WB Entry 7 : THE MUDRA OF DESTRUCTION (2013)

THE MUDRA OF DESTRUCTION

My life had spiralled out of control after the death of my wife. Most people would have had a
tough time dealing with that alone, but she had also been eight months pregnant when that
car had hit her. It sent me over the edge.
I was an investigative reporter so gathering up the facts of her death was in my nature and my
desire to find out every last morsel of data lead me into insanity and alcoholism. Eventually, a
long time later, they dried me out and kicked me back into the world, but here are the
essentials for what it's worth.
A Vauxhall Astra registration SV01PPYD left the plant in Ellesmere Port on Jun 13th, 2003. It
then went by transporter to the showroom on Needle Street in Aberdeen and was sold to one
Mr James Sunday of Balnagash Road.
He drove it carefully for two years until the 16th of September 2005 when for reasons that can
never be known since he dies as a result of it, but most likely due to the unseasonable icy
conditions, he drives it off the end of the quay in Footdee.
He is going at 36 mph when he enters the water.
My wife did not see him as he slid into her. The car knocked her into the water then landed on
top of her. It then dragged her down to the seabed and pinned her to the botom of Aberdeen
Harbour. They told me she was still alive at that stage and died, in fact, of drowning.
Heather wasn't even meant to be at work that day, but had gone in to cover a friend and was
having her lunch by the lighthouse as she often did. That infernal Astra was like a ball fired
from a cannon, on a two year trajectory that ended in her death. Any number of tiny changes
in the chain of events could have saved her and I would not be a widower now.
That was eight years ago and I was still a wreck, but I was well enough to work and was
freelancing for a conspiracy rag called 'Thirteen O'clock’. I'd come a long way down in the
world since my days of big money book deals.
Anyway, they'd tipped me off on a prime piece of nonsense, the sort of thing that the
readership really liked. Sorcery with a hint of something even darker.
Due to some minor miracle, the guy had agreed to give an interview so here I was at his
Kensington town house, fresh off the train from Aberdeen. I checked my phone before I rang
the doorbell, just a few messages from the editor about the usual guff and one from Nancy
back at the office wishing me luck.
I reflected that I'd probably need it since Mandrake Harrison was not a man to be trifled with
by most accounts. He had started his career as a producer for kids TV, but through luck and
canny business decisions was now a multi-millionaire. In amongst it all there was a ten year
hiatus in India and there were some really weird stories going around about him. Nothing that
had hit the headlines yet, but something was not right, or so it was whispered. Since Saville
and Operation Yewtree these sorts of thing were worth following up on and celebrities were
bending over backwards to prove they were whiter than white.
A flunky took me inside and then into a room that had so many pot plants in it, it felt like a
garden. At the back, sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket was the man himself. He was in his
fifties, with long grey hair tied in a tail at the back and a salt and pepper beard. He was still in
his pyjamas but appeared wide awake. I could smell coffee and noticed a little table behind
him on which sat a pot and some cups beside a phone and selection of expensive looking
tablets.
'Mr Vaunt. Hello there, do you mind sitting on the floor?' he said with a slight smile as he
poured me a cup of coffee.
I shook my head and sat down, then took out my notepad and pencil.
'How quaint.' he declared, 'No iPad? No tablet?'
'I missed out all the new technology while I was in hospital. I just do things the way I've
always done them.'
'Ah yes.' he nodded 'Well, I'll not pry. That's your job after all. You are here to talk about
witchcraft and that sort of thing I suppose?'
It seemed he knew about me, but I didn’t doubt some PA would have found out a bit of my
history. Long stays in the looney-bin tended to stay with you.
'Well, I... Yes. I watched a DVD of your kids show. Tom Fu Twig. I don't get it though, it's no
more real sorcery than Harry Potter. Whatever people are saying about it makes no sense to
me.'
'And what are people saying?'
'That you are using subliminal messages. Trying to turn them to the devil...'
He laughed then and I saw his crooked yellow teeth for the first time.
