‘What are you thinking, my Lord?’ asked Daksha, intruding into Shiva’s troubled thoughts.
Shiva just shook his head.
‘I just asked if you would like to travel in Dilipa’s carriage to Ayodhya?’ asked Daksha. ‘You deserve the honour, my Lord. You have led us to this glorious day’
This conversation did not appear important to Shiva at this point. He did not have the energy to think of an answer. He just nodded in an absentminded manner.
‘Wonderful. I’ll make all the arrangements,’ said Daksha. Turning towards his aide, he continued, ‘Send Ayurvati in to immediately dress the Lord’s wounds. We need to leave by tomorrow morning to make sure that we have control over Ayodhya, before chaos reigns in the aftermath of Dilipa’s defeat.’
With a namaste towards Shiva, Daksha turned to leave. ‘Parvateshwar, aren’t you coming?’
Parvateshwar gazed at Shiva, his face creased with concern.
‘Parvateshwar?’ repeated Daksha.
Taking a quick look at Sati, Parvateshwar turned to leave. Sati moved forward, holding Shiva’s face gently. Shiva’s eyes seemed to droop with the heavy weight of tiredness. Ayurvati lifted the curtain carefully. ‘How are you, my Lord?’
Shiva looked up, his eyes half shut. He was descending into a strange sleep. He yelled suddenly, ‘Nandi!’
Nandi came rushing in.
‘Nandi, can you find me a cravat?’
‘Cravat, my Lord?’ asked Nandi.
‘Yes.’
‘Umm. But why, my Lord?’
‘BECAUSE I NEED IT!’ shouted Shiva.
Nandi, shocked at the violence of his Lord’s reply, hurried out. Sati and Ayurvati looked at Shiva in surprise. Before they could say anything, he suddenly collapsed. Unconscious.
He was running hard, the menacing forest closing in on him. He was desperate to get beyond the trees before they laid their ravenous claws on him. Suddenly, a loud insistent cry pierced through the silence.
‘Help! Please help!’
He stopped. No. He wouldn’t run away this time. He would fight that monster. He was the Mahadev. It was his duty. Shiva turned around slowly, his sword drawn, his shield held high.
‘Jai Shri Ram!’ he yelled, as he raced back to the clearing. The bushy thorns slashed his legs. Bleeding and terrified, he ran hard.
I will reach her in time.
I will not fail her again.
My blood will wash away my sin.
He sprang through the last clump of shrubs, letting the thorns cut greedily at his flesh, and leapt into the clearing. His shield held defensively, his sword gripped low to retaliate. But nobody attacked. It was a strange laughter that finally broke his concentration. He lowered his shield. Slowly.
‘Oh Lord!’ he shrieked in agony.
The woman lay stricken on the ground, a short sword buried into her heart. The little boy stood on her side. Stunned. His hand bloodied with the struggle of his kill. The hairy monster sat on the rocky ledge, pointing at the little boy. Laughing.
‘NO!’ screamed Shiva, as he jerked himself awake.
‘What happened, Shiva?’ asked a worried Sati, darting to hold his hand.
Shiva looked around the room, startled. A worried Parvateshwar and Ayurvati got up too. ‘My Lord?’
‘Shiva, it’s alright. It’s alright,’ whispered Sati, gently running her hand along Shiva’s face.
‘You were poisoned, my Lord,’ said Ayurvati. ‘We think that some of the Chandravanshi soldiers may have had poisoned weapons. It has affected many others as well.’
Shiva slowly regained his composure. He got off his bed. Sati tried to help him up, but he insisted on doing it himself. His throat felt excruciatingly parched. He stumbled over to the ewer, followed closely by Sati. He reached over and gulped down some water.
‘It seems like I have been asleep for many hours,’ said Shiva, finally noticing the lamps and dark sky beyond.
‘Yes,’ said a worried Ayurvati. ‘Close to thirty-six hours.’
‘Thirty-six hours!’ cried a surprised Shiva, before collapsing on to a comfortable chair. He noticed a forbidding figure sitting at the back, his right eye covered in a bandage, his amputated left hand in a sling. ‘Drapaku?’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Drapaku, as he tried to get up and salute.
‘My God, Drapaku! It’s so good to see you. Please sit down!’
‘It is heavenly to see you, my Lord,’
‘How was your end of the battle?’
‘I lost too many men, my Lord. Almost half of them. And this arm and eye,’ whispered Drapaku. ‘But by your grace, we held them till the main battle was won.’
