Immortals of Meluha (20 page)

‘He told you that?’ asked Brahaspati, his eyes wide in surprise. ‘The Emperor can be a little tiresome at times. But suffice it to say that what he told you is not completely correct. The legend doesn’t exactly say that the Neelkanth will save the Suryavanshis. The legend says two things. First, that the Neelkanth will
not be
from the Sapt-Sindhu. And second, the Neelkanth will be the “destroyer of evil”. The Meluhans believe that this implies that the Neelkanth will destroy the Chandravanshis, since they are obviously evil. But destroying the Chandravanshis doesn’t mean that the Suryavanshis will be saved! There are many other problems, besides the Chandravanshis, that we need to solve.’

‘What kind of problems? Like the Nagas?’

Brahaspati seemed to hesitate for a moment. He replied carefully. ‘There are many problems. We are working hard to solve them. But coming back to your question, why did the Somras have this effect on you?’

‘Yes, why did it? Why did my throat turn blue? Forget about stopping the degeneration of my body, the Somras actually repaired a dislocated shoulder and a frostbitten toe.’

‘It repaired an injury?’ asked an incredulous Brahaspati. ‘That’s impossible! It is just supposed to prevent diseases and ageing, not repair injuries.’

‘Well, it did in my case.’

Brahaspati thought for a bit. ‘We will have to do experiments to come up with a definitive answer. For now though, I can think of only one explanation. From what I know, you come from the high lands beyond the Himalayas, right?’

Shiva nodded.

‘The air gets thinner as you go higher up the mountains,’ continued Brahaspati. ‘There is less oxygen in thinner air. That means your body was used to surviving with less oxygen and resultantiy was less harmed by the oxidants. Therefore the anti-oxidants in the Somras may have had a stronger effect on you.’

‘That could be one of the reasons,’ agreed Shiva. ‘But if that was the case, the rest of my tribe should have also turned cold and blue. Why just me?’

‘A good point,’ conceded Brahaspati. ‘But tell me one thing. Did your tribe also experience an improvement in their pre—existing conditions?’

‘Actually, yes they did.’

‘So maybe the diluted air you all lived in did have some role to play. But since all of your tribe did not develop blue throats, it is obvious that the “thinner air” theory may be a partial explanation. We can always research it more. I am sure there is a scientific explanation for the blue throat.’

Shiva looked at Brahaspati intently, as he read between the lines of Brahaspati’s last statement. ‘You don’t believe in the legend of the Neelkanth, do you?’

Brahaspati smiled at Shiva awkwardly. He was beginning to like Shiva and did not want to say anything to insult him. But he wasn’t going to lie either. ‘I believe in science. It provides a solution and a rationale for everything. And if there is anything that appears like a miracle, the only explanation is that a scientific reason for it has not been discovered as yet.’

‘Then why do the people of Meluha not look to science for solving their problems?’

‘I am not sure,’ said Brahaspati thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it is because science is a capable but cold-hearted master. Unlike a Neelkanth, it will not solve your problems for you. It will only provide you the tools that you may need to fight your own battles. Perhaps it is easier for people to believe that someone else will come and solve their problems rather than solve it themselves.’

‘So what do you think is the role that the Neelkanth has to play in Meluha?’

Brahaspati looked at Shiva sympathetically. ‘I would like to think that true Suryavanshis should fight their own demons rather than put pressure on someone else and expect him to solve their problems. A true Suryavanshi’s
duty
is to push himself to the limit of his abilities and strength. The coming of the Neelkanth should only redouble a Suryavanshi’s efforts, since it is obvious that the time for the destruction of evil is near.’ Shiva nodded.

‘Are you concerned that it may be too much of a strain for you to take up a responsibility that you don’t really want, because of the pressure of faith?’ asked Brahaspati.

‘No, that is not my concern,’ replied Shiva. This is a wonderful country and I certainly want to do all I can to help. But what if your people depend on me to protect them and I can’t? Right now, I can’t say that I can do all that is expected from me. So how can I give my word?’

Brahaspati smiled. According to his rule book, any man who took his own word seriously was worth respecting.

‘You appear to be a good man, Shiva. You will probably face a lot of pressure in the coming days. Be careful, my friend. Because of the blue throat and the blind faith it generates, your decisions will have ramifications for the entire land. Remember, whether a man is a legend or not is decided by history, not fortune-tellers.’

Shiva smiled, glad to have finally found a man who understood his predicament. And more importantly, was willing to at least
offer
some advice.

It was late in the evening. Having spent a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon on a detailed tour of Mount Mandar with Brahaspati, Shiva lay on his bed, reading a book. A spent chillum lay on the side table.

A few aspects of the story he was reading, ‘The Righteous War against the Asuras’, troubled him. The Asuras were demons and were expected to behave like demons, having a pathological hatred for the Devas. They routinely attacked Deva cities, trying to force them to accept the Asura way of life. This was not a surprise to Shiva. What was unexpected though was the way some of the Devas behaved, going to unusually unethical limits in their blind pursuit of victory. Lord Rudra, though personally a great man, seemed to ignore the indiscretions of the Devas in the interest of the larger good.

Shiva heard a commotion outside the Guest House. He looked out of his first floor balcony to notice that the royal caravan had just arrived. The Arishtanemi soldiers had formed a neat salutary row at the entrance. Some people appeared to be disembarking from the far side of the second carriage. Shiva assumed it must be the royal family. The surprise was that the Arishtanemi seemed to be going through just the normal motions in receiving the royal family. There wasn’t the usual servitude that would be expected in front of royalty. Shiva suspected that this could be due to the usual Meluhan obsession with perceived equality.

