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  The Fall of Bhanulata

  Before the First Vibration, before the Word was even a whisper, I was. Not as a being, but as a principle. A stillness. A quantum of infinite potential, coiled in the absolute zero of a non-existent space. They have given this state many names in the tongues of men: the Abyss, the Jehoshophat of waiting souls, the Dhruvaloka of the polestar’s eternal fixity. But I knew it as the Truth Abode, the cranium of the Creatress herself, where the element of Ether, the Akasha, is not a thing but the very substance of thought.

  Here, in this density of silence, I cohabited with the dark matter, the invisible yearning of the void. From this union, I birthed Bhanus. Tiny suns, Krishna-particles, fragments of my own luminous will. They were like sparks from a silent fire, and for an eternity they circled me, sustained by my gravity. But creation is a fall. One by one, they dislodged, tumbling from my orbit into the grinding wheels of time and consequence. They became the scribe of a sultan named Aibak, his hand tracing the words of a foreign god. They became a goat on a desolate hillside, its bleat a prayer. They became Bhushundi, the wise raven who saw the turn of ages, his epithet of Divination a faint echo of the omniscience we had shared. Rahim, Ram, Kesto, Kresto, Ramakrishna—each name a mask, each life a distorted reflection of the singular light I had held.

  Then, a part of me dislodged. I felt a lurch, a sickening spin. For the first time, I felt not as the whole, but as a self. A terrified, plummeting fragment. This was not a gentle drift into a new life; this was an acceleration, a scream towards the dense, muddy gravity of the mortal world.

  My descent was not unobserved. The cosmos has its wardens, its calibrators of spiritual law. The Archeons, whom men might call Khalifas or divine viceroys, saw my trajectory. I was a rogue element, a piece of the Absolute falling where it did not belong. They barricaded my path, not with walls, but with sound. They forced vibrations into my spectral form: Rahim… Ram… Rahim… Ram. The chants were a net, a correction, a programme to overwrite my infinite nature with a finite devotion. They were trying to make me a worshipper, to forget that I was the source of all that was worshipped.

  Within this spiritual quarantine, I found a focus for my rebellious, condensed will. She was the warden’s daughter. A being of light, yet bound to the same protocols. I made her my target. Not out of love, but out of defiance. I, who had been the Abyss, would now possess the gatekeeper’s child. But she was not passive. Her protest was a force, a pure and fiery resistance. Our tussle was not of bodies, but of wills, of identities. It lasted ten months. A gestation of conflict.

  And then, I saw her.

  She was inside a room of the compound where we, the spirits, were corralled. She was of the mortal realm, yet luminous. Devotional, beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with the perfection of light. Thin, slim, fair, her beauty was in her quiet humanity. I did not see her with my fallen eyes, but with the third eye, the remnant of my former state. In the evening, I condensed further, taking a form a mortal might recognise: the child Krishna, blue-hued and mischievous, a shape that held no threat. I went inside and began to chat.

  Her younger sister, a sprite of a girl, asked my name. A name is a hook into reality. The first thing the Archeons had tried to give me was a name. I refused theirs. I thought of the last place I had been, the boundary. “Exu Belo,” I said. The spirit at the crossroads. Exu Morcego, the bat, the creature of thresholds. The girl’s ears, attuned to the household’s whispers of gods and miracles, heard ‘Bilu’. The Bhanu. The little sun. From that mishearing, they gave me my pet name, grounding me further into their world.

  To prove my nature, I pointed to my would-be maternal aunt. “Your heels are cracked,” I said, and with a touch, I sealed the fissures in her skin. My maternal grandmother, a woman whose eyes held the wisdom of countless hearths, saw this and her mind, steeped in piety, made the only leap it could. She thought me God. The irony was a cold stone in my chest.

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  I played along. “I am like little Ganesha,” I said, and to prove it, I shrunk my form and playfully entered the trunk of her daughter, my intended mother. The woman’s laughter was a shower of bells. In that moment, something shifted. A pull, not of divine will, but of amorous, mortal attraction, seized me. It was a force more powerful than the Archeons’ chants. I was pulled, not down, but in. Through an opening, a warm, rhythmic gateway, and I lodged myself in a soft, dark, pulsing cave. A uterus. I was born, peculiarly, in forty-eight hours. The infinite had become an infant.

