Immortals of Meluha (41 page)

‘Yes,’ replied Panini. ‘We all knew the experiment was risky. Maybe that is why Brahaspatiji decided to begin without us.’

The entire room was stunned into silence by this unexpected information. Panini retreated into his private hell. Parvateshwar continued to gaze into the distance, shocked by the turn of events. Sad stared at Shiva, holding his hand, deeply worried about how her husband was taking the death of his friend. And that it may all have been just a senseless mishap!

It was late into the first hour of the fourth prahar. It had been decided that the brigade would set up camp at the bottom of the ruined mountain. They would leave the next day, only after all the ceremonies for the departed had been completed. Two riders had been dispatched to Devagiri with the news about Mandar. Parvateshwar and Sati sat at the edge of the mountain peak, whispering to each other. The drone of Brahmin scientists reciting Sanskrit shlokas at the bottom of the mountain floated up to create an ethereal atmosphere of pathos. Nandi and Veerbhadra stood at attention, a polite distance from Parvateshwar and Sati, looking at their Lord.

Shiva was walking around the ruins of the Mandar buildings, lost in thought. It was tearing him apart that he hadn’t even seen any recognisable part of Brahaspati. Everybody in Mandar had been destroyed beyond recognition. He desperately searched for some sign of his friend. Something he could keep with himself. Something he could cling on to. Something to soothe his tortured soul for the years of mourning he would go through. He walked at a snail’s pace; his eyes combing the ground. They suddenly fell upon an object he recognised only too well.

He slowly bent down to pick it up. It was a bracelet of leather, burnt at the edges, its back-hold destroyed. The heat of the fiery explosions had scarred its brown colour into black at most places. The centre however, with an embroidered design, lay astonishingly unblemished. Shiva brought it close to his eyes.

The crimson hue of the setting sun caused the Aum symbol to glow. At the meeting point of the top and bottom curve of the Aum were two serpent heads. The third curve, surging out to the east, ended in a sharp serpent head, with its fork tongue struck out threateningly.

It was him! He killed Brahaspati!

Shiva swung around, eyes desperately scanning the limbs scattered about, hoping to find the owner of the bracelet or some part of him there. But there was nothing. Shiva screamed silently. A scream audible only to him and Brahaspati’s wounded soul. He clutched the bracelet in his fist till it’s still burning embers burnt into his palms. Clasping it even more firmly, he swore a terrible vengeance. He vowed to bring upon the Naga a death that would scar him for his next seven births. That Naga, and his entire army of vice, would be arinihilated. Piece by bloody piece.

‘Shiva! Shiva!’ The insistent call yanked him back to reality.

Sati was standing in front of him, gently touching his hand. Parvateshwar stood next to her, disturbed. Nandi and Veerbhadra stood to the other side.

‘Let it go, Shiva,’ said Sati.

Shiva continued to stare at her, blank.

‘Let it go, Shiva,’ repeated Sati softly. ‘It’s singeing your hand.’

Shiva opened his palm. Nandi immediately lunged forward to pull the bracelet out. Screaming in surprised agony, Nandi dropped the bracelet as it scalded his hand. How did the Lord hold it for so long?

Shiva immediately bent down and picked up the bracelet. This time carefully. His fingers were holding the less charred edge, the part with the Aum symbol. He turned to Parvateshwar. ‘It was not an accident.’

‘What?’ cried a startled Parvateshwar.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Sati.

Shiva looked towards Sati and raised the bracelet, the serpent Aum clearly in view. Sati let out a gasp of shock. Parvateshwar, Nandi and Veerbhadra immediately closed in to stare intently at the bracelet.

‘Naga...,’ whispered Nandi.

‘The same bastard who attacked Sati in Meru,’ growled Shiva. ‘The same Naga who attacked us on our return from Mandar. The very, bloody, same, son of a bitch.’

‘He will pay for this Shiva,’ said Veerbhadra.

Turning towards Parvateshwar, Shiva said, ‘We ride to Devagiri tonight. We declare war.’

Parvateshwar nodded.

The Meluhan war council sat quietly, observing five minutes of silence in honour of the martyrs of Mandar. General Parvateshwar and his twenty-five brigadiers sat to the right of Emperor Daksha. To Daksha’s left sat the Neelkanth, the administrative Brahmins led by Prime Minister Kanakhala and the governors of the fifteen provinces.

‘The decision of the council is a given,’ said Daksha, beginning the proceedings. ‘The question is when do we attack?’ ‘It will take us at the most a month to be ready to march, your Highness,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘You know that there are no roads between Meluha and Swadweep. Our army would have to travel through dense, impenetrable forests. So even if we begin the march in a month, we will not be in Swadweep before three months from today. So time is of the essence.’

