Master storyteller, Sudha Murty, weaves magical tales of princesses and little girls, talking animals and an enchanting world of the good and the evil for children in her book, ‘The Bird With Golden Wings: Stories of Wit and Magic’.
In the short story, ‘Skills for a Prince’, Amritsena, a young and intelligent prince finds a unique way to test the honesty and integrity of a few of his subjects. How? Let’s find out!
Skills for a Prince
Amritsena, a young prince, was very popular with his subjects. Everyone praised his sense of fairness. He also loved to play pranks and made the courtiers laugh. He often disguised himself and roamed the streets of the capital city, listening to what the people were saying and learnt about the problems of the common man in this way.
During one such tour, he came across three young men in the outskirts of the city. From their attire they appeared to be strangers. They were huddled together, talking to each other.
Amritsena walked up to them and said, ‘You look new to this city. Can I help you?’
One of the men replied, ‘We are students of the sage Kashyapa and have recently finished our studies. We are looking for work, where we can put our special skills to use.’
At once, Amritsena’s ears pricked up. ‘And what are these special skills? I work in the king’s court and I may be able to help you find a job there.’
One young man said, ‘Just by tapping my feet, I can make out what is below the ground.’
The second one said, ‘I can always tell in which direction one may find hidden treasure.’
The third said, ‘Once I have seen a person, I can recognize him anywhere, even if he is in disguise.’
Amritsena heard them out, thought for a minute and said, ‘I am also a man with a special quality.’
‘What is that?’ they asked.
‘If anyone is in difficulty, I can always find a solution and rescue the person.’
‘From where did you get this gift? Who taught you?’
‘I have always had this gift, since I was a child,’ replied Amritsena with a smile. Then he said, ‘Why don’t you show me a sample of your special skills as we walk to the city? I can then tell the king about you.’
The four men began walking. After some time, one stopped and said, ‘Below us lies a tunnel.’
They started digging and, sure enough, they found a tunnel. They began to walk through the tunnel, which led them into the palace.
Now the second man stopped suddenly and said, ‘Just around the corner there is a secret treasury.’
Amritsena, who knew this to be true, was amazed. He smiled secretly to himself and said,
‘You three wait here. If the guards see you they will mistake you for thieves. Let me go and check.’ Then he walked quickly ahead, turned a corner where he stripped off his disguise, and presented himself before the guards.
‘There are three men in the tunnel plotting to loot the treasury,’ he told them. ‘Go and arrest them immediately. They should be produced in court first thing tomorrow morning.’ Saying this he walked away to his room and went to bed.
‘There are three men in the tunnel plotting to loot the treasury,’ he told them. ‘Go and arrest them immediately. They should be produced in court first thing tomorrow morning.’ Saying this he walked away to his room and went to bed.
The next morning, the three men were presented in the king’s court. Seeing Amritsena on the throne, the third man realized he was the same man who had got them arrested. He whispered this to his friends. Now they were scared that the prince would punish them for having entered the royal treasury just to show off.
‘How did you find the way into the secret tunnel?’ thundered the king, Amritsena’s father.
‘We…we j-just…’ stammered the men, shaking in fear.
Amritsena watched them, trying not to laugh. Then he stepped in and whispered in his father’s ear, ‘They are not thieves. I met them last night just outside the city. They are learned men with wonderful gifts. I only wanted to test them to see if they were telling the truth or not. We should keep them in our kingdom as their talents will help us in many ways.’
The king nodded, and said, ‘On the request of the prince I release you. You will work for me from now on, and use your gifts for the betterment of this kingdom.’
The three men sighed in relief. Amritsena had rescued them—just as he had said he could!
Dive into the world of fascinating tales in Sudha Murty’s ‘The Bird With Golden Wings: Stories of Wit and Magic’ and get to know some amazing stories of wit, humour and love!
Tag: Book Excerpt
‘Shoot. Dive. Fly’, Foreword by M.S. Dhoni
Rachna Bisht Rawat’s ‘Shoot. Dive. Fly’ aims to introduce teenagers to the armed forces and what it is like to have a career in the forces. The book is a collection of twenty-one nail-biting stories of adventure and thrill of a career in uniform. The book also has army personnel talk about what the armed forces have taught them.
Here’s the foreword by Mahendra Singh Dhoni, ex-Indian cricket team captain.
My dear friends,
It gives me great pleasure to write the foreword for Shoot. Dive. Fly. The Indian Army is one of the most respectable and exciting careers our country offers young people and it surprises me that the Army faces a shortage of officers year after year. This is probably because most of us do not know what an amazing variety of jobs it offers. Perhaps this is also because Army officers are not permitted to talk to the media and so we never get to hear about the amazing things they do.
