A seething Daksha refused to answer Brahmanayak, turning his face away.
Brahmanayak shook his head and rolled his eyes. He then patted Sati on her head. ‘I’ll see you when I return, my child.’
‘Yes, grandfather.’
Brahmanayak opened the door and was gone.
Daksha glared at the closed door.
Thank God I’m going to be rid of you, you beast! Insulting me in front of my favourite daughter? How dare you! Take the throne away, take all the riches away, take the world away if you wish. But don’t you dare take my good daughter away from me! She’s mine!
He looked at Sati’s back. She was still staring at the door, her body shaking.
Is she crying?
Daksha thought that perhaps Sati was angry with Brahmanayak for insulting her father. She was his daughter after all.
Daksha smiled. ‘It’s all right, my child. I’m not angry. Your grandfather doesn’t matter anymore because...’
‘Father,’ interrupted Sati as she turned around, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’
Daksha stared at his daughter, dumbstruck.
‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’ whispered Sati again.
Daksha was in shock.
Sati suddenly turned around and ran out of the room.
Daksha kept staring at the door as it slammed shut behind Sati. Fierce tears were pouring from his eyes.
More like grandfather?
More like that monster?
I am better than him!
The gods know that! They know I will make a far better king! I will show you!
You will love me! I am your creator!
You will love me! Not him! Not that monster!
The sound of the door being opened broke his train of thought, bringing Daksha back to the present from that ancient memory.
He saw Veerini walk into the bed chamber. She glanced at Daksha for an instant, then shook her head, walked up to her private desk and rummaged through it to find what she was looking for: her prayer beads. She brought them up to touch her forehead reverentially, then both her eyes and then her lips. She held the beads tightly and turned to take one last look at her husband. The disgust she felt couldn’t be expressed in words. She had no intention of desecrating her ears by listening to his voice. She hadn’t spoken to him since Sati’s death.
Daksha’s eyes followed Veerini’s passage. He couldn’t muster the courage to speak, even if it was only to apologise for all that he’d done.
She walked into the private prayer room next to her bed chamber and shut the door. She bowed before the idol of Lord Ram, which was, as usual, surrounded by the idols of his favourite people, his wife, Lady Sita, his brother, Lord Lakshman and his loyal devotee, Lord Hanuman, the Vayuputra.
Veerini sat down cross-legged. She held the beads high, in front of her eyes and began chanting as she waited for her death. ‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram...’
The faint echo of this chanting reached Daksha’s ears. He stared at the closed door of the attached chamber, his angry wife closeted within.
I should have listened to her. She was right all along.
‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram....’
He continued to hear the soft chanting of his wife in the prayer room. Those divinely serene words should have brought him peace. But there was no chance of that. He would die a frustrated and angry man.
Daksha clenched his jaw and looked out of the window. He stared at the banyan tree in the distance, tears streaming down his face.
Damn you!
The banyan shook slightly and its leaves ruffled dramatically with the strong wind. It appeared as if the giant tree was laughing at him.
Damn you!
Chapter 53
The Destroyer of Evil
‘The wind is too strong,’ murmured a worried Tara, looking at the windsock that had been set up close to the Pashupatiastra missile tower.
Tara and Shiva were mounted on horses, stationed far from the Pashupatiastra launch tower. It was almost the end of the second prahar and the sun was just a few moments away from being directly overhead. Shiva’s entire army and the refugees from Devagiri had been cordoned off seven kilometres from the launch tower, safely outside the Pashupatiastra’s blast radius.
Shiva glanced at Tara and then up at the sky, trying to judge the wind from the movement of dust particles. ‘Not a problem.’
Saying this, Shiva’s attention returned to stringing his bow. Parshuram had been working on making this composite bow for months. Its basic structure was made of wood, reinforced with horn on the inside and sinew on the outside. It was also curved much sharper than normal, with its edges turning away from the archer. Due to the mix of different elements and the curve at the edges, the bow had exceptional draw strength for its small size. It was ideal for an archer to shoot arrows from, while riding a horse or a chariot. Parshuram had named the bow Pinaka, after the fabled great ancient longbow of Lord Rudra.
Though Parshuram didn’t know this while designing the bow, the Pinaka would prove ideal for Shiva’s purpose, as firing the Pashupatiastra was not easy.
