The treasures of SANUALI

Part I: The Treasures of Szytra

The natives of the town called it ‘the cursed tree’. Standing tall and majestic onshore of Himantura facing the east, the tree had been sticking its root in the land ever since Satu, the oldest man in the neighbourhood, aged ninety-three, could remember.

The tree screamed of weirdness and appeared creepy with its leafless branches and sturdy appearance. For decades, seasons had passed by, but it had never blossomed. Never in a once, somebody had seen any fruit ripening on it or a bird’s endeavour to set up its home anywhere nearby. It was mysterious and so was the rubric, it belonged to. Its wood could not be used and if one tried, he would fail miserably in whatever he had been wanting to create. Moreover, he would fall ill to the extent of losing his life only to stand up in perfect health by the next morning. Its size remained constant over the year for nobody ever dared to cut a sack out of it and it never grew.

Everyone believed that something was odd with it, very odd that nobody lived within six miles to it and nobody ever willingly went closer. However, one among the natives had been taking care of the tree-like one of his precious belonging for years. It was part of his routine to clean the perimeter of the plinth and check any unwanted ivy that had managed to crawl near the tree, he was Sanuali—the disappeared wizard.

It had been more than half a century for Sanuali had disappeared mysteriously, yet enduring its caretaker’s absence, the tree stood rigid, glaring at the castle under the roof of which he, the Sanuali, lived. 

The full moon was hovering over the Anugavalli, one of the many towns spread onshore the length of the Himantura river. A prominent among the many rivers in the Himalayan ranges, it had covered the landscape as the perimeter of the Swastika (meaning; may all be well with you): A symbol that looks like a cross having four arms of equal length, after the ends of each arm, bent at a right angle with one circle added in-between each arm. 

The Anugavalli was outlined by Himantura from all its sides and edges that appeared to be protecting it from the forest laying dangerous and mysterious in four circular blocks across the river and in-between every two parallel arms of the Swastika. At the intersecting joint of it, forming a circular figure, surmounted by hills and mountains, and guarding over the tallest hill, stood the magnificent castle.

The inhabitants of the Anugavalli had been calling it ‘Dharma-Prasth’, something that had been blessed with wisdom, unmatchable intellect and had been enlightening their civilization for centuries. 

Standing on the edge of the Sanuali mountain, the castle was overlooking the entire town with an unflinching pride. Presently torn and worn out with some of its walls collapsed, windows broken, and weed overgrowing unchecked on its surface, the castle used to be the heart of the Anugavalli with its high as sky brick walls, colossal structure, and a statute of golden Pali Garula (A bird with the body of a human and wings of an eagle) called ‘Vainateya’ scaled at top of the ceiling. Easily the most magnificent castle in the neighbourhood with the largest tomb ever architected as a crown of the castle, it reeked of mystery and secrets that had been scaring the residents so much, that they liked to discuss it ever so often when the topic for gossip was scarce and something abnormal had been observed. 

The story had been passed through so many mouths and so many places for a quarter and a half-century, that it was hard to differentiate it from a mere creation of somebody’s vivid mind or a lived-through reality. Every version of the tale, however, had a few things common—the chariot: ‘Vidyut’, ‘The Dharma-Prasth’ and the great Sanuali.

 Years back, when the Anugavallians was sleeping soundly unaware of the curse they were to be bestowed upon, a warrior was buried beneath its soil—a wizard who belonged to an alternate world. The most powerful and always undefeatable—and buried along with him were his tales embroidered with bravery, heroism, courage, power, magic, and persistence—which was to be discussed for centuries among the Sanualians whenever the legend was to be remembered.

The now boarded window of the castle once used to enjoy the first break of the dawn and so did the rusty pavement that used to take pride over the copper crafting. The castle, now isolated and dilapidated, was rumoured to be haunted by something awful—a residence of evil sorcerers.

Every so often, many neighbours would complain to hear incomprehensible voices, chants of mantras and sparks of colourful light from it.  

Before long, behind the unchecked web of ivy and weed, were hidden the majestic doors that had been concealing the truth and reality for decades altogether. Something had happened in the castle half a century back. Something awful, evil, and unbelievable that had changed history. 