I compliment the Army on giving Rachna Bisht Rawat access to young serving officers to share with us the experiences of the fascinating jobs they do.
This book will help bust the false belief that an Army officer is a man with a gun who lives on the borders of the country, cut off from the rest of civilization, waiting for a war to begin, which might sound like a boring job to a lot of teenagers. They do that, of course, and we are very proud of them for it, but that’s not the whole truth. Army officers do a lot of other things too that most teens want from a career. The Army has engineers, doctors, helicopter pilots, drone fliers, cyber warriors, Olympians, Everest summiteers, skydivers, sailors, marathon runners, shooters—and yes, even cricketers—and a host of other professionals that we often don’t get to hear about. These are men and women who are all trained for combat but they work in their particular fields with all the support of the Indian Army to reach the top. You, too, can choose one of these opportunities and get paid to be trained and excel in your dream job. Not many, if any, industries or institutions give you this freedom. And how do I know all this? Because I happen to be an officer in the Indian Territorial Army too.
I am sure you will enjoy reading the real-life stories of young officers who went beyond the ordinary to reach great heights. This book includes the story of Colonel Ivan J. Crasto, SC, who climbed down a rope from a hovering helicopter to rescue all ten tourists trapped on board a trolley hanging from a snapped wire. It also tells of Colonel Rajesh Unnikrishnan who climbed down forty feet into a dark, gaping borewell to rescue a small child who had fallen in. In these pages, you will meet Colonel Sameer Singh Bisht, SM, whose gun jammed in an encounter with Kashmiri terrorists but he managed to keep his nerve and emerge victorious. You will read of young mountaineer Major Deepika Rathore, who has climbed the mighty Mount Everest twice and of my fellow paratrooper Major Sandesh Kadam, who jumped out of a plane at 8,500 feet to find that both his main and emergency parachutes would not open. How did he land alive and undamaged in spirit to the extent that he is raring to recover completely and go back to his duty, you might ask? To know that, you will need to read this book, and/or join the Army.
I shall sign off by wishing you the best in whatever career you choose. When I am old and sitting in front of the TV watching some of you play cricket for India, or some of you do amazing things that the news channels report, I shall smile and applaud for you—just like you do for me, when I hit a six or take a catch. I shall be proud of all of you. Go on and do your best in life. But do consider wearing the uniform once before you make a final choice. I did!
Jai Hind! Jai Hind ki Sena!
Lieutenant Colonel Mahendra Singh Dhoni
The Story of Mahatma Gandhi And Where It All Began: ‘Junior Lives: Mahatma Gandhi’ — An Excerpt
Mahatma Gandhi, lovingly called Gandhiji and the Father of the Nation, has been remembered by the entire world for his honest, non-violent methods of leading a nation to independence.
In Sonia Mehta’s ‘Junior Lives: Mahatma Gandhi’, the author explores the life of Gandhiji from his childhood and shows us how he became the leader that he is today.
Here’s a short excerpt from the book.
The thirteen-year-old lad was impatient. He wanted to get back to his friends, who were having a great time playing outdoors. But here he was—stuck indoors, made to dress up in clothes that were icky and uncomfortable.
‘Can I go now?’ he asked his mother, trying to shrug off the elaborate outfit she was trying to get him to wear.
‘No, Mohan,’ she replied. ‘You can’t go play with your friends today. It’s your wedding day.’
That young boy was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. At thirteen years of age, he was about to get married to a girl who was just a little older than he was. His family would never have believed it then, but this boy was to grow up to become one of the world’s greatest leaders, who would lead India to freedom. He showed people a nonviolent way of life. Millions of people adored him and gave him titles like Father of the Nation, Bapu (meaning father) and Mahatma (meaning great soul). What an incredible achievement for such an ordinary boy, born to such ordinary parents!
A Happy Family
Young Mohan (for that was what his family called him) was born to Karamchand and Putlibai on 2 October 1869. Theirs was a large, happy family. Mohan had a sister and two brothers—all older than him, so you can imagine how much he was loved and petted. The family was quite wealthy and lived in a big, three-storeyed house in the Indian port-city of Porbandar, in what is now Gujarat. Karamchand was an educated man. The ruler of Rajkot admired him and made him the diwan of Porbandar. As diwan, he managed the business of the state. People respected Karamchand a lot and came to him for advice.
