Secrets

22 September 1914.

Location: Unknown Building, Madras (Chennai).

"This is to be kept a secret. No one should ever find this. I mean, no one!" thundered the Reverend, slamming his strained fist against the table.

The others present in the room exchanged looks of fear and bewilderment. They had no idea what the old man was going on about but understood that it was something big. Something that warranted extreme caution and secrecy.

Waiting for a few moments for the others to calm down, the old man continued once again.

"For millennia, he stood on the sidelines, watching,

As man butchered man. The cries of those wounded in battle,

And those who have lost loved ones echo through the realm,

For 'He' knows that humankind is at its most vulnerable.

He wants revenge, but for now he's watching.

As it were the works of the Almighty himself."

Amidst these chaotic rambles, there was one person standing afar, watching the proceedings with a slightly upturned smile.

For 'He' knew that this was nothing. ' He'd seen worse. Far, far...worse!

---

August 8th, a year ago.

"Hurry, Meera! We have to make it before the weather gets worse!" Stalin shouted to his wife of twenty years, Meera.

What started off as a leisurely trek in the Nilgiris mountain range with the love of his life quickly devolved into a struggle for survival as torrential rains started to hammer down on them. It was August, the peak of the southwest monsoon, after all.

The muddy path they were taking was already narrow enough to only allow them to walk one behind the other, and one side of the path was an almost vertical wall that went up to a plateau at the top.

On the other side, Meera peered over and saw an absolutely huge drop to Terra firma. Her blood ran cold as she could totally imagine them losing their footing, even just momentarily, and dropping down that abyss that was now being obscured by rain and wind.

The weather was getting worse.

"We have to hurry, dear!" Meera shouted as she stabbed the hiking stick into the somewhat mushy ground now, which helped her gain solid ground as she was climbing. She took special care to not hit the ground too forcefully to destabilize the rest of the earth around her and fall to her demise.

Stalin was not expecting this rain. Both of them dressed and packed relatively lightly, expecting mild, cloudy weather and no rain, but alas, the forecast isn't always 100 percent accurate.

They struggled to make progress, their breathing short and ragged, fighting the torrential downpour head-on. After what seemed like an eternity, they found a small cave in the vertical mountainside that they took refuge in to wait out the storm.

They got in, and the echo of the rain outside was deafening. "What is this monstrous rain? Does it look like it's going to let up anytime soon?" Inquired Meera

There were looks of unease on both Stalin and Meera's faces.

The sound from the rain was getting very loud, and the cave acting as an echo chamber made it even worse.

"I think the rain will let out in half an hour!" Meera shouted over to Stalin.

"WHAT!?"

"WHEN. DO. YOU. THINK. THIS. Will this rain end?"

"I DO NOT KNOW!"

Meera was facing Stalin, who was standing with his back to the entrance of the cave.

This back and forth hollering abruptly ground to a halt, and Meera just froze in pure horror, her face contorting into an expression of pure terror as she locked eyes with something behind her.

Stalin was taken aback, and before he could turn around, he felt a cold hand grip on his shoulder.

He instantly spun around and saw a man standing at six feet with long hair and a beard who was very disheveled and worn out. His shirt was all torn up, and he looked as pale as a ghost.

Stalin shoved this mysterious man back by pure reflex, and the man stumbled back, and his feet just stopped at the edge and started to fall back.

For a brief moment, Stalin and the man locked eyes, and the gravity of what he did set in.

Before he could act, Meera pulled him aside and dove for this mysterious man, dove down to help him with her cane, and called out, "Grab a hold of me!"

Meera dove over the edge too, placing absolute trust in Stalin.

He grabbed a hold of her foot, and Stalin himself almost buckled under the heft of two people. He held on just because he used to be a pro wrestler in his heyday and also because he was propping his legs across the opening and another rock.

"Hrnnnnnnnnnnn~" With great and labored effort, Stalin finally pulled up the mysterious man and Meera, and he was very exhausted.

The man was unconscious as he plopped down to the floor.

He sprawled back on the floor and thanked God for the fact that he had enough strength to haul both of them back up.

Meera, her breathing haggard, stammered over to Stalin's side and sat down.

"Just who the hell is he?"

---

Present day

"The SMS Emden had just bombed Madras harbor, and it was chaos on the streets of Madras. What was supposed to be the fourth day of festivities for Navratri had come to a grinding halt." A stern voice read

"The city had never seen a battle for the last hundred and fifty-five years. People from afar could see the flames rising high in the air. This was enough. Enough to cause major panic among the common folk in Madras." Pausing for a moment to survey the room, the voice then continued.

"The bombing had done its deed. People left in droves. The railway network was choked. Crowds demanding explanations and panic-stricken mobs had been pounding the gates of the Madras High Court. To suppress the growing discord, the Special Police Forces and Control Squads were deployed, who then moved to

The tireless voice of Professor Stalin continued to hound, and the students found themselves barely retaining their consciousness. Although tired from the grueling academic syllabus, they managed to persevere.

Anna University was one of the best in the city, and each second of class time was incredibly precious.

"And that is how World War I came to Indian shores when we least expected it." Just as he finished the sentence, the campus bell rang, signaling the end of another normal academic day.

"Alright then," Professor Stalin voiced. "Class dismissed."

Seeing the students gloomily leave his class, the professor sighed to himself. He then hunched over his table, reviewing today's assignments. It was nothing new, just the same 'copy-pasta' from websites and books he already knew and read.

After all, he was one of the best historians that the country had to offer.

He had, in fact, received one of the greatest awards to ever be given to any historian: the George Louis Beer Prize, or, as it was more affectionately known "the Beer Prize".

He continued evaluating papers till the evening sun went into its daily slumber and darkness had begun to blanket the sky.

Looking at the antique timepiece in his hand, one that he took great pride in winding by hand every night before he went to sleep, he quietly murmured to himself.

"Quarter-past seven." Extraditing himself from the fantasy of his students' history assignments, he stretched his tired body. "Ah, time to head home."

Packing all the essays neatly into his file, he then placed them into the duffle bag that was made for him by his daughter. A work of art in which some wildly complex designs with intricate artwork and embroidery were made depicting the Mahabharata

This amalgamation of skill—the art of embroidery from her mother and the love for history from her father—made this duffle bag one of the things Professor Stalin cherished. Having finished his packing, he once again surveyed the room to ensure that nothing had been left behind. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he then locked the door to the class and started walking towards the main gate of the campus.

Having sunk into his musings, he had walked three-fourths of the way when a strange feeling assaulted his mind. 'This feeling...someone is...following me?' The professor warily discovered He turned around to peruse his surroundings but failed to discover anyone.

"I'm starting to lose my marbles." The professor lightly joked to himself and shook his head to rid himself of the strange feeling.

The professor had the habit of keeping to a schedule, leaving the campus at 5 p.m. in the evening. Alas, some days are busier than usual. Today, for example, he had been too engrossed in grading the assignments, resulting in a two-hour delay. While such days were rare, they nonetheless existed.

As such, he did not think much and continued to walk, ignoring the strange feeling.

Anyway, it wouldn't take him long to reach the entrance. A five-minute walk at best.

Walking through the winding paths of the campus, he found himself unconsciously quickening his footsteps. The feeling of uncertainty grew in magnitude, and horror started blossoming in his heart.

He suddenly heard footsteps to his right. "I'm definitely being followed!"