Author
Bio: Alex Shvartsman (@AShbartsman) is a writer and game designer. his
adventures so far have included traveling to over 30 countries, playing
a card game for a living, and building a successful business. Alex
resides in Broklyn, NY with his wife and son. his recently published
fiction is linked at his Live Journal.
The Skeptic
(published at Absent Willow Review in November 2010)
By Alex Shvartsman
His death was going to be televised. Ekram Patel
squinted as he looked out into the auditorium past the powerful flood
lights that bathed the stage. He was pleased to see no empty seats in
the audience.
Patel seemed an unremarkable man, of medium height,
and just a bit overweight. A store-bought suit did not fit quite right;
the jacket was bulging a bit once he sat down in the chair. It was a
stark contrast with the tall, handsome man smiling easily at the
audience from the other chair. Guru Malhar did so enjoy a chance to
pose in front of a crowd. It was only a few weeks ago that the two of
them squared off for the first time, in a small television studio of a
regional cable network.
The host of “Punjab Daily” was an up and
comer in the world of Indian television. Although his show was not yet
broadcast outside of the Punjab state, it was enjoyed by an
ever-growing audience. His program was graced by politicians, Bollywood
stars and other celebrities who would normally only give interviews on
national television. Naturally, it was just a matter of time until Guru
Malhar was scheduled to make an appearance.
Malhar was also a rising star in his own field. He
was a faith healer, spiritual guide and general adviser to over a
million people. Like most religious leaders he started out small,
tending to a flock of a few dozen villagers. Word of his amazing
abilities spread quickly to nearby farms, then to the town, and so on.
Now Malhar was on the verge of becoming one of the best-recognized
gurus in India.
The interview went very well. The host and Malhar
enjoyed bouts of witty banter, both men experienced at eliciting the
best response from their audience. A great many viewers tuned in
because the guru promised to perform a miracle. He was going to create
fire using only the power of his mind, right in front of the cameras.
The show’s host did not gain his prominence by
making life too easy for those who came on to his program. Before the
grand finale he introduced a surprise guest – Mr. Patel, the
skeptic.
“My name is Ekram Patel and I am one of the
founding members of India’s Skeptic Society. It is the goal of
our organization to debunk false claims of the supernatural and promote
logic and science in their stead.
“Gurus, Yogi and Fakirs are just charlatans
who are after your money. They prey on the poor and uneducated. They
take advantage of the gullible by using tricks and misdirection. There
is no such thing as magic and there is no shred of legitimacy to any of
the supernatural claims Mr. Malhar has made here today.”
Guru Malhar did not expect to be so attacked, but he
hid his displeasure well. He waited patiently for Patel to finish the
tirade and responded into the camera, not deigning to directly
acknowledge his accuser.
“Since the beginning of time there have been
small minded men who would deny the greatness of the mystic arts. Even
Buddha himself was plagued by such unbelievers. You, my people, know
better. Was it not I who returned the gift of sight to a boy with but a
touch of my hand? Was it not I who only had to stomp my foot and a
swarm of locusts dropped dead before they could reach the fields? Is it
not I who channels the great Guru Nanak and through him know all the
secrets of the dead? Is it –"
“These are nothing but cheap parlor
tricks!” Patel cut off the guru’s boasts. It was much
harder for Malhar to hold his temper in check this time around, for no
one had dared interrupt him in years.
“Anything you did can be replicated by science,” Patel pressed on. He turned toward the host.
“Today on this very show he was supposed
to start a fire in a pot just by staring at it. Is that so?”
“Yes, it is indeed,” the host was happy
to cooperate. His audience was getting quite a spectacle and other
networks were going to be running clips from his show that night for
certain.
“What if I were to tell you I can do the same
thing? I will prove it if you bring me the same pot that Malhar here
was going to use.”
The guru was visibly angry now, but the host waved
off his protestations and the pot was brought in. Patel fumbled with it
for a few seconds, then set it on top of a table and took a step
back. Almost immediately a small puff of smoke appeared from the
pot. The smoke intensified and moments later a flame erupted from the
bottom of the pot, almost a foot high.
“You see, I can do this also, yet I am not a
Guru or a Swami. It’s just science.” Patel produced a
small vial from his sleeve.
“The stuff in the pot that Malhar brought in
is a chemical compound called potassium permanganate. I poured in a few
drops of glycerol from this container while I was setting up the pot.
These two chemicals combust when they are mixed together. You can
reproduce this so called miracle in any chemistry classroom.”
Patel was very pleased with himself, but Guru Malhar
was now furious. He stood up from his chair and pointed at Patel
angrily, addressing him directly this time.
“You may need earthly science to create pale
replicas of my miracles, but my power comes from the gods themselves!
If you spent your entire lifetime trying, you could not begin to
comprehend my mystical wisdom. I can use my mind to kill a man and then
bring him back to life! I can make it rain for a week or cause a
drought that will last a season. Tremble before me!”
