The Immortals of Meluha
Page 62
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Shiva.
‘And so am I,’ said Sati.
‘What?’ asked Daksha, the light making his agonised expression clear. ‘You both don’t need to go.’
Shiva turned to Daksha, frowning. ‘My apologies, your Highness. But I must go. Brahaspati needs me.’
As Parvateshwar and Shiva turned to leave the royal chambers, Sati bent down to touch her father’s feet. Daksha seemed too dazed to bless her and Sati did not want to remain too far behind her husband. She quickly turned to touch her mother’s feet.
‘Ayushman bhav’ said Veerini.
Sati frowned at the odd blessing — ‘May you live long’. She was going into a battle. She wanted victory, not a long life! But there was little time to argue. Sati turned and raced behind Shiva as Nandi and Veerbhadra followed closely.
CHAPTER 21
Preparation for War
The noise of the explosions stopped within an hour of the first. It wasn’t much later that Shiva, Parvateshwar, Sati, Nandi and Veerbhadra, accompanied by a brigade of one thousand five hundred cavalry, were on their way to Mount Mandar. Brahaspati’s scientists rode with the brigade, sick with worry over their leader’s fate. They rode hard and hoped to cover the day—long distance to the mountain in fewer than eight hours. It was almost at the end of the second prahar, with the sun directly overhead that the brigade turned the last corner of the road where the forest cover cleared to give them their first glimpse of the mountain.
A furious cry arose as they got their first sight of what was the heart of their empire. Mandar had been ruthlessly destroyed. The mountain had a colossal crater at its centre. It was almost as if a giant Asura had struck his massive hands right through the core of the mountain and scooped out its core. The enormous buildings of science were in ruins, their remnants scattered across the plains below. The giant churners at the bottom of mountain were still functioning, their eerie sound making the gruesome picture even more macabre.
‘Brahaspati!’ roared Shiva, as he rode hard, right into the heart of the mountain, where the pathway, miraculously, still stood strong.
‘Wait Shiva,’ called out Parvateshwar. ‘It could be a trap.’
Shiva, unmindful of any danger, continued to gallop up the pathway through the devastated heart of the mountain. The brigade, with Parvateshwar and Sati in the lead, rode fast, trying to keep up with their Neelkanth. They reached the top to be horrified by the sight they saw. Parts of the buildings hung limply on broken foundations, some structures still smouldering. Scorched and unrecognisable body parts, ripped apart by the repeated explosions, were strewn all over. It was impossible to even identify the dead.
Shiva tumbled off his horse, his face devoid of even a ray of hope. Nobody could have survived such a lethal attack. ‘Brahaspati...’
‘How did the terrorists get their hands on the daivi astras?’ asked an agitated Parvateshwar, the fire of vengeance blazing within him.
The soldiers had been ordered to collect all the body parts and cremate them in separate pyres, to help the departed on their onward journey. A manifest was being drawn up of the names of those believed dead. The first name on the list was that of Brahaspati, Chief Scientist of Meluha, Sarayupaari Brahmin, Swan chosen-tribe. The others were mostly Arishtanemi, assigned to the task of protecting Mandar. It was a small consolation that the casualties were minimal since most of the mountain’s residents were in Devagiri for the Neelkanth’s marriage. The list was going to be sent to the great sanyasis in Kashmir, whose powers over the spiritual force were considered second to none. If the sanyasis could be cajoled into reciting prayers for these departed souls, it was hoped that their grisly death in this birth would not mar their subsequent births.
‘It could have also been the Somras, general,’ said Panini, one of Brahaspati’s assistant chief scientists, offering another plausible cause.
Shiva looked up suddenly on hearing Panini’s words.
‘The Somras did this! How?’ asked a disbelieving Sati.
‘The Somras is very unstable during its manufacturing process,’ continued Panini. ‘It is kept stable by using copious quantities of the Saraswati waters. One of our main projects was to determine whether we could stabilise the Somras using less water. Much lesser than at present.’
Shiva remembered Brahaspati talking about this. He leaned over to listen intendly to Panini.
‘It was one of the dream projects of...’ Panini found it hard to complete the statement. The thought that Brahaspati, the greatest scientist of his generation, the father-figure to all the learned men at Mount Mandar, was gone, was too much for Panini to bear. He was too choked to release the intense pain he felt inside. He stopped talking, shut his eyes and hoped the terrible moment would pass. Regaining a semblance of control over himself, he continued, ‘It was one of Brahaspatiji’s dream projects. He had come back to organise the experiment that was to begin today. He didn’t want us to miss the last day of the celebrations. So he came alone.’
Parvateshwar was numb. ‘You mean this could have been an accident.’