When Mohan was a young boy, he was very shy. He would spend all his time with his books. This made him very thoughtful. However, he didn’t love studies; in fact, he found maths rather hard. But he was a good student overall, and his teachers thought well of him. One day, Mohan got his father’s permission to see a play about a king named Raja Harishchandra. The special thing about this king was that he never lied, no matter what happened to him. Mohan was so impressed by this play that he swore to never tell a lie in his life.
Always, Always Truthful
One morning, Mohan’s class was given a spelling test. Mohan knew all the spellings, except that of ‘kettle’. The English teacher, keen to prove that he was a good teacher, wanted all his students to know every spelling so that he could impress his superiors. When he saw that Mohan was unsure, he prodded him to peep at his neighbour’s slate and see the spelling.
‘But that would be cheating,’ an aghast Mohan thought. He refused to look at his neighbour’s slate, and eventually was the only boy in class who did not get all his spellings right. But that didn’t bother him. He was more bothered that his teacher had told him to cheat.
One of the only times Mohan lied was when he was in his early teens. He stole some gold from his brother and sold it. But it wasn’t for himself. He gave the money to his other brother to help him get out of debt. He couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned, feeling awful. Finally, he confessed to his father. He was ready for any punishment. But instead of getting upset, Mohan’s father wept. He was hurt that his son had lied, but happy he had confessed.
Mahatma Gandhi’s fascinating life goes way beyond the years documented in the pages of history. Get to know Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi before he became GandhiJi with Sonia Mehta’s ‘Junior Lives: Mahatma Gandhi’!
Are you Connected? An Excerpt
Venugopal Acharya is a monk at the ISKCON and has spent eighteen years living with over 100 people in a small monastery. Prior to becoming a monk, he worked with an investment bank, and has an honours degree in economics, a Masters degree in international finance and an MBA in finance.
In his book, Are You Connected, Acharya emphasizes on sharing mutual success and growing with care and compassion. He shares the different skills and experiences that help one feel loved and in touch with one’s self, the people who matter and God. Here is an excerpt from the book:
In one of Shakespeare’s most powerful soliloquies, Hamlet, struggling with his private thoughts, asks himself:
What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be
but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. Sure, he that made
us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave
us not that capability and God-like reason to fust in us
unused.
Prince Hamlet regrets that a man who simply eats, sleeps and carries on his life as an animal does no good to anyone. He reflects that God created us for a reason, and it’s up to each one of us to fulfil it.
We live, love and leave. We seek to live peacefully, in harmony, with who we truly are. We also desire to love and be appreciated by others. And for more evolved humans, to leave a legacy—to serve, add value—and to contribute to others’ happiness is as sacred a need. In other words we have three aspects to our existence—our relationship with ourselves, others, and with divinity, also referred to as God in most cultures, that transcends our matter-centred routine life.
There are many people who work hard for their family and have good friends, yet they feel a vacuum in their hearts. They wonder if they have chosen a wrong career or a partner. Thinking they are not doing things that truly represent their innermost values and purpose in life, they feel disconnected
from their own self.
There are, of course, some who do what they want, but realize over time that their relationships have suffered. After all, we need to love and feel loved. Despite measurable success and money, it’s love that we seek.
Marilyn Monroe, one of the most popular sex symbols of the 1950s, rose from a miserable childhood to Hollywood stardom. She always wanted to be an actor and she did become a legend. Yet, weeks before her death, suspected as suicide due to an overdose of drugs, she confessed in an interview, ‘I never quite understood this sex symbol. I always thought symbols were those things you clash together. That’s the trouble; a sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing . . .’ She got
what she wanted, but her heart remained starved of love. She felt disconnected.
A few people do manage to live on their own terms, and they also get love from others. Yet, an incompleteness stares at them until they seek a deeper relationship with their spiritual existence. A divine being, also known in various traditions as Bhagavan, Supreme Lord or the Almighty, is at the core of our existence. Our spiritual reality is as inseparable to us as sunshine is to the sun. Yet, we chose to be covered by the clouds of ignorance. Spiritual practices—meditation, prayer, chanting—help us dispel these clouds; they unravel the mysteries of our own identity; we connect to our eternal spiritual self and to God, our loving friend and parent. And as a by-product, we also bond with our fellow brothers and sisters on this planet. Spiritual practices flood our hearts with love and help us leave behind a legacy of love.
The articles compiled in this book have been categorized into two broad categories: One, connecting and succeeding with self, and two, living and growing with others.