‘Then let the preparations begin.’

‘Your Highness,’ said Kanakhala, adding a Brahmin voice of reason to the battle cry of the Kshatriyas. ‘May I suggest an alternate?’

‘An alternate?’ asked a surprised Daksha.

‘Please don’t get me wrong,’ said Kanakhala. ‘I understand the rage of the entire nation over Mandar. But we want vengeance against the perpetrators of the crime, not all of Swadweep. Could we try and see whether a scalpel might work before we bring out the mighty war sword?’

‘The path you suggest is one of cowardice, Kanakhala,’ said Parvateshwar.

‘No Parvateshwar, I am not suggesting that we sit like cowards and do nothing,’ said Kanakhala politely. ‘I am only suggesting a way to see whether we can get our vengeance without sacrificing the lives of our soldiers and other innocents.’

‘My soldiers are willing to shed their blood for the country, Madam Prime Minister.’

‘I know they are,’ said Kanakhala, maintaining her composure. ‘And I know that you too are willing to shed your blood for Meluha. My point is that can we send an emissary to Emperor Dilipa and request him to surrender the terrorists who perpetrated this attack? We can threaten that if he doesn’t, we will attack with all the might at our disposal.’

His eyes scowling with impatience, Parvateshwar said,
‘Request
him? And why would he listen? For decades, the Swadweepans have got away with their nefarious activities because they think we don’t have the stomach for fight. And if we talk about this “scalpel approach” after an outrage like Mount Mandar, they will be convinced that they can mount any attack at will and we will not respond.’

‘I disagree, Parvateshwar,’ said Kanakhala. ‘They have mounted terrorist attacks because they are scared that they cannot take us on in a direct fight. They are afraid that they cannot withstand our superior technology and war-machines. I am only looking from the standpoint of what Lord Shiva had said when he had first come here. Can we try talking to them before we fight? This may be an opportunity to get them to admit that there are sections in their society who are terrorists. If they hand them over, we may even find ways of coexisting.’

‘I don’t think Shiva thinks like that anymore,’ said Parvateshwar, pointing towards the Neelkanth. ‘He too wants vengeance.’

Shiva sat silently, his face expressionless. Only his eyes glowered with the terrible anger seething inside.

‘My Lord,’ said Kanakhala looking towards Shiva, her hands folded in a namaste. ‘I hope that at least you understand what I am trying to say. Even Brahaspati would have wanted us to avoid violence, if possible.’

The last sentence had an effect on Shiva similar to a torrential downpour on a raging fire. He turned towards Kanakhala and gazed into her eyes, before turning towards Daksha. ‘Your Highness, perhaps what Kanakhala says is right. Maybe we can send an emissary to Swadweep to give them an opportunity to repent. If we can avoid the killing of innocents, only good will come from it. However, I would still suggest that we begin war preparations. We should be prepared for the possibility that the Chandravanshis may reject our offer.’

‘The Mahadev has spoken,’ said Daksha. ‘I propose that this be the decision of the war council. All in favour, raise your hands.’

Every hand in the room was raised. The die had been cast. There would be an attempt for peace. If that didn’t work, the Meluhans would attack.

‘I have failed again, Bhadra,’ cried Shiva. ‘I can’t protect anyone in need.’

Shiva was sitting next to Veerbhadra, in a private section of his palace courtyard. A deeply worried Sati had invited Veerbhadra to try and bring Shiva out of his mourning. Shiva had retreated into a shell, not speaking, not crying. She hoped her husband’s childhood friend would succeed where she had failed.

‘How can you blame yourself, Shiva?’ asked Veerbhadra, handing over the chillum to his friend. ‘How can this be your fault?’

Shiva picked up the chillum and took a deep drag. The marijuana coursed through his body, but did not help. The pain was too intense. Shiva snorted in disgust and threw the chillum away. As tears flooded his eyes, he looked up to the sky and swore, ‘I will avenge you, my brother. If it is the last thing I do. If I have to spend every moment of the rest of my life. If I have to come back to this world again and again. I will avenge you!’

Veerbhadra turned towards Sati sitting in the distance, a worried look on his face. Sati got up and walked towards them. She came up to Shiva and held him tight, resting his tired head against her bosom, hoping to soothe Shiva’s tortured soul. To Sati’s surprise, Shiva did not raise his arms to wrap them around her. He just sat motionless. Breathing intermittently.