‘It wasn’t my grace, my friend. It was your bravery,’ said Shiva. ‘I am proud of you.’
‘Thank you, my Lord.’
Sati stood next to her husband, gently caressing his hair. ‘Are you sure you want to sit, Shiva? You can lie down for a while.’
‘I have slouched around enough, Sati,’ said Shiva with a weak smile.
Ayurvati smiled. ‘Well, the poison certainly didn’t affect your sense of humour, my Lord.’
‘Really? Is it still that bad?’ grinned Shiva.
Parvateshwar, Drapaku and Ayurvati laughed weakly. Sati didn’t. She was watching Shiva intently. He was trying too hard. He was trying to forget, trying to get others to focus on something other than himself. Was this dream much worse than the others?
‘Where is his Highness?’ asked Shiva.
‘Father left for Ayodhya this morning,’ said Sati.
‘My Lord,’ said Parvateshwar, ‘His Highness felt it would not be right to keep Swadweep without a sovereign for so long, considering the circumstances. He felt it important that the Suryavanshi army be marched across the empire immediately, with Emperor Dilipa as prisoner, so that the Swadweepans know and accept the new dispensation.’
‘So we’re not going to Ayodhya?’
‘We will, my Lord,’ said Ayurvati. ‘But in a few days when you are strong enough.’
‘Some twelve thousand of our soldiers remain with us,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘We will march to Ayodhya when you are ready. His Highness insisted that Emperor Dilipa leave behind one of his family members with our unit as hostage to ensure that no Swadweepan attacks our much smaller force.’
‘So we have one of Emperor Dilipa’s family members in our camp?’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘His daughter, Princess Anandmayi.’
Ayurvati smiled, shaking her head slightly.
‘What?’ asked Shiva.
Ayurvati looked sheepishly at Parvateshwar and then grinned at Sati. Parvateshwar glared back at Ayurvati.
‘What happened?’ asked Shiva again.
‘Nothing that important, my Lord,’ clarified Parvateshwar, looking strangely embarrassed. ‘It’s just that she is quite a handful.’
‘Well, I’ll ensure that I remain out of her way then,’ said Shiva, smiling.
‘So this route seems to make the most sense,’ said Parvateshwar, pointing at the map.
Shiva, and the other poisoned soldiers, had recovered completely over the previous five days. The march to Ayodhya was scheduled the next day.
‘I think you are right,’ said Shiva, his mind going back to the meeting with the Emperor of Swadweep.
No point in thinking about Dilipa. I’m sure he was acting during the meeting. The Chandravanshis are evil. They are capable of any deception. Our war was righteous.
‘We plan to leave tomorrow morning, my Lord,’ said Parvateshwar. Turning towards Sati, he continued, ‘You can finally see the birthplace of Lord Ram, my child.’
‘Yes Pitratulya,’ smiled Sati. ‘But I don’t know if these people would have kept his temple unharmed. They may have destroyed it in their hatred.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud commotion.
Parvateshwar turned with a frown. ‘What is going on out there, Nandi?’
‘My Lord,’ said Nandi from the
other side of the curtain. ‘The Princess Anandmayi is here. She has some demands. But we can’t fulfil them. She insists on meeting you.’
‘Please tell her Highness to wait in her tent,’ growled Parvateshwar. ‘I will be over in a few minutes.’
‘I cannot wait General!’ screamed a strong, yet feminine voice from across the curtain.
Shiva signalled to Parvateshwar to let her in. Parvateshwar turned towards the curtain. ‘Nandi, Veerbhadra, bring her in. But check her first for any weapons.’
In a few moments, Anandmayi, flanked by Nandi and Veerbhadra, entered Shiva’s tent. Shiva raised his eyebrow at her presence. She was taller than her father. And distractingly beautiful. A deep walnut coloured complexion complemented a body that was bountifully voluptuous, yet healthy. Her doe-shaped eyes were in a seductive half-stare, while her lips were in a perpetual pout that was sensual yet intimidating. She was provocatively clothed, with a dhoti that had been tied dangerously low at the waist and ended many inches above her knees, while being tied agonizingly tight at her curvaceous hips. It was just a little longer than the loincloth that the Meluhan men tied during their ceremonial baths. Her blouse was similar to the cloth piece that Meluhan women tied, except that it had been cut raunchily on the top to the shape of her ample breasts, affording a full view of her generous cleavage. She stood with her hips tilted to the side, exuding raw passion.