However, Shiva’s equality theory was challenged when he looked at the fifth carriage from which Parvateshwar alit. Here, the Arishtanemi seemed to be in a tizzy. The senior captain rushed in front of Parvateshwar and executed a Meluhan military salute — a quick click of the heels, the body rigid in attention and the right hand, balled in a fist, brought rapidly and violently to his left chest. After this salute, the captain bent low in respect to the chief of the army. The soldiers at the back repeated their captain’s greeting. Parvateshwar formally saluted in return, accompanied with a slight bow of his head.

He started towards his soldiers, inspecting them, while the captain politely fell two steps behind.

Shiva had a feeling that the admiration reserved for Parvateshwar was not because of the post he held. It was for the man himself. For all his surliness, Parvateshwar had a reputation of a brave warrior, a soldier’s general respected as a man whose word was true. Shiva could see the strength of that repute in the eyes of each Arishtanemi who bent low on receiving the attention of his general.

A little while later, Shiva heard a soft knock on his door. He did not need to open it to know who was on the other side. Sighing sofdy, he opened the door.

Daksha’s fixed smile disappeared and he started a litde as the unfamiliar odour of the marijuana assaulted his senses. Kanakhala, standing to the Emperor’s right, appeared equally perplexed.

‘What is that stench?’ Daksha asked Brahaspati, who stood to the left. ‘Perhaps you should change the Lord’s room. How can you subject him to this discomfort?’

‘I have a feeling that Shiva is comfortable with this aroma, your Highness,’ said Brahaspati.

‘It is a smell that travels with me, your Highness,’ said Shiva. ‘I like it.’

Daksha was baffled. His face did nothing to hide his revulsion. But he quickly recovered his composure. After all, the Lord was happy with the malodour. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my Lord,’ said Daksha, his smile back in place. ‘I had just thought I would inform you that my family and I have reached the guest house.’

‘It’s very kind of you to inform me, your Highness,’ said Shiva with a formal namaste.

‘My family and I were hoping to have the honour of eating breakfast with you tomorrow morning, my Lord.’

‘The honour would be mine, your Highness.’

‘Excellent. Excellent,’ beamed Daksha as he moved on to the question that dominated his mind. ‘What do you think of the Somras, my Lord? Isn’t it really the drink of the Gods?’

‘Yes your Highness. It does appear to be a miraculous drink.’

‘It is the basis of our civilisation,’ continued Daksha. ‘Once you have taken a tour of our land, you will see the goodness of our way of life. I am sure you will find it in your heart to do something to save it.’

‘Your Highness, I already think highly of your country. It truly is great and treats its citizens well. I wouldn’t doubt that it is a way of life that is worth protecting. However, what I am not sure about is what I can do. Yours is such an advanced civilisation and I am just a simple tribal man.’

‘Faith is a very potent weapon, my Lord,’ said Daksha, his hands joined in supplication. ‘All that is needed is for you to have as much faith in yourself as we have in you. I am sure that if you spend a few more days in our country and see the effect that your presence has on our people, you will realise what you can do.’

Shiva gave up arguing against Daksha’s childlike belief.

Brahaspati winked at Shiva before coming to his rescue. ‘Your Highness, Shiva looks tired to me. It has been a long day. Maybe he should retire and we could meet tomorrow?’

Daksha smiled, ‘Perhaps you are right, Brahaspati. My apologies for troubling you, my Lord. We will see you at breakfast. Have a good night.’

‘Good night,’ wished Shiva in return.

Sati waited quietly at the table as Daksha glanced nervously at the prahar lamp. To the left were Kanakhala, Brahaspati and Parvateshwar. To his right was an empty chair. For the ‘Neelkanth’, thought Sati. Next to the empty chair sat Sati and to her right was her mother, Veerini. Daksha had agonised deeply over the seating to get it exactly right.

Sati looked over the arrangements. A formal table and chairs for breakfast rather than the preferred low table and floor cushions that Meluhans normally sat upon to eat. The beloved banana leaf had been replaced by gold plates. The taste enhancing
kulhads
, or
mud cups
, had been replaced by refined silver glasses. She thought that her father was really pulling out all stops for this breakfast meeting. She had seen him pin his hopes on too many so-called Neelkanths earlier. Miracle men who had turned out to be frauds. She hoped that her father would not have to face disillusionment again.

The crier announced Shiva and Nandi. As Daksha rose with a reverential namaste to receive the Lord, Parvateshwar rolled his eyes at the servile behaviour of his Emperor. At the same instant, Sati bent down to pick up a glass that she had accidentally knocked over to the floor.

‘My Lord,’ said Daksha pointing to the people standing around the table. ‘Kanakhala, Brahaspati and Parvateshwar, you already know. At the far right is my wife, Queen Veerini.’

Shiva smiled politely as he returned Veerini’s namaste with a formal namaste and a low bow.

‘And next to her,’ said Daksha with a broad smile as Sati came up holding the glass she had retrieved, ‘is my daughter, Princess Sati.’

The breath went out of Shiva as he looked at his life staring back at him. His heart beat a frantic rhythm. He could swear that he had a whiff of his favourite fragrance in the world: the aroma of the holy lake at sunset. As before, he was mesmerized.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Except for the noise made by the unfortunate glass which fell from Sati’s hand again. The clang of the rolling glass distracted Sati slightly from her fixed gaze. With superhuman effort, she managed to control the look of shock on her face. She was breathing heavily, as if she had just danced a duet with Shiva. What she did not know was that her soul was doing exactly that.