The first section, ‘Connecting and Succeeding with Self’, contains twenty-seven articles that focus on transcending internal barriers to go deeper into the spiritual aspects of our lives. Likewise, under the second category, ‘Living and Growing with Others’, you’ll find twenty-nine articles on principles that could help us succeed in our relationships with others; so we can care, serve and love better. Altogether, these fifty-six articles are elaborations of the twenty-five keys, which form the base of a truly connected life.
“We are never alone, are we?” An Excerpt from Shinie Antony’s ‘Boo’
Have you ever felt someone was watching you, even though you are all alone? Shinie Antony’s ‘Boo’ is a collection of thirteen well-crafted paranormal tales, each uniquely haunting in its own way. The stories penned by Shashi Deshpande, K.R. Meera, Jerry Pinto, Durjoy Datta, and many other illustrious names are sure to send a chill down your spine.
Here’s an excerpt of the introduction of the book.
The unknown has always beckoned. Infinite, cobwebby, black as the night, silent as the grave, what we cannot see hear touch. What, furthermore, is perhaps not alive.
My own experiences of the uncanny stay mine; fear takes me where it will. There were whispers without words and things I almost saw. And unlike what I always thought, squeamish as I am and lily-livered, these semi-happenings did not creep me out. Sometimes I saw them as other-worldly warnings, sometimes they were not meant to be seen and my eye had somehow breached a divide, sometimes my mouth formed words I did not mean to say . . .
The paranormal has many subgenres, but of these it was not the occult, poltergeists or screams of the possessed that brought me to these stories, but the psychological thrill. The mind is where it all begins. The mind is where it lives. This feeling that there’s something out there—and it is on to us. It knows that we know. And we must forever pretend we don’t know, not catch its eye—even when it is looking straight at us.
The gothic charm of K.R. Meera’s story, the sweet smell of onions in Kanishk Tharoor’s tale, the burden of hindsight in Shashi Deshpande’s mythofiction, the menacing narrator in Jerry Pinto’s story—they all bring in the supernatural slyly, stylishly. Durjoy Datta, Jahnavi Barua, Manabendra Bandyopadhyay, Kiran Manral and Jaishree Misra give us the old-fashioned traditional ghost story, the one where the banshee sighs or screams. While Ipsita Roy Chakraverti decodes a message from the beyond, Madhavi S. Mahadevan and Usha K.R. take us to places where the backstory is everything.
We wouldn’t be here—you reading this, me writing this—if we didn’t know. Despite science, reason and a raised eyebrow. Deep in our bones, when all falls silent, there is a knowing that precedes births and lingers after deaths. It lifts the hair at the nape of our neck; it stares at us, infatuated, from behind stairs; prescient, it invades our very rocking chair, replacing peace and calm with a restless zigzag; it rotates its head 360 degrees when we aren’t looking.
It doesn’t dispel though we move on, go our ways, live lives, love and let go. What is it that shifts just beyond our vision? Who listens when we talk in our heads? When does dark get just that little bit darker? Why that word on the billboard—the same word we just finished thinking about? And then bumping into the very person we thought of after a hundred years only that morning . . .
What do we know about ourselves besides incidents and milestones and birthdays and heartbreaks, what do we know of that which cannot be known? It is there in a photograph or painting you see—the feeling that you’ve been there before, seen that face somewhere. We are here but we are elsewhere too.
A haunting. Begins as a catch in the side, a stiff neck, a hunch, a bad feeling, pins and needles, an eye twitch, sleep talk, a leg gone numb, vertigo, spasms, heart that trebles its beat, a smell, a chill, a spell, a tingle, dreaming the same dream, a sudden vision of what’s to come, waking at 3.33 a.m., a song no one else can hear, the sound of breathing when we hold our breath . . .
We are never alone, are we?
Prologue: 'Origin' by Dan Brown
Dan Brown is back with yet another novel in ‘ The Robert Langdon Series’ after Angels & Demons (2000), The Da Vinci Code (2003), The Lost Symbol (2009), and Inferno (2013).
‘Origin’, which is the 5th installment in Robert Langdon’s adventures, is based on Langdon’s travels in Spain. It moves forth with the same paradoxical power play between Religion and Science.
Let’s read more to find out what happens next in the first of our three excerpts from ‘Origin’
—-
Prologue
As the ancient cogwheel train clawed its way up the dizzying incline, Edmond Kirsch surveyed the jagged mountaintop above him. In the distance, built into the face of a sheer cliff, the massive stone monastery seemed to hang in space, as if magically fused to the vertical precipice.