‘You really think I can hide some weapons in this?’ charged Anandmayi, pointing at her clothes.
A startled Nandi and Sati glared at her, while Shiva and Veerbhadra sported a surprised smile. Parvateshwar shook his head slightly.
‘How are you doing, Parvateshwar?’ asked Anandmayi, flashing a smile while scanning him from top to bottom, her eyebrows raised lasciviously.
Shiva couldn’t help smiling as he saw Parvateshwar blush slightly.
‘What is it you desire, Princess?’ barked Parvateshwar. ‘We are in the middle of an important meeting’
‘Will you really give me what I desire, General?’ sighed Anandmayi.
Parvateshwar blushed even deeper. ‘Princess, we have no time for nonsensical talk!’
‘Yes,’ groaned Anandmayi. ‘Most unfortunate. Then perhaps you can help me get some milk and rose petals in this sorry little camp you are running.’
Parvateshwar turned towards Nandi in surprise. Nandi blabbered, ‘My Lord, she doesn’t want just a glass, but fifty litres of milk. We can’t allow that with our rations.’
‘You are going to drink fifty litres of milk?’ cried Parvateshwar, his eyes wide in astonishment.
‘I need it for my beauty bath, General!’ glowered Anandmayi. ‘You are going to take us on a long march from tomorrow. I cannot go unprepared.’
‘I will try and see what I can do,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘Don’t try, General. Do it,’ admonished Anandmayi.
Shiva couldn’t control himself any longer. He burst out laughing.
‘What the hell do you think you are laughing at?’ glared Anandmayi, turning towards Shiva.
‘You will speak to the Lord with respect, Princess,’ yelled Parvateshwar.
‘The Lord?’ grinned Anandmayi. ‘So he is the one in charge? The one Daksha was allegedly showing off?’
She turned back towards Shiva. ‘What did you say to trouble my father so much that he isn’t even talking anymore? You don’t look that threatening to me.’
‘Be careful about what you say, Princess,’ advised Parvateshwar fiercely. ‘You don’t know whom you are speaking with.’
Shiva raised his hand at Parvateshwar, signalling him to calm down. But Anandmayi was the one who required soothing.
‘Whoever you are, you will all be smashed when our Lord comes. When he descends to Swadweep and destroys the evil of your kind.’
What?!
‘Take her out of here, Nandi,’ yelled Parvateshwar.
‘No wait,’ said Shiva. Turning towards Anandmayi, he asked, ‘What did you mean by saying “when your Lord will descend to Swadweep and destroy the evil of our kind”?’
‘Why should I answer you, Parvateshwar’s Lord?’
Parvateshwar moved rapidly, drawing his sword and pointing it close to Anandmayi’s neck. ‘When the Lord asks something, you will answer!’
‘Do you always move that fast?’ asked Anandmayi, her eyebrows raised saucily. ‘Or can you take it slow sometimes?’
Bringing his sword threateningly closer, Parvateshwar repeated, ‘Answer the Lord, Princess.’
Shaking her head, Anandmayi turned towards Shiva. ‘We wait for our Lord who will come to Swadweep and destroy the evil Suryavanshis.’
Strong lines of worry began creasing Shiva’s handsome face. ‘Who is your Lord?’
‘I don’t know. He hasn’t shown himself as yet.’
An unfathomable foreboding sunk deep into Shiva’s heart. He was profoundly afraid of his next question. But something inside told him that he had to ask it. ‘How will you know he is your Lord?’
‘Why are you so interested in this?’
‘I need to know!’ snarled Shiva.
Anandmayi frowned at Shiva as if he was mad. ‘He will not be from the Sapt-Sindhu. Neither a Suryavanshi nor a Chandravanshi. But when he comes, he will come on our side.’
Shiva’s inner voice whispered miserably that there was more. Clutching the armrest of his chair, he asked, ‘And?’
‘And,’ continued Anandmayi, ‘his throat will turn blue when he drinks the Somras.’
An audible gasp escaped Shiva as his body stiffened. The world seemed to spin. Anandmayi frowned, even more confused about the strange conversation.
Parvateshwar glowered fiercely at Anandmayi. ‘You are lying, woman! Admit it! You are lying!’
‘Why would I…’
Anandmayi stopped in mid-sentence as she noticed Shiva’s cravat covered throat. The arrogance suddenly vanished from her face. She found her knees buckling under her. Pointing weakly with her hands, she asked, ‘Why is your throat covered?’