Dated back, approximately seventy-five years back when the Sanuali was alive and in his prosperous health, a caretaker of the house had entered his castle to bade him farewell for the night, only to find him missing the very next morning. The top chamber was shattered to pieces and the Vidyut, which always remain parked on the lawn could not be spotted anywhere. 

The sky had turned mesmerising with a canopy of orange with tinges of yellow at some places whereby almost invisible moonlight had tried to spread the essence of calmness in the ambience. Sparks of golden, purple, and silver had illuminated the castle before everything went dark and eerily silent. The sky had poured that day like never before, drenching the Anugavalli as if mourning and weeping over something lost, emptying it is heart’s content. Another shocking event was observed by the shepherd who had taken his sheep onshore on the same dawn. A small bud had blossomed on the cursed tree, condemning whatever theories the residents had formed. 

His observation, however, could not reach anyone’s attention for the caretaker had run screaming down the hill into the population of Anugavalli and roused as many people as she could. Her face was terror-stricken and her body quivering.

‘Missing, my Lord with his chariot and armour. Nowhere to be found! The sword is missing and all of his precious belongings! The hall reeks of blood and the tiles struck at a few places. Something has happened! A robbery and murder!’ Her outburst had shaken the city for within few minutes, the police were summoned, and the castle was sealed and seized along with it; were the secrets.

On digging the floor around the missing tile, a body was discovered— burnt from the southern region. It was the corpse of a man, barely recognizable. 

The people were shocked and curious. They had witnessed the first murder in the history of the Anugavalli that, most likely, was a place of peace and humanity lovers—where supporting and helping each other was favoured as essential as breathing. Although, there existed minor crimes like theft, defamation, or robbery, committing murder was still considered the gravest of sin. Perhaps, that was why the Anugavalli was washed over with terror, so much that the news spread along the length within a few hours and a cry to make an arrest and castrate the culprit erupted with vehemence from somewhere down the town and became a demand of sovereignty.

The cockloft, a floating tavern near the Himantura beach, had an upwards trade that night. Every resident seemed to have nothing more to discuss than the murder case. Each individual put forward his own theory—projecting the murderer and his intention.

‘Animosity!’ roared a man, taking a bite of roasted fish. ‘What else it could be? Sanuali was a mysterious man. Hardly uttered a syllable or two. Always in search of something capricious. People say, he recited the hymns of Atharva Saṃhitā, the sorcerer’s guide.’

‘Yes, oh, yes! The other day,’ agreed on the other man. ‘My son had seen some mysterious sparks on the top of the tomb. On the beak of Vainateya! A golden light! It went right through the top chamber.’

‘My daughter believes that Sanuali was a wizard who knew to create spells using black magic. She said, the wizard had tried to seduce her in the magical forest once when she went to collect flowers the other day. She had almost given herself to him. Perchance, a spell has back fired.’ Added another woman. But before she could continue exploring her theories, the tavern fell dramatically silent for the gardener of the castle arrived and declared that a woman named Daeva Laghari had been arrested.

‘Daeva, the cursed widow!’ cried a woman sitting on the corner table and another round of shocked cries echoed.

Daeva Laghari was the castle’s cook and was known to be one of the trustworthy people of Sanuali. She was a widow who had lost her husband in the magical forest when the latter had gone hunting for animal’s skin for their trade. Feeling pity for the lonely woman, Sanuali appointed her as his chef in the castle and she had been living with him ever since, helping him with whatever she could. 

A section of the society believed that her husband had been sacrificed by the wizard to invoke energies and therefore—out of obligation, Sanuali had been taking care of the widow lady, but those were just rumouring and there were no shreds of evidence to support the theory and the relationship between Sanuali and Daeva remained questionable. 

‘That woman! I should have known it was her. Always quiet and grumpy. She had seldom left the castle. Only when it was very essential. Her assistant buys vegetables from my shop. He says that she is always angry, yelling profanities over trifle things. Not at all compassionate or womanly.’ Provided another woman and the cockloft went into uprising murmurs.

