‘So are you saying that anyone who is frustrated with life should simply resign himself to being a vikarma,’ said Shiva.
‘Why?’
‘For the larger good of society’
Shiva was aghast. He could not believe what he was hearing. He deeply disliked the arguments being presented to him. ‘I am sorry, but I think this system is completely unfair. I have heard that almost one twentieth of the people in Meluha are vikarma. Are you going to keep so many people as outcast forever? This system needs to change.’
‘You can change it. You are the Neelkanth. But remember, no system is absolutely perfect. In Lord Ram’s time, a lady called Manthara triggered a series of events which led to the loss of millions of lives. She had suffered terribly due to her physical deformities. And then, fate put her in a position of influence over a powerful queen and thus over the entire kingdom. Therefore, the karma of one maladjusted victim of fate led to the mass destruction that followed. Would it not have been better for everybody if this person had been declared a vikarma? There are no easy answers. Having said that, maybe you are right. Maybe there are so many vikarma now that it can lead to a tipping point, tumble society into chaos. Do I have the solution to this problem? No. Maybe you could find it.’
Shiva turned his face away. He believed in his heart that the vikarma system was unfair.
‘Are you concerned about all the vikarma, O Neelkanth?’ asked the Pandit. ‘Or just one in particular?’
‘What is the Lord doing in there?’ asked Nandi. ‘He is taking too long.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Veerbhadra. ‘All I know is that if Shiva says he needs to do something, I accept it.’
‘Why do you call the Lord by his name?’
‘Because that is his name!’
Nandi smiled at the simple answer and turned to look at the temple.
‘Tell me Captain,’ said Veerbhadra coming close to Nandi. ‘Is Krittika spoken for?’
‘Spoken for?’
‘I mean,’ continued Veerbhadra. ‘Is she off limits?’
‘Off limits?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Veerbhadra turning beet red. ‘She is a widow,’ said Nandi. ‘Her husband died fifteen years back.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible!’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Nandi, as he smiled at Veerbhadra. ‘But to answer your question, she is “not spoken for” right now.’
‘My Lady, may I say something?’ asked Krittika.
Sati turned from the guest-room window to look at Krittika with a surprised frown. ‘Have I ever stopped you from speaking your mind? A true Suryavanshi always speaks her mind.’
‘Well,’ said Krittika. ‘Sometimes, it may not be that harmful to lose control of yourself.’
Sati frowned even more.
Krittika spoke quickly, before her courage deserted her. ‘Forget about him being the Neelkanth, my Lady. Just as a man, I think he is the finest I have seen. He is intelligent and brave, funny and kind, and worships the ground you walk on. Is that really so bad?’
Sati glared at Krittika; she didn’t know if she was more upset at Krittika for what she was saying or at herself for having feelings which were apparently so evident.
Krittika continued, ‘Maybe, just maybe, breaking the rules can lead to happiness.’
‘I am a Suryavanshi,’ said Sati, her voice dropping. ‘Rules are all that I live by. What have I got to do with happiness? Don’t ever dare to speak to me about this again!’
‘Yes, there is this particular vikarma,’ admitted Shiva. ‘But that is not why I think the vikarma law is unfair.’
‘I know that,’ said the Pandit. ‘But I also know that what troubles you right now is your relationship with that one in particular. You don’t want her to think that you would change the law, however justified, just to get her. Because if Sati believes that, she will never come to you.’
‘How do you know her name?’ asked Shiva, flabbergasted.
‘We know many things, my friend.’
‘My entire life is meaningless without her.’
‘I know,’ smiled the Pandit. ‘Perhaps I can help you.’
Shiva frowned. This was unexpected.
‘You want her to reciprocate your love. But how can she when you don’t even understand her?’
‘I think I understand her. I love her.’
‘Yes, you do love her. But you don’t understand her. You don’t know what she wants.’
Shiva kept quiet. He knew the Pandit was right. He was thoroughly confused about Sati.
‘You can hazard a guess towards what she wants,’ continued the Pandit, ‘with the help of the theory of transactions.’
What?’ asked a flummoxed Shiva.
‘It makes up the fabric of society.’
‘Excuse me, but what does this have to do with Sati?’
‘Indulge me for a little while, Neelkanth,’ said the Pandit. You know the cloth that you wear is created when cotton threads are woven together, right?’
‘Yes,’ answered Shiva.
‘Similarly, transactions are threads that when woven together make up a society, its culture. Or in the case of a person, weaves together their character.’
Shiva nodded.
‘If you want to know the strength of a cloth, you inspect the quality of its weave. If you want to understand a person’s character, look closely at their interpersonal behaviour or their transactions.’
‘Alright,’ said Shiva slowly, absorbing the Pandit’s words. ‘But transactions are...’
‘I’ll explain,’ interrupted the Pandit. Transactions are interactions between two individuals. It could be trading goods, like a Shudra farmer offering grain for money from a Vaishya. But it could also be beyond material concerns, like a Kshatriya offering protection to a society in return for power.’
Shiva nodded in agreement. ‘Transactions are about give and take.’
‘Exactly. So going by this logic, if you want something from someone, you have to give that person something they want.’