‘Take her out, Nandi!’ ordered Parvateshwar.
‘Who are you?’ shouted Anandmayi.
Nandi and Veerbhadra tried to pull Anandmayi out. With surprising strength, she struggled against them. ‘Show me your throat!’
They held on to her arms and dragged her backwards. She kicked Veerbhadra in the groin, causing him to fall back in pain as she turned towards Shiva once again. ‘Who the hell are you?’
Shiva stared down at the table unable to find the strength to even glance at Anandmayi. He held his armrest tightly. It seemed to be the only stable thing in a world spinning desperately out of control.
Veerbhadra staggered back, held her arms tighdy and pulled her back as Nandi held her by the neck. Anandmayi bit Nandi’s arm brutally. As a howling Nandi pulled his arm back, she screamed again, ‘Answer me, dammit! Who are you?’
Shiva looked up for one brief instant at Anandmayi’s tormented eyes. The pain they conveyed lashed his soul. The flames of agony burned his conscience.
A shocked Anandmayi suddenly became immobile. The misery in her eyes would have stunned the bravest of Meluhan soldiers. In a broken voice, she whispered, ‘You are supposed to be on our side…’
She allowed herself to be hauled out by Nandi and Veerbhadra. Parvateshwar kept his eyes down. He dared not look at Shiva. He was a good Suryavanshi. He would not humiliate his Lord by looking at him at his weakest. Sati, on the other hand, would not leave her husband to suffer alone, by not looking at him when he was at his weakest. She came to his side, touching his face.
Shiva looked up, his eyes devastated with the tears of sorrow. ‘What have I done?’
Sati held Shiva tightly, holding his throbbing head against her bosom. There was nothing she could say to alleviate the pain. She could just hold him.
An agonized whisper suffused the tent with its resonant grief. ‘What have I done?’
CHAPTER 25
Island of the Individual
It wa
s another three weeks before Shiva’s entourage reached Ayodhya, the capital of the Swadweepans. They had travelled along a decrepit, long-winding road to the Ganga, and then sailed eastward to the point where the mighty, yet capricious, river passionately welcomed the waters of the Sarayu. Then they had cruised north, up the Sarayu, to the city of Lord Ram’s birth. It was a long circuitous route, but the quickest possible considering the terrible road conditions in Swadweep, the island of the individual.
The excitement in the hearts of the Meluhan soldiers was beyond compare. They had only heard legends about Lord Ram’s city. None had ever seen it. Ayodhya, literally the impregnable city, was the land first blessed by Lord Ram’s sacred feet. They expected a gleaming city beyond compare, even if it had been devastated by the Chandravanshi presence. They expected the city to be an oasis of order and harmony even if all the surrounding land had been rendered chaotic by the Chandravanshis. They were disappointed.
Ayodhya was nothing like Devagiri. At first glance, it promised much. The outer walls were thick and looked astonishingly powerful. Unlike the sober grey Meluhan walls, the exterior of Ayodhya had been extravagantly painted with every colour in god’s universe. Each alternate brick, however, was painted in pristine white, the royal colour of the Chandravanshis. Numerous banners, tinted in pink and blue, had been festooned down the city towers. The banners weren’t put up for a special occasion, but were permanent fixtures, adorning the city.
The empire road curved suddenly along the fort wall to the main entrance, so as to prevent elephants and battering rams from getting a straight run to the mighty doors. At the top of the main gates, a wonderfully ornate, horizontal crescent moon had been sculpted into the walls. Below it was the Chandravanshi motto. ‘Shringar. Saundarya. Swatantrata.’ Passion. Beauty. Freedom.
It was only when one entered the city that it delivered a blow to the precision and order loving Meluhans. Krittika described the city’s organisation best as ‘functioning pandemonium’. Unlike all Meluhan cities, Ayodhya was not built on a platform — so it was obvious that if the Sarayu river ever flooded in the manner that the temperamental Indus did, the city would be inundated. The numerous city walls, built in seven concentric circles, were surprisingly thick and strong. However, it didn’t take a general’s strategic eye to see that the concentric walls had not been planned by a military mastermind. They were in fact added in a haphazard manner, one by one, after the city had burst its seams and extended beyond the previous perimeter. That is why there were many weak points along each wall, which an enemy laying siege could easily exploit. Perhaps that’s why the Chandravanshis preferred to take wars outside to a far away battleground rather than defend their city.