The Pashupatiastra was a pure nuclear fusion weapon, unlike the Brahmastra and the Vaishnavastra which were nuclear fission weapons. In a pure nuclear fusion weapon, two paramanoos, the smallest stable division of matter, are fused together to release tremendous destructive energy. In a nuclear fission weapon, anoos, atomic particles, are broken down to release paramanoos, and this is also accompanied by a demonic release of devastating energy.
Nuclear fission weapons leave behind a trail of uncontrollable destruction, with radioactive waste spreading far and wide. A nuclear fusion weapon, on the other hand, is much more controlled, destroying only the targeted area with minimal radioactive spread.
So the Pashupatiastra would be the obvious weapon of choice for those who intended to destroy a specific target with the precision of a surgeon. The problem though, was its launch.
These daivi astras were usually mounted on launching towers, packed with a mixture of sulphur, charcoal, saltpetre and a few other materials which generated the explosive energy that propelled the astra towards the target. Once the astra was close to its target, another set of explosions would trigger the weapon.
The launch material within the tower had to be triggered from a safe distance or else the people firing the astra would be incinerated in the initial launch explosion. Keeping this in mind, archers were called upon to shoot flaming arrows from a distance to trigger the launch explosion. These archers usually used long bows with a range of more than eight hundred metres. To hit a target accurately from this distance required archers of great skill.
The Brahmastra and Vaishnavastra did not need a precise landing as their destruction spread far and wide. Since accuracy was not of the essence, the launch towers that cradled these weapons had huge firing targets.
The Pashupatiastra or Weapon of the Lord of Animals was a precise missile. It had to land at the exact spot. What complicated the issue even more at this particular time was that the attempt was to fire three missiles concurrently. The trajectory of the three missiles had been planned such that they would detonate over the Svarna, Rajat and Tamra platforms of Devagiri simultaneously, guaranteeing the complete and instantaneous destruction of the entire city. The risk with trying to destroy three platforms at the same time was that the inner circle of devastation would expand, since the weapons would have to be triggered from a greater height. Tara had planned the angles of descent of each missile such that, together, their simultaneous explosions would ensure the annihilation of Devagiri while their excess energies would be trapped within each other, thus preventing any fallout destruction outside the inner circle.
A precise descent needed a perfect take-off. Therefore, the Pashupatiastra missiles had been set at precise angles within the tower. The target area on the tower where the fi
ery arrow would be shot was small. Shiva had to fire an arrow to hit the target, placed more than eight hundred metres away. Moreover, he had to do this while seated on a horse, so that he could escape immediately after firing the arrow.
‘Remember, great Neelkanth,’ said Tara, ‘the moment your arrow hits the target, you have to ride away. You will have less than five minutes before the Pashupatiastra explodes over Devagiri. You have to cover at least three kilometres within that time. Only then will you be out of the range of the minuscule number of neutrons from the Pashupatiastra which may escape that far.’
Shiva nodded distractedly, still testing his bow’s draw strength.
‘Neelkanth? It is crucial for you to ride as fast as you can. The blast can be fatal.’
Shiva didn’t respond. He pulled out the arrows from the quiver. He smelt them and then rubbed the tip of one of the arrows against the rough leather of the pommel. The tip immediately caught fire. Perfect. Shiva threw the burning arrow away and returned the rest to the quiver.
‘Did you hear me? You need to move away immediately.’
Shiva wiped his hand on his dhoti and turned to Tara. ‘Ride beyond the safety line now.’
‘Shiva! You shoot the arrow and move.’
Shiva looked at Tara, his gaze glassy. Tara could see the blackish-red blotch on his brow throbbing frantically.
‘You will ride away immediately!’ emphasised Tara. ‘Promise me!’
Shiva nodded.
‘Promise me!’
‘I have already promised you. Now go.’
Tara stared at Shiva. ‘Neelkanth...’
‘Go, Tara. The sun is about to reach overhead. I need to fire the missiles.’
Tara pulled her horse’s reins and spun it around.
‘And Tara...’
Tara pulled up her horse and looked back over her shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ said Shiva.