‘So what do you think she wants?’ asked Shiva.
‘Try and understand Sati’s transactions. What do you think she wants?’
‘I don’t know. She is very confusing’
‘No, she isn’t. There is a pattern. Think. She is probably the most eminent vikarma in history. She has the power to rebel if she wants to. She certainly has the spirit since she never backs off from a fight. But she does not rebel against the vikarma law. Neither does she fade into the background like most vikarmas and live her life in anonymity. She follows the commandments, and yet, she does not whine and complain to others. However unfairly life treats her, she conducts herself with dignity. Why?’
‘Because she is a righteous person?’
‘That she is, no doubt. But that is not the reason. Remember, in a transaction, you give something because you want something in return. She is accepting an unfair law without trying to make anyone feel guilty about it. And most importantly, she continues to use her talents to contribute to the good of society whenever she can. What do you think a person who is giving all this in her transactions with society wants in return?’
‘Respect,’ answered Shiva.
‘Exactly!’ beamed the Pandit. ‘And what do you think you do when you try to protect such a person?’ ‘Disrespect her.’
‘Absolutely! I know it comes naturally to you to want to protect any good person who appears in need. But control that feeling in relation to Sati. Respect her. And she will feel irresistibly drawn towards you. She gets many things from the people who love her. What she doesn’t get is what she craves the most — respect.’
Shiva looked at the Pandit with a grateful smile. He had found his answer.
Respect.
After two weeks, the Neelkanth’s convoy reached the city of Karachapa at the confluence of the Indus into the Western Sea. It was a glittering city which had long grown beyond the one platform it was built on. The Dwitiya or second plat
form, had been erected fifty years ago on an even grander scale than the first. The Dwitiya platform was where the Karachapa elite lived. The Governor, a diminutive Vaishya called Jhooleshwar, had heard of and followed the new tradition of receiving the Neelkanth outside the city.
Karachapa, with its hundred thousand citizens, was at its heart a frontier trading city. Therefore it was an act of foresight by Lord Brahmanayak, Emperor Daksha’s father, to have appointed a Vaishya as its governor over a hundred years ago. Jhooleshwar had ruled the city extraordinarily well, gilding its fate in gold and was considered its wisest and most efficient governor ever. Karachapa had long overtaken Lothal on the eastern part of the empire to become Meluha’s premier city of commerce. While foreigners such as Mesopotamians and Egyptians were allowed into this liberal city, they were not allowed to travel further into Meluha without express royal permission.
Jhooleshwar escorted the Neelkanth on an excursion to the Western Sea on his very first day in Karachapa. Shiva had never seen the sea and was fascinated by the near infinite expanse of water. He spent many hours at the port where Jhooleshwar proudly expounded on the various types of ships and vessels manufactured at the shipyard attached to the Karachapa port. Brahaspati accompanied them to the port to check on the imports due for him from the Mesopotamian merchants.
At the evening state dinner organised for Shiva, Jhooleshwar proudly announced that a jagna, a ceremonial fire sacrifice, was being organised the next day in honour of the Neelkanth, under the auspices of Lord Varun and the legendary Ashwini Kumar twins. The Ashwini Kumar twins were celebrated ancient seafarers who had navigated ocean routes from Meluha to Mesopotamia and beyond. Their maps, guidance and stories were a source of inspiration and learning for this city of seamen.
After dinner, Shiva visited the chambers where Sati and Krittika were housed.
‘I was wondering,’ said Shiva, still careful with Sati since she had gone back to being formal with him, ‘will you be coming to the yagna tomorrow?’
‘I am very sorry, Lord Neelkanth,’ said Sati courteously. ‘But it may not be possible for me to attend the ceremony. I am not allowed to attend such yagnas.’
Shiva was about to say that nobody would question her since she would be attending with the Neelkanth. But he thought better of it. ‘Perhaps we could have a dance practise tomorrow? I cannot remember the last time we had a dance session.’
‘That would be nice. I have not had the benefit of your instruction in a long time,’ said Sati.
Shiva nodded unhappily at Sati — the freeze in their relationship tormented him. Bidding goodbye, he turned to leave.
Krittika glanced at Sati, shaking her head imperceptibly.
CHAPTER 15
Trial by Fire
The little boy hurried through a dusty goat trail, trying to avoid the sharp stones, bundling into his fur coat. The dense, wet forest encroached on the path menacingly. It was difficult to see beyond the trees lining the narrow path. The boy was sure that there were terrible monsters lurking in the dense foliage, waiting to pounce on him if he slowed down. His village was but a few hours away. The sun was fast setting behind the mountains. Monsters love the darkness — he had heard his mother and grandmother say repeatedly when he was being difficult. He would have liked being accompanied by an elder, as monsters didn’t trouble the elders.
His heart skipped a beat as he heard a strange heaving sound. He immediately drew out his short sword, suspecting an attack from behind. His friends had heard many stories about the monsters of the forests. The cowards never attackedfrom the front.