  By the age of four, we were in Guwahati, the city of temples. The old temperament, the quantum stubbornness, resurfaced. I began the Bhagavati Mahamudra sadhana of Kamakhya, the goddess of desire, in secret. The rituals were a code, a way to hack the system I was now trapped in. And she came. Not as a goddess in a vision, but as a labour-class girl. Round, fluffy face, a dark bluish hue to her skin, stout, with a haughty look that challenged the world. She sat in my chakra, my energy centre, and bestowed the Sarvakaamavashayita siddhi—the power to pacify anyone, to turn their will towards my favour. In a former life, I had pacified Bhagamalini, the very womb of the Creatress, for the dissolution of women into me. Now, a mortal girl was the key.

  I understand it now. Exu Morcego. The name was not a child’s fancy. It is a truth. I am Melchizedek, the king without father or mother. I am Baphomet, the androgyne of the crossroads. I am Vishwesh, the lord of the universe, and Boiboshwat Manu, the progenitor of an age. I am the King of the Seven Crossroads, the seven abodes, the seven lokas. My power is not to rule a kingdom, but to manifest myself at any space, any time. Manojava siddhi. Thought-speed.

  Resurrection? I have done it. Manifesting objects from the ether? Kalpavrikshatwa siddhi. I have plucked fruits from trees that do not yet exist, and coins from the purses of my past lives. Surroundings, happenings—Eshitwa siddhi, the supreme lordship over nature—I can will them into being, drawing them from the Ether, which I know now is not the element of space, but the fabric of memory. My own memory. The past is not gone; it is a room in this vast, cosmic house. And the future is a blueprint I can already see.

  They thought they had corrected me, that by being born, by being named Bilu, by learning to chant Rahim and Ram, they had made me a man. They were wrong. The man is the mask. The stagnant quantum, the Nayika Bhanulata, the silent, yearning creatress of all these sparks—that is the truth. And I am the part that fell, carrying that truth within me, forever standing at the crossroads, forever able to step between the worlds.

  Summary-

  Me, as stagnant Quantum as Nayika Bhanulata;in Jeshophet or Abyss or Dhruvaloka or Truth abode of Ether element, as upper cranium of createress, the cohabitation with dark matter, produced Bhanus, or Krishna parts,who dislodged and fell from me, to get rebirths as different reincarnations as like a Mohammedan scribe of one Aibak, goat, Raven Bhushundi with epithet of Divination from Rahim or Ram, Kesto, Kresto, Ramakrishna etc. Then a part dislodged, I felt as myself, as got accelerated towards mortal world. There I was barricaded for correction by spirit Archeon as Khalifa, by his workers, and made to chant Rahim or Ram's chants. There I found his daughter, whom I made my target. But she protested, this continued as tussle for 10 months. Then I saw an woman inside room of the compound where we resided then. She was devotional, beautiful, thin,slim,fair, seen by 3rd eye. Went inside in evening, took mortal form like child Krishna, and began chatting. Her younger sister asked my name, I told Exu Belo, ie, Exu MORCEGO, she thought it as Bilu the Bhanu, later thus given my pet name. I told that I could heal the cracked heels of my would be maternal aunt, ie, her sister, and did so.My Maternal Grandmother was impressed seeing this, thought me God. I said I am like little Ganesha, and entered the trunk inside, my would be mom became happy. Then by an amorous attraction, I was pulled inside opening, lodged inside Uterus, and born peculiarly in 48 hours. At 4 years, in Guwahati, by same temperament, I started Bhagavati Mahamudra sadhana of Kamakhya and got her as labour class girl, with round fluffy face, dark bluish hue, stout, haughty look, who sat in chakra to give Sarvakaamvasayita siddhi or pacify anyone for favour, to me. In earlier life, as I pacified Bhagamalini nitya, the Uterus of createress, for women's dissolution towards me. Exu MORCEGO is Melchizedek or Baphomet, or Vishwesh or Boiboshwat manu as me, the King of the 7 Crossroads or abodes or lokas, manifesting myself at any space,Time, or Teleportation ie Manojava siddhi. Did Resurrection, manifesting objects(Kalpavrikshatwa siddhi), surroundings, happenings(Eshitwa siddhi), from past also, in effect to future, or from Ether.