Maha Vishnu Trilogy: Part I: The Code of Manavas (Maha Vishnu Trilogy 1)

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Book one of the Maha Vishnu Trilogy, The Code of Manavas, is set some two million years past ad 2050, when earth as we know it ceased to exist and so did mankind. A new race, the Manavas, now exists on Bhoomi, the erstwhile Earth, which is divided into two cities—Madhavpur and Ayudhpur. In the quiet and peaceful city of Madhavpur, a reclusive Krishna is busy with an immense task. He has to prepare a new abode for the Manavas before an impending apocalypse destroys them. He knows something that nobody else does—the Manavas are running out of time faster than they can imagine and there are no inhabitable planets to escape to. To make matters worse, there is someone in Madhavpur who wants to destroy Krishna and subjugate each Manava. The Manavas, it seems, are doomed. Yet Krishna knows there is a slim chance of survival for the Manavas, although there is a huge price to be paid for it. Will the various factions of the Manavas unite for the greater good? Will Krishna, who saved them during the turn of the last Yuga, be able to save them now? What will be the price to pay? Enter the mythical world of Maha Vishnu and get swept up in a fast-paced suspenseful narrative.

From the Publisher

In Conversation with Arpit Bakshi

1

The Half Moon

A cool, balmy gust of air unsettled its antennas and wings. It raised its forelegs and then brushed its antennas in a hurried manner. It then flapped its beautiful big wings twice to regain its balance.

The wings had wave-like patches of yellow amid cerulean blue, which faded into lavender grey towards the middle of the wings. There were beautiful tangerine-coloured eyespots all over the outer edge of the wings. The eyespots added colour and splendour to the wings and kept the predators away, which were mostly medium-sized birds that would confuse the colourful creature for the nectar- loaded flowers.

Sitting atop a big banyan tree, it was trying to find flowers to feed onto their nectar. Little did it know that the flowers were well concealed in the figs growing in abundance on the tree.

The cool wind gusts were growing stronger with the coming of dusk. The leaves of the tree were dancing to the tune of the wind blowing down the mountain slope.

The winged creature was now perturbed and finally decided to give up its search and fly away.

It started descending down the dense tree, manoeuvring through the aerial shoots and branches. The wind was now swinging the creature in both the directions as it floated in the air. It flew down the length of the tree and finally found a sleek piece of bamboo in the shadow of the giant trunk.

Krishna stopped playing his flute, turned his head to his right and noticed something sitting atop his flute. A butterfly was resting on it, between the last two air vents, gently flapping its wings. He was amused at the sight, a beautiful blue-greyish butterfly sitting right atop his ‘Venu’.

Up until now, he was long lost playing his flute, with the cool spring-evening winds ruffling his hair. But now, he was looking at the beautiful patterns on the wings of the butterfly, like a spellbound child. He was careful enough not to unsettle the little one, and held the flute steadfast and still.

He patiently held his breathe too, already heavy from incessant playing.The butterfly was touching the flute with its proboscis and legs looking around for nectar. With the air vents now calm, the butterfly started probing them. Its forelegs got stuck in the penultimate vent, and it started flapping its wing vigorously to free itself. Seeing this made an already smiling Krishna laugh. The puff from his laughter startled the fly; it then untangled its legs, with all its might, from the vent and took off.

Krishna now looked at the setting sun. The clouds marked the horizon, with their peripheries displaying yellowish hues from the refracting sunlight. The birds were on retreating march and the shadows of the nearby kadam trees were now growing longer and fainter.

Krishna got up dusting his yellow silk robe and tucked his Venu under his saffron waistband. He raised his head and saw the peak of the Govardhan hill, which was now glowing in the slant sunlight. He wanted to view the sunset from the peak. The banyan tree was on the foot of the hill, and it was nearly 500 feet of steep ascent to the hilltop. He smiled and raced forward like an unfurled spring. A minute or so of sprinting and he was on the hilltop.

The view was magnificent, and the winds were more enthusiastic at the top. The sweet fragrant smell of banyan fruits, from the other side of the hill, filled his nostrils. A strange feeling of connect encompassed his consciousness and a nostalgia of belongingness overpowered him. The feeling, the cool breeze, and the sweet figs’ fragrance gave him goosebumps.

He pulled out the flute from under his waistband and started playing again a soft composition of his own. The music filled the air, and a mélange of birds chirping along, created a melody of its own. He stood there, on top of Govardhan, with his eyes closed, playing his Venu relentlessly.

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