‘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.
‘And so am I,’ said Sati.
‘What?’ asked Daksha, the light making his agonised expression clear. ‘You both don’t need to go.’
Shiva turned to Daksha, frowning. ‘My apologies, your Highness. But I must go. Brahaspati needs me.’
As Parvateshwar and Shiva turned to leave the royal chambers, Sati bent down to touch her father’s feet. Daksha seemed too dazed to bless her and Sati did not want to remain too far behind her husband. She quickly turned to touch her mother’s feet.
‘Ayushman bhav’ said Veerini.
Sati frowned at the odd blessing — ‘May you live long’. She was going into a battle. She wanted victory, not a long life! But there was little time to argue. Sati turned and raced behind Shiva as Nandi and Veerbhadra followed closely.
CHAPTER 21
Preparation for War
The noise of the explosions stopped within an hour of the first. It wasn’t much later that Shiva, Parvateshwar, Sati, Nandi and Veerbhadra, accompanied by a brigade of one thousand five hundred cavalry, were on their way to Mount Mandar. Brahaspati’s scientists rode with the brigade, sick with worry over their leader’s fate. They rode hard and hoped to cover the day—long distance to the mountain in fewer than eight hours. It was almost at the end of the second prahar, with the sun directly overhead that the brigade turned the last corner of the road where the forest cover cleared to give them their first glimpse of the mountain.
A furious cry arose as they got their first sight of what was the heart of their empire. Mandar had been ruthlessly destroyed. The mountain had a colossal crater at its centre. It was almost as if a giant Asura had struck his massive hands right through the core of the mountain and scooped out its core. The enormous buildings of science were in ruins, their remnants scattered across the plains below. The giant churners at the bottom of mountain were still functioning, their eerie sound making the gruesome picture even more macabre.
‘Brahaspati!’ roared Shiva, as he rode hard, right into the heart of the mountain, where the pathway, miraculously, still stood strong.
‘Wait Shiva,’ called out Parvateshwar. ‘It could be a trap.’
Shiva, unmindful of any danger, continued to gallop up the pathway through the devastated heart of the mountain. The brigade, with Parvateshwar and Sati in the lead, rode fast, trying to keep up with their Neelkanth. They reached the top to be horrified by the sight they saw. Parts of the buildings hung limply on broken foundations, some structures still smouldering. Scorched and unrecognisable body parts, ripped apart by the repeated explosions, were strewn all over. It was impossible to even identify the dead.
Shiva tumbled off his horse, his face devoid of even a ray of hope. Nobody could have survived such a lethal attack. ‘Brahaspati...’
‘How did the terrorists get their hands on the daivi astras?’ asked an agitated Parvateshwar, the fire of vengeance blazing within him.
The soldiers had been ordered to collect all the body parts and cremate them in separate pyres, to help the departed on their onward journey. A manifest was being drawn up of the names of those believed dead. The first name on the list was that of Brahaspati, Chief Scientist of Meluha, Sarayupaari Brahmin, Swan chosen-tribe. The others were mostly Arishtanemi, assigned to the task of protecting Mandar. It was a small consolation that the casualties were minimal since most of the mountain’s residents were in Devagiri for the Neelkanth’s marriage. The list was going to be sent to the great sanyasis in Kashmir, whose powers over the spiritual force were considered second to none. If the sanyasis could be cajoled into reciting prayers for these departed souls, it was hoped that their grisly death in this birth would not mar their subsequent births.
‘It could have also been the Somras, general,’ said Panini, one of Brahaspati’s assistant chief scientists, offering another plausible cause.
Shiva looked up suddenly on hearing Panini’s words.
‘The Somras did this! How?’ asked a disbelieving Sati.
‘The Somras is very unstable during its manufacturing process,’ continued Panini. ‘It is kept stable by using copious quantities of the Saraswati waters. One of our main projects was to determine whether we could stabilise the Somras using less water. Much lesser than at present.’
Shiva remembered Brahaspati talking about this. He leaned over to listen intendly to Panini.
‘It was one of the dream projects of...’ Panini found it hard to complete the statement. The thought that Brahaspati, the greatest scientist of his generation, the father-figure to all the learned men at Mount Mandar, was gone, was too much for Panini to bear. He was too choked to release the intense pain he felt inside. He stopped talking, shut his eyes and hoped the terrible moment would pass. Regaining a semblance of control over himself, he continued, ‘It was one of Brahaspatiji’s dream projects. He had come back to organise the experiment that was to begin today. He didn’t want us to miss the last day of the celebrations. So he came alone.’
Parvateshwar was numb. ‘You mean this could have been an accident.’
‘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.