“Talk is cheap,” Patel also got up from
his seat. While he still was not eye to eye with the taller man, he
defiantly stared back at him. “You say you can kill a man with
your powers. Then do it. Go ahead and kill me, if you can.”
That is how the events of this evening were set in
motion. Confronted and asked to deliver on his own boasts on live
television, Malhar had no choice but to accept Patel’s challenge.
Within days the whole country was talking about the upcoming showdown.
When the agreed upon date came, their meeting was set not in a
recording studio but a huge theater with hundreds of people attending
in person and millions more watching it live across all of India.
Regular programming was canceled for this broadcast and the smiling
host, who finally achieved his goal of going national, was presiding
over everything.
Many thought that Ekram Patel was surely committing
suicide. Thousands of people wrote to him or stopped him on the street.
Some were angry, some felt sorry that his stubbornness would be his
undoing. Even the police had someone come by to confirm that Patel was
a willing participant. They took his statement to make sure Malhar
would not be charged as a murderer should he succeed. Patel was patient
with all of them, using every opportunity to deliver his message of
logic and science and speak out against the likes of Malhar. He would
end the guru’s career or pay the ultimate price for his impudence.
Malhar got up from his chair and walked over to
Patel, who remained seated. A wave of excitement washed over the
spectators and everyone seemed to be whispering to each other at once.
Malhar raised his hand and waited for several seconds until the crowd
was silent. It was time.
Malhar began chanting mantras. At first it was a
quiet recitation, almost a mumble. Over several minutes he got
progressively louder until he was shouting, his rich baritone voice
becoming hoarse and strained from the effort. The mantra was in some
language that was not at all familiar to Patel. It sounded sufficiently
ancient and sinister but it did not cause Patel to lose his composure.
It was much harder to ignore Malhar’s intense
stare. He did not break eye contact even for a moment since the chant
began. Staring back into the mystic’s eyes Patel was now certain
that the taller man genuinely believed he would succeed. Strangely the
skeptic felt no pity for the other’s delusions – it only
made him despise the guru more.
Patel and his confederates had been working for
years to curb the influence of cult leaders, astrologers, and anyone
else seeking to take advantage of the people’s ignorance. During
his quest Patel had to learn many of the common techniques yogis used
to awe their followers. Feats like walking barefoot through fire or
lying down on a bed of nails. He read books on applied psychology and
watched tapes of stage magicians, eventually figuring out many of their
techniques. He was ready for any direct confrontation but, in a country
where millions did not have access to proper schooling or even
television, he knew he was fighting an uphill battle.
The guru kept screaming out mantras. His hands
traced arcane symbols through the air in front of Patel’s face.
About ten minutes into it, the act was beginning to really take a toll
on the mystic. He was drenched in sweat and his voice was beginning to
crack, but he pressed on with the ritual.
Patel was careful not to do anything that could later be interpreted as
an unfair interruption. He did not want Malhar to find some way of
explaining away his failure. He did not remain entirely passive though.
Patel rolled his eyes, smiled at the host and the audience and even
yawned at one point. He did everything to show that he was feeling no
ill effects at all.
After a while longer the guru had changed tactics.
He laid hands on Patel’s temples, ruffled his hair and traced
symbols on his victim’s forehead. It was to no avail. Malhar
could barely stand now. His hands were shaking and his chants were mere
whispers. The guru pressed the palm of his right hand hard against
Patel’s heart, held it for several seconds and then staggered
back as if he touched a live wire. He stood there for another
moment staring in disbelief at his victim then visibly slouched, the
fight gone out of him. He turned around and with great effort took
several steps back to his own chair.
“The gods! Whatever gods he worships protect him,” Malhar groaned.
“I am an atheist, sir. I worship no
gods.” Patel got up from his seat and launched into another
speech denouncing his would-be murderer. This was going to be a good
day for the Skeptic Society.
* * *
It was late evening by the time Patel
finally made it back into his hotel room. He was exhausted by the
ordeal but it was important to appear as completely unaffected by
Malhar’s efforts as possible.
Malhar would be discredited now, deprived of most
followers and much money. More importantly, he will live on always
doubting his own abilities – a handicap that will keep him from
ever becoming a truly powerful rival. As an added benefit even more
people will remain blissfully ignorant of the Discipline, leaving Patel
and his associates to operate with impunity.
This was far, far too close. Although Malhar clearly
had no formal training at all, his natural ability exceeded anything
Patel might have expected. Patel reached into his pockets and began
removing various charms and talismans that helped protect him during
the arcane onslaught.
Patel unbuttoned his shirt and removed the thin
platinum amulet that was covering his heart. The precious metal was
corroded and curved and deep black marks were left upon it where Malhar
pressed his palm. Far too close, indeed.
THE END
Bent Masses ©
2011
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