgiris.
He wore a mask of solid gold that began along his eyebrows, had two straight small openings for his eyes, narrowed along his nose and ended just above his mouth. Nobody saw his real face ever since he became the chief priest.
Not because it was just tradition but the ceremony of his priesthood involved a religious practice where the chief priest who was stepping down would cut the successor’s face along the nose and cheeks to peel off the skin and put the golden mask, still hot from the mold, onto the peeled area.
The mask with its coating of the herb Velara, ensured the pain was minimum and the face was healed in fifteen days with the new skin permanently fixing the gold mask onto the face.
He wore a long robe that hid his sword underneath. He stood barefoot on the stone floor and smiled at Monish. Monish closed the distance between them and held him in his arms. He then fell to his knees, raised his arms and shouted ‘Jaxan Rudhrowera’.
Jallaro smiled, held Monish by his shoulders and helped him to his feet. He then turned around and walked inside with Monish following him. The temple is dark inside but for the torches that burned on the walls of the passage.
They walked without a word till they reached a central chamber which had a golden door that stood fifteen feet high. As Jallaro approached, the guards at the door opened it.
Monish had witnessed the inner chambers many times before but he couldn’t help marvel at the structure in front of him. The seventy foot idol of an eight handed naked woman holding a sword, with a face that was so fierce, Monish had to look away, stood majestically in the center. He fell to his knees, folded his hands and closed his eyes.
He didn’t rise till Jallora lifted him again and then his eyes fell on the bed close to the idol. His father Mirradhora was on the bed looking at him. As soon as Monish realized his father’s condition he fell down beside the bed and started crying uncontrollably.
Disease had eaten away six of his fingers and he couldn’t move his legs anymore. His skin had boils all over and every time he coughed he spat blood. He couldn’t speak and didn’t try to either. He just looked at his son. His eyes spoke the rest.
Monish got up, turned away and asked Jallora to follow. Once in the next room, Monish said, ‘Jallora, I won’t ask what happened to my father or why I was not informed of his condition earlier. I only need to know what will cure him.’
Jallora looked deep into his eyes and responded, ‘There is no herb that can cure your father. There is no medicine that can bring him back. Your mother went the same way, so will your father. And then you.’ Monish looked impassively. Jallora carried on, ‘The only thing that can save your father and your family from the curse is divine intervention.’
‘For that to happen, you’ll have to perform a sacrifice that has never been attempted before. A sacrifice that will compel the spirits of the jungle to come to your father’s aid and help in the divine intervention. I know you will succeed. Waste no time and start immediately. The sacrifice that is to be performed is… ‘
Bree
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