The Immortals of Meluha
Page 63
‘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.
‘My Lord,’ cried a surprised Vraka, as he stood to attention. So did the other twenty-four brigadiers, with respect to the Neelkanth who had just been announced into the war room.
Parvateshwar rose slowly. He spoke kindly as he knew the pain Shiva still carried about Brahaspati’s grisly death. ‘How are you, Shiva?’
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.
‘My Lord,’ cried a surprised Vraka, as he stood to attention. So did the other twenty-four brigadiers, with respect to the Neelkanth who had just been announced into the war room.
Parvateshwar rose slowly. He spoke kindly as he knew the pain Shiva still carried about Brahaspati’s grisly death. ‘How are you, Shiva?’