This timeless sanctuary in Catalonia, Spain, had endured the relentless pull of gravity for more than four centuries, never slipping from its original purpose: to insulate its occupants from the modern world.
Ironically, they will now be the first to learn the truth, Kirsch thought, wondering how they would react. Historically, the most dangerous men on earth were men of God . . . especially when their gods became threatened. And I am about to hurl a flaming spear into a hornets’ nest.
When the train reached the mountaintop, Kirsch saw a solitary figure waiting for him on the platform. The wizened skeleton of a man was draped in the traditional Catholic purple cassock and white rochet, with a zucchetto on his head. Kirsch recognized his host’s rawboned features from photos and felt an unexpected surge of adrenaline.
Valdespino is greeting me personally.
Bishop Antonio Valdespino was a formidable figure in Spain—not only a trusted friend and counselor to the king himself, but one of the country’s most vocal and influential advocates for the preservation of conservative Catholic values and traditional political standards.
“Edmond Kirsch, I assume?” the bishop intoned as Kirsch exited the train.
“Guilty as charged,” Kirsch said, smiling as he reached out to shake his host’s bony hand. “Bishop Valdespino, I want to thank you for arranging this meeting.”
“I appreciate your requesting it.” The bishop’s voice was stronger than Kirsch expected—clear and penetrating, like a bell. “It is not often we are consulted by men of science, especially one of your prominence. This way, please.”
As Valdespino guided Kirsch across the platform, the cold mountain air whipped at the bishop’s cassock.
“I must confess,” Valdespino said, “you look different than I imagined. I was expecting a scientist, but you’re quite . . .” He eyed his guest’s sleek Kiton K50 suit and Barker ostrich shoes with a hint of disdain. “‘Hip,’ I believe, is the word?”
Kirsch smiled politely. The word “hip” went out of style decades ago.
“In reading your list of accomplishments,” the bishop said, “I am still not entirely sure what it is you do.” “I specialize in game theory and computer modeling.”
“So you make the computer games that the children play?”
Kirsch sensed the bishop was feigning ignorance in an attempt to be quaint. More accurately, Kirsch knew, Valdespino was a frighteningly well-informed student of technology and often warned others of its dangers. “No, sir, actually game theory is a field of mathematics that studies patterns in order to make predictions about the future.”
“Ah yes. I believe I read that you predicted a European monetary crisis some years ago? When nobody listened, you saved the day by inventing a computer program that pulled the EU back from the dead. What was your famous quote? ‘At thirty-three years old, I am the same age as Christ when He performed His resurrection.’”
Kirsch cringed. “A poor analogy, Your Grace. I was young.”
“Young?” The bishop chuckled. “And how old are you now . . . perhaps forty?”
“Just.”
The old man smiled as the strong wind continued to billow his robe. “Well, the meek were supposed to inherit the earth, but instead it has gone to the young—the technically inclined, those who stare into video screens rather than into their own souls. I must admit, I never imagined I would have reason to meet the young man leading the charge. They call you a prophet, you know.”
“Not a very good one in your case, Your Grace,” Kirsch replied. “When I asked if I might meet you and your colleagues privately, I calculated only a twenty percent chance you would accept.”
“And as I told my colleagues, the devout can always benefit from listening to nonbelievers. It is in hearing the voice of the devil that we can better appreciate the voice of God.” The old man smiled. “I am joking, of course. Please forgive my aging sense of humor. My filters fail me from time to time.”
With that, Bishop Valdespino motioned ahead. “The others are waiting. This way, please.”
Kirsch eyed their destination, a colossal citadel of gray stone perched on the edge of a sheer cliff that plunged thousands of feet down into a lush tapestry of wooded foothills. Unnerved by the height, Kirsch averted his eyes from the chasm and followed the bishop along the uneven cliffside path, turning his thoughts to the meeting ahead.
Kirsch had requested an audience with three prominent religious leaders who had just finished attending a conference here.
The Parliament of the World’s Religions.
Since 1893, hundreds of spiritual leaders from nearly thirty world religions had gathered in a different location every few years to spend a week engaged in interfaith dialogue. Participants included a wide array of influential Christian priests, Jewish rabbis, and Islamic mullahs from around the world, along with Hindu pujaris, Buddhist bhikkhus, Jains, Sikhs, and others.
The parliament’s self-proclaimed objective was “to cultivate harmony among the world’s religions, build bridges between diverse spiritualities, and celebrate the intersections of all faith.”
A noble quest, Kirsch thought, despite seeing it as an empty exercise— a meaningless search for random points of correspondence among a hodgepodge of ancient fictions, fables, and myths.