He stood still straining to determine the direction of the sound. It had a peculiar repetitive rhythm and seemed vaguely familiar. He felt as though he had heard it before. The heaving was now accompanied by a heavy grunting male voice. This was not a monster! The boy felt excitement run through his body. He had heard his friends whisper in giggles about it, but never seen the act himself. This was his chancel
He crept slowly into the foliage, his sword dangling by his side. He did not have to go too far when he came upon the source of the sound. It came from a small clearing. He bid behind a tree trunk and peeped.
It was a couple. They seemed to be in a hurry. They had not even disrobed completely. The man was extraordinarily hairy — almost like a bear. The boy could see just his back from this angle. He had a frontal view of the woman. She was astonishingly beautiful. Her wavy hair, long and lustrous. The partly torn blouse revealed a firm breast, with deep red welts due to the brutal intercourse. Her skirt had been ripped and revealed exquisite long legs. The boy was excited beyond imagination. Wait till his best friend Bhadra heard of this!
As he enjoyed the show, his disquiet grew. Something seemed amiss. The man was in the throes of passion while the woman lay passive — almost dead. Her hands lay lifeless by her side. Her mouth was tightly shut. She was not whispering encouragements to her lover. Were those tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks’? Or was she being forced? But how could that be? The man’s knife lay within the woman’s reach. She could have picked up the blade and stabbed him if she wanted.
The boy shook his head. He tried to silence his conscience. ‘Just shut up. Ijet me look.’
And then came the moment that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The woman’s eyes suddenly fell upon him.
‘HELP!’ she cried out, ‘Please help!’
The startled boy fell back, dropping his sword. The hairy monster turned to see who the woman was calling. The boy quickly picked up his sword and fled, ignoring the searing pain on his frost-bitten foot as he ran. He was terrified at the thought that the man was chasing him. He could hear the man’s heavy breathing.
The boy leapt onto the goat trail and sped towards his village. He could still hear the heavy breathing. It was drawing closer every second. The boy suddenly swerved to his left, pivoted and slashed back with his sword.
There was nobody there. No sound of heavy breathing. The only sound was the haunting plea of a distraught woman.
‘Help! Please help!’
The little boy looked back. That poor woman.
‘Go back! Help her!’ cried his inner voice.
He hesitated for a moment. Then turned and fled towards his village.
NO! GO BACK! HELP HER!
Shiva woke up sweating, his heart pounding madly. He instinctively turned around, wanting desperately to go back to that dreadful day. To redeem himself. But there would be no redemption. The woman’s terrified face came flooding back. He shut his eyes. But how do you shut your eyes to an image branded on your mind?
He pulled his knees up and rested his head on them. Then he did the only thing that helped. He cried.
The yagna platform had been set up at the central square of the Dwitiya platform. For Karachapa, it was not the usual austere affair typical of Meluha. The frontier city had decorated the area with bright colours that vied for attention. The platform itself had been painted in a bright golden hue. Colourfully decorated poles, festooned with flowers, held aloft a shamiana, a cloth canopy. Red and blue pennants, with the Suryavanshi symbol painted on, hung proudly from many poles. The entire atmosphere was that of pomp and show.
Jhooleshwar received Shiva at the head of the platform and guided him to his ritual seat at the yagna. At the governor's repeated requests, Shiva had removed his cravat for the duration of the ceremony. Parvateshwar and Brahaspati sat to the right of the Neelkanth while Jhooleshwar and Ayurvati sat to his left. Nandi and Veerbhadra had also been invited to sit behind Shiva. Though this was unorthodox, Jhooleshwar had acceded to the Neelkanth’s request. Jhooleshwar governed a cosmopolitan border city and believed that many of the strict Meluhan laws could be bent slightly for the sake of expediency. His liberal attitude had made Karachapa a magnet for people from a wide variety of races and a hub for the exchange of goods, services and ideas.
Shiva looked towards Sati’s balcony, which overlooked the central square in the distance. Though Sati was not a
llowed to step on the platform while the yagna was being conducted, she could look on at the proceedings from the safe distance of her chambers. Shiva noticed her standing behind the balcony curtain, with Krittika by her side, observing the proceedings.
As was the custom before such a yagna, the pandit stood up and asked formally, ‘If anybody here has any objection to this yagna, please speak now. Or forever hold your peace.’
This was just a traditional question, which wasn’t actually supposed to be answered. Hence there was an audible, collective groan when a voice cried out loudly, ‘I object’
Nobody needed to look to recognise where the voice came from. It was Tarak, an immigrant from the ultra-conservative northwest regions of the empire. Since Tarak had come to Karachapa, he had taken it upon himself to be the ‘moral police’ of this ‘decadent city of sin’.
Shiva strained his neck to see who had objections. He saw Tarak standing at the back, at the edge of the puja platform, very close to Sati’s balcony. He was a giant of a man with a fair face cut up brutally due to a lifetime of strife, an immense stomach and a miner’s bulging muscular arms. He cut an awesome figure. It was obvious, without even looking at his amulets, that Tarak was a Kshatriya who had made his living working in the lower rungs of the army.
Jhooleshwar glared at Tarak in exasperation. ‘What is it now? This time we have ensured that we have not used the white Chandravanshi colours in our decorations. Or do you think the water being used for the ceremony is not at the correct temperature as per the Vedas?’