‘Who else could have done it? Poisoned the lord’s food and stole away the precious! Such a disgraceful woman!’ barked the gardener knowingly. His exclamations did not go wasted for he was instantly offered a meal by the people who wanted to hear the whole story. ‘She was the only one who had such an advantage. No trespassing is indicated. All the doors and windows were firmly bolted. The lord was healthy till the evening. Taking troll down the garden, he had admired the flower bed I have prepared for his grace. Then the dinner was served…missing! She buried him!’ 

The cockloft went eerie silent for darkness surmounted the ambience. It had never discussed death so openly before, that too of such an important man. Although hated by many, Sanuali was popular throughout the Anugavalli for the mysterious aura he had possessed around him and for taking care of the cursed tree. 

‘The woman should have been killed instead of her man. Such disgrace! Biting the same hand that has been feeding her. Ridiculous! Unacceptable!’ Somebody shouted, occupying the small stool at the farthest corner. 

‘The death of her husband has taken it all out of her. No emotions, no gratitude. She has killed the man who had been helping when she was in despair. Lord forbid, she should be castrated publicly!’ Came to a statement and ‘Yeah!’ and ‘Exactly!’ had vibrated the cockloft. 

‘Eh, the woman could not have done it.’ Remarked an elegant looking lady, shaking her head. ‘The death of a loved one could do it to anyone. She was happy before her man’s demise. Attending ceremonies...’

‘Who else could have done it?’ disagreed the merchant instantly. ‘Surely, nobody can surpass the Sanuali in physical strength. It was poison and it could only be given through mouth. She has set him on fire. Daeva, the widow has done it! Killed him, burnt him, and buried him for those stones he wore in his fingers. Sanuali was well-off.’ argued he and the cockloft roared with a nasty agreement. Any defence, whatsoever in the widow’s favour dies down instantly and Daeva was declared a murderer by people before trials in the court of law could begin—the newly found information with all the arguments was circulated throughout the Anugavalli like fire in the woods and by the break of the next dawn, hardly anyone spoke in Daeva’s favour.

However, across the river and in-between the valley of Himantura, in the barely illuminated police station, Daeva was incoherently speaking of her innocence. She provided the police with her whereabouts of the night, undoubtedly in an unflinching manner and each article of information was supported by the evidence.

She told the police that the lord, Sanuali wanted to be left alone in the top chambers the night of his unfortunate demise. He had instructed everyone to abandon the lodgings and to not disturb him.

‘He said that he’d had an important event lined up. It could change lives and nobody should bother him till the break of dawn. I, like all other house help, had obeyed the command.’ She had said trembling under the unflinching glare of the police officer. ‘I retired to the servant’s lodgings and don’t know what happened thereafter.’

The police wanted to wait for the autopsy report before they could frame charges which arrived by the following afternoon to the next day as the residents desperately waited for the final orders. Just when everyone was certain that Daeva is to be convicted with capital punishment, things turned miraculously easier for her.  

The autopsy report published content that shocked the entire system. Never before, somebody had handled such a mysterious case ever. The forensic laboratory of the Sanuali town had examined the body and was bewildered at the mysterious revelation. Or the lack of revelation? Sanuali was neither poisoned, nor there were any marks of struggle. He was not burnt alive as was estimated for his body indicated to be burnt and buried hours after his estimated demise. There were no wounds or bruises whatsoever that could have resulted in his death. His veins were not pressured, nor there were any slits. The dead Sanuali was as perfect, fit, and fine as the alive Sanuali. Only his soul had been taken away.

The conclusive statement stated though (out of shocked curiosity) that a mysterious mark at the bottom of Sanuali’s neck, just where the ruminants of hairs had covered the skin, was engraved—a dark shade of red, almost crimson with a tinge of golden forming an outline. It was a crescent moon with a sword on the top of it. The doctors, however, pointed out (as if determined to add their valuable contribution in the mysterious case) that Sanuali’s expressions at the time of his death were also remarkable. His eyebrows were relaxed and his lips stretched in a small smile. It seemed as if he was happy in his last moment and the death was rather...invited.