As Bishop Valdespino guided him along the pathway, Kirsch peered down the mountainside with a sardonic thought. Moses climbed a mountain to accept the Word of God . . . and I have climbed a mountain to do quite the opposite.
Kirsch’s motivation for climbing this mountain, he had told himself, was one of ethical obligation, but he knew there was a good dose of hubris fueling this visit—he was eager to feel the gratification of sitting face-to-face with these clerics and foretelling their imminent demise.
You’ve had your run at defining our truth.
“I looked at your curriculum vitae,” the bishop said abruptly, glancing at Kirsch. “I see you’re a product of Harvard University?”
“Undergraduate. Yes.”
“I see. Recently, I read that for the first time in Harvard’s history, the incoming student body consists of more atheists and agnostics than those who identify as followers of any religion. That is quite a telling statistic, Mr. Kirsch.”
What can I tell you, Kirsch wanted to reply, our students keep getting smarter.
The wind whipped harder as they arrived at the ancient stone edifice. Inside the dim light of the building’s entryway, the air was heavy with the thick fragrance of burning frankincense. The two men snaked through a maze of dark corridors, and Kirsch’s eyes fought to adjust as he followed his cloaked host. Finally, they arrived at an unusually small wooden door. The bishop knocked, ducked down, and entered, motioning for his guest to follow.
Uncertain, Kirsch stepped over the threshold.
He found himself in a rectangular chamber whose high walls burgeoned with ancient leather-bound tomes. Additional freestanding bookshelves jutted out of the walls like ribs, interspersed with cast-iron radiators that clanged and hissed, giving the room the eerie sense that it was alive. Kirsch raised his eyes to the ornately balustraded walkway that encircled the second story and knew without a doubt where he was.
The famed library of Montserrat, he realized, startled to have been admitted. This sacred room was rumored to contain uniquely rare texts accessible only to those monks who had devoted their lives to God and who were sequestered here on this mountain.
“You asked for discretion,” the bishop said. “This is our most private space. Few outsiders have ever entered.”
“A generous privilege. Thank you.”
Kirsch followed the bishop to a large wooden table where two elderly men sat waiting. The man on the left looked timeworn, with tired eyes and a matted white beard. He wore a crumpled black suit, white shirt, and fedora.
“This is Rabbi Yehuda Köves,” the bishop said. “He is a prominent Jewish philosopher who has written extensively on Kabbalistic cosmology.”
Kirsch reached across the table and politely shook hands with Rabbi Köves. “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Kirsch said. “I’ve read your books on Kabbala. I can’t say I understood them, but I’ve read them.”
Köves gave an amiable nod, dabbing at his watery eyes with his handkerchief.
“And here,” the bishop continued, motioning to the other man, “you have the respected allamah, Syed al-Fadl.”
The revered Islamic scholar stood up and smiled broadly. He was short and squat with a jovial face that seemed a mismatch with his dark penetrating eyes. He was dressed in an unassuming white thawb. “And, Mr. Kirsch, I have read your predictions on the future of mankind. I can’t say I agree with them, but I have read them.”
Kirsch gave a gracious smile and shook the man’s hand.
“And our guest, Edmond Kirsch,” the bishop concluded, addressing his two colleagues, “as you know, is a highly regarded computer scientist, game theorist, inventor, and something of a prophet in the technological world. Considering his background, I was puzzled by his request to address the three of us. Therefore, I shall now leave it to Mr. Kirsch to explain why he has come.”
With that, Bishop Valdespino took a seat between his two colleagues, folded his hands, and gazed up expectantly at Kirsch. All three men faced him like a tribunal, creating an ambience more like that of an inquisition than a friendly meeting of scholars. The bishop, Kirsch now realized, had not even set out a chair for him.
Kirsch felt more bemused than intimidated as he studied the three aging men before him. So this is the Holy Trinity I requested. The Three Wise Men.
Pausing a moment to assert his power, Kirsch walked over to the window and gazed out at the breathtaking panorama below. A sunlit patchwork of ancient pastoral lands stretched across a deep valley, giving way to the rugged peaks of the Collserola mountain range. Miles beyond, somewhere out over the Balearic Sea, a menacing bank of storm clouds was now gathering on the horizon.
Fitting, Kirsch thought, sensing the turbulence he would soon cause in this room, and in the world beyond.
“Gentlemen,” he commenced, turning abruptly back toward them. “I believe Bishop Valdespino has already conveyed to you my request for secrecy. Before we continue, I just want to clarify that what I am about to share with you must be kept in the strictest confidence. Simply stated, I am asking for a vow of silence from all of you. Are we in agreement?”