'Mr Vaunt. Let me tell you it IS magic. In each episode I get the children to stand up and make
some hand gestures to help the protagonist Tom Twig over come some problem or enemy.
The gestures appear simple enough, but are, in fact, ancient Sanskrit Mudra. The ancients
used these hand gestures to focus minds into changing the universe. They live on today in
Buddhism but have lost most of their power.'
'Mudra?' I was taken aback. My hands were shaking slightly as I wrote down what he was
saying.
'For example, a mantra is a sound or group of words that is considered capable of creating
transformation. A mudra is the same, but done as a ritualistic gesture. Each one can be
powerful enough to shape the universe in some small way. I learned these things during my
travels in India. It was after that I had an idea. What if I could channel a million or more
mudras at the same time? The idea for Tom Fu Twig took shape. I would use television as the
medium and the gullibility of children as my fuel.'
He paused and looked at his watch. I scribbled some more notes and took a deep breath
'Well our readers will love this, but it can't be true can it? It's absurd.'
'You've watched the show? Every day at five thirteen in the afternoon, four million children in
the UK all stand up and perform a mudra for my benifit. The Abhaya Mudra, the mudra of
protection. The Bhumisparsha Mudra, the mudra of enlightenment. The Varada Mudra, the
mudra of giving.'
He then touched the thumb and index finger together on his right hand to form a circle and
slowly moved his hand towards his heart.
'The Gnana Mudra, the mudra of knowledge.'
I'd stopped taking notes now.
'I get it. So jealous people attribute your great wealth to this... twaddle...'
'Mr Vaunt', Harrison said with a sigh 'This is not twaddle. I spent ten years in a Buddhist
Temple trying to figure out the meaning of life. Let me tell you a secret. There isn't one. There
is only what goes on inside people’s heads. With the words and the right gestures one can
change the universe just a little. If you can get everyone to do it in unison you can change it a
lot.'
'You can't change the universe.’ I said with a derisive grunt 'You can't change a single thing.
Everything just.. happens...You can't change it just by thinking about it.'
'Mr Vaunt. Here is another secret. The universe did not create the human brain. The human
brain created the universe.'
Harrison looked at his watch agian.
‘And in six minutes time I will be destroying a part of it.’
Despite myself I was starting to feel nervous. A trickle of sweat wound its way down my back.
‘You see, Mr Vaunt’, he said pronouncing my name viciously ‘I thought I’d done away with all
you annoying journalists. God knows I’ve manipulated enough time and space to be rid of
you. But then along you come, yet another one, wondering how a mere kids TV producer can
be so wealthy and with your head full of half-baked stories.’
‘Steady on Harrison. What are you talking about?’
‘Be patient Mr Vaunt.’
He leaned over and lifted up the top of a laptop that sat on the nearby low table. Then he
turned up the volume and I could see it was Tom Fu Twig. Tom was about to go into one of
his spell casting routines in order to defeat a naughty dragonfly. I tried to leap up, but Harrison
made a hand gesture and suddenly I felt like I was held in a vice.
‘Be still. It will all be over soon. In your case it will be very easy. All I need to do is make one
… tiny … change and you’ll never bother me again.’
He did a thumbs up sign with his right hand and placed it in the palm of his left. In a low voice
he growled,
‘The Shiva Linga Mudra. The Mudra of Destruction.’
My world went black.
Back at the hotel I lay back on the bed feeling rather in a daze. My notebook was blank and I
could not really remember what I was in London to do.
The phone rang and I picked it up.
‘Hey’ I said groggily.
‘Hey yourself. How’s it going down there? How’s that book deal coming along? Have you
signed your life away yet? Got your hands on all that moola?’ The woman at the other end
gave a cheerful laugh.
‘Oh hi Nancy. Ah, no, I was..’
‘Nancy? Who the hell is Nancy? This is your wife Heather! Remember me? Hold on, Violet
wants to talk to you. Or have you forgotten you have a daughter as well?!’