All three men gave nods of tacit acquiescence, which Kirsch knew were probably redundant anyway. They will want to bury this information—not broadcast it.
“I am here today,” Kirsch began, “because I have made a scientific discovery I believe you will find startling. It is something I have pursued for many years, hoping to provide answers to two of the most fundamental questions of our human experience. Now that I have succeeded, I have come to you specifically because I believe this information will affect the world’s faithful in a profound way, quite possibly causing a shift that can only be described as, shall we say—disruptive. At the moment, I am the only person on earth who has the information I am about to reveal to you.”
Kirsch reached into his suit coat and pulled out an oversized smartphone—one that he had designed and built to serve his own unique needs. The phone had a vibrantly colored mosaic case, and he propped it up before the three men like a television. In a moment, he would use the device to dial into an ultra secure server, enter his forty-seven-character password, and live-stream a presentation for them.
“What you are about to see,” Kirsch said, “is a rough cut of an announcement I hope to share with the world—perhaps in a month or so. But before I do, I wanted to consult with a few of the world’s most influential religious thinkers, to gain insight into how this news will be received by those it affects most.”
Stay tuned for the second excerpt—
Origin by Dan Brown Releases on October 3’ 2017.
Preorder your copy today!
The Consolidators: An Excerpt
‘The Consolidators’ by Prince Mathews Thomas tells the story of seven second-generation entrepreneurs who display an arresting imagination and interest in evolving the business they inherited from their fathers.
Here’s an excerpt from the book which highlights Abhishek Khaitan’s tussle between one’s own desired profession vs the one chosen by the parents.
In many ways, the situation that Abhishek found himself in upon returning home from his studies in Bengaluru was similar to what his father Lalit had faced many years ago. The senior Khaitan too had harboured dreams of higher studies. ‘In those days there were two choices for us—law or chartered accountancy. I wanted to do law,’ he says.
The larger Khaitan families had quite a few eminent lawyers, including Devi Prasad Khaitan, founder of Khaitan & Co, the country’s third largest law firm, which completed a century of practice in 2010. Devi Prasad was part of the drafting committee that prepared the Constitution of India.
But being the oldest among his brothers and cousins, Lalit was asked by his father and uncle to study commerce at St. Xavier’s College in Kolkata, and at the same time join the family business. So after completing his classes for the day, Lalit would head to the bakery or the restaurant near Park Street that the family owned.
And then he was married at nineteen.
This—joining the family business and marrying early—was the norm in Marwari families. It was a tradition that had stood the test of time.
Many among the following generations of the family became leading lawyers, cementing the legacy of the Khaitan family in the country’s legal fraternity. A few of the Khaitans chose to do business and ventured into several industries—education, tea, batteries, cinema, restaurants, fertilizers and chemicals. Lalit’s father, G.N. Khaitan, also chose to do business.
Along with his brother, G.N. dabbled in several businesses— furniture, soap making, bakery, restaurants and a general provisions store. ‘We were a joint family. We were nine children living under the same roof [we were four brothers and a sister, and uncle had a daughter and three sons.Everything was done jointly, everything was shared. And we would all even sleep together in the same room. We didn’t have much money and were just a little above middle-class, or an upper middle-class family,’ says Lalit.
His father, called Gajju or Gajanand by his friends, was a well-known personality in Kolkata’s vibrant social circle. He had headed several institutions, including business bodies such as the Bharat Chamber of Commerce, Export Council of Engineering, and other organizations like the Indian Red Cross Society, and some popular clubs like Rajasthan Club and Bengal Rowing Club.
‘He used to be known for his bow tie. He never wore a regular tie in his life. He was very well connected, even in Bollywood. Once, he arranged a cricket match in Kolkata that had most of the biggest Bollywood names, including Raj Kapoor, attending. Shailesh Khaitan, my youngest brother, remembers the actor telling my father, “Khaitan sahib, you have got the whole of Bollywood here. If the plane crashes, Bollywood is dead”.’
Actor Pran, the legendary villain of Indian cinema, and often more popular than the heroes, was a close friend. ‘He would often drop by at our house in Kolkata. Once he was visiting after Zanjeer (a film that famously starred Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri) had released. I remarked that Amitabh had done a great job. Pran retorted, “What did he do? I did everything!”’
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When a Bomb Rocked the Wafi Mall in Dubai — An Excerpt from 'In the Name of God'
What happens when you have to choose between faith and logic? Temples are places of worship, oceans of tranquility, or so everyone thinks, till a series of murders threatens to destroy the carefully cultivated reputation of the royal family of Thiruvanathapuram.
In Ravi Subramanian’s latest novel, we follow Kabir Khan, Additional Director, CBI, as he breezes through a complex maze of fact and fiction, faith and deceit, religion and commerce to unravel the mystery and unmask the killers with only minutes left at his disposal. Slick, riveting and fast paced, In the Name of God is a truly gripping novel.
Here’s an exclusive excerpt from the book.
It was a deafening sound. The kind that is heard when metal crashes into glass, bringing the whole thing down. The ground shook. It almost felt like an earthquake.
Visitors at Wafi Mall, the largest and possibly most exquisitely designed luxury mall in the area, stood astounded. No one could fathom what was going on.
Gate 1 of the mall was to the right of the central courtyard and a few minutes away from the main parking lot. The ground floor, accessible from Gate 1, was home to a variety of luxury gold and jewellery and accessory brands—Chopard, Cartier, Damas, Rolex, Omega, Breitling and a few local biggies were within shouting distance from the gate.
Moments later another piece of glass came crashing down amid the perceptible sound of cars rumbling close by.
At precisely forty-eight minutes past noon—no one knew the significance of the time, if there was one—two Audi A6s, one black and one white, had driven up to Gate 1. It was not uncommon for cars to drive up to the mall entrance. It was some distance from the main parking and the mall clientele, the rich and famous of Dubai, were not used to walking with their shopping bags. Ordinarily, the cars stopped on the carriageway built for them, waited for a couple of minutes, picked up their masters and drove out. But at 12.48 that day, the two Audis did not stop at the main gate. However, that was only half as strange as the manner in which they drove up to the gate: The black Audi was furiously approaching in reverse, followed closely by the white one, their bonnets almost kissing each other.
By the time the lone security guard at the gate could react, the black Audi had already crashed through the glass-and-metal door with a deafening noise. It drove further into the mall, right up to the main lobby on the ground floor, and screeched to a halt, the white car following suit. It almost seemed as if the black Audi was the pilot car, clearing the way for the second car. But why was it being driven in reverse? No one knew. No one cared. All that anyone in the mall was worried about was saving his or her own life. What ensued was mass panic as scared shoppers started running helter-skelter.
Amidst the confusion, four masked men, all dressed in black, got out of the cars, while the drivers stayed back, keeping the engines running. Armed with Kalashnikovs, they fired indiscriminately in the air, sending the already panic-stricken crowd into a state of hysteria. Everyone assumed it was a terrorist attack. At the time, that’s what it seemed like. Nervously vigilant, the four men strode towards the aisle to the right of the entrance. It was narrow, short and housed only three shops: Cartier, D’Damas and Ajmal Jewellers. At any given point in time, the cumulative stock in all the three stores put together was worth over a hundred million dollars.
The leader of the group stopped in front of Ajmal Jewellers and gestured to the other three to take up their positions. It took just one bullet to neutralize the shop attendant who was furiously rolling down the safety grille. The men entered the store. Once they were in, they were cut off from the rest of the mall.
All anyone could hear was the sound of shattering glass and indiscriminate gunfire. In three minutes the men came out of the store and ran back to the two Audis. Each of them had a bag in one hand— clearly booty from Ajmal Jewellers. But as they were rushing, the last of the four tripped and fell. The bag slipped out of his hands and rolled ahead. The contents of the bag—jewellery and gemstones—spilled out on to the marble floor. ‘Damn!’ the leader swore. ‘Quick! Three more minutes and the cops will be here. We need to go!’ The fall had delayed them by forty-five seconds. They had to leave, else they would be sitting ducks for the Dubai Police. He continued towards the Audi even as his fallen team member recovered, and tried to gather the loot on the floor and put it back into the bag. He quickly got into the second Audi though he had not managed to collect everything that had fallen out of the bag.
Immediately the engines roared to life. The cars vroomed and this time, the white Audi reversed out of the shattered mall entrance followed closely by the black one. In no time, they had disappeared from sight.
The moment the cars left the mall, people rushed towards the jewellery showroom, a few stopping on the way to pick up the pieces of jewellery and curios that had fallen out of the robber’s bag.
Ajmal Jewellers was in shambles. Glass from broken windows and display units was strewn all over. There was blood everywhere. Seven people had been shot—six store staff and a sole shopper.
All of them were dead.
This is an excerpt from Ravi Subramanian’s ‘In the Name of God’.