Tara was still, watching the face of the Neelkanth with clouded eyes. ‘Ride back quickly beyond the safety line. Remember, all those who love you are waiting for you.’
Shiva held his breath.
Yes, my love is waiting for me.
Tara kicked her horse into action and rode away.
Shiva pressed his forehead, right above the blackish-red mark. The pressure seemed to ease the horrendous burning sensation. The pain had been immense and continuous for the last few days, ever since he had seen Sati’s body.
Shiva shook his head and focused his attention on the tower. He could see the target in the distance. It had been marked a bright red.
He took a deep breath and looked towards the ground.
Holy Lake, give me strength.
Shiva breathed once again and looked up.
Lord Ram, be merciful!
Arrayed in front of him was an army of clones, blocking his view of the Pashupatiastra launch tower; clones of the giant hairy monster who had tormented him in his nightmares since his childhood. Shiva looked carefully and noticed that none of the monsters had faces. There was a smooth, white slate where their faces should have been. All of them had their swords drawn, blood dripping from every single blade. He could clearly hear their ghastly roar. For a moment Shiva imagined he was a terrified little boy once again.
Shiva looked up at the sky and shook his head, as if to clear it.
Help me!
Shiva heard his uncle Manobhu’s voice call out. ‘Forgive them! Forget them! Your only true enemy is Evil!’
Shiva brought his eyes down and locked his gaze on the launch tower. The monsters had disappeared. He stared directly at the red spot, right at the centre of the tower.
Shiva pulled his horse’s reins and turned it right, singing softly in its ear to calm it down. The horse stayed still, offering Shiva the stable base he needed to hit a target. He turned his head to his left, creating the natural angle for a right-handed archer to get a straight shot. He pulled his bow forward and tested the string once again. He liked the twang of the bowstring when it was pulled and released rapidly. It was as taut as it could be. He bent forward and pulled an arrow from the quiver. He held it to his side and looked up, judging the wind.
The art of shooting arrows from this huge distance was all about patience and judgement. It was about waiting for the right wind conditions; the ability to judge the parabolic movement of the arrow; determining the ideal angle of release; controlling the speed of the arrow at release; deciding the extent to which the string should be pulled. Shiva kept his eyes fixed on the windsock, keeping his breathing steady, trying to ignore the burning sensation between his eyes.
The wind is changing direction.
Pointing the bow towards the ground Shiva nocked an arrow, the shaft firmly gripped between his hooked index and middle finger.
The wind is holding.
He ignited the tip by rubbing it against the leather pommel. Taut muscles raised the bow and drew the string in one fluid motion, even as his warrior mind instinctively calculated the correct angle of flight. Master archer that he was, he kept his dominant eye focused on the target. His left hand held the bow rock-steady, ignoring the searing heat from the tip of the arrow.
The wind is perfect.
He released the arrow without hesitation.
He saw the arrow move in a parabola, as if in slow motion. His eyes followed its path till it hit the red target, depressing it with its force. The fire immediately spread to the waiting receptacle behind the target. The Pashupatiastra’s initial launch had been triggered.
‘Ride away!’ screamed Tara from the distance.
‘Baba, turn your horse around!’ shouted Kartik.
But Shiva could not hear either of them. They were too far away.
Shiva kept staring at the rapidly spreading fire behind the target, the pain within his brow ratcheting up once again. He felt as if the insides of his forehead were on fire as well, just like the launch tower. He pulled the reins of his horse and turned it around.
He could see his troops far away. Beyond them, he could see his ship, anchored on the Saraswati. Sati’s body was stored in there.
She’s waiting for me.
Shiva kicked his horse. The animal didn’t need much coaxing as it quickly broke into a gallop.
The fire within the launch tower finally triggered the initial explosion. The three Pashupatiastras shot out of their pods, the two that were directed at the Tamra and Swarna platforms taking off just a few milliseconds after the third. That was because the target of the third missile, the Rajat platform, was farther away.
Shiva kept kicking his horse as it galloped faster and faster. He was just a few seconds away from the safety line. The missiles flew in a great arc, leaving a trail of fire behind them. Seconds later, they began their simultaneous descent into the city, like giant harbingers of absolute destruction.
‘S-H-I-V-A!’
Shiva could have sworn he heard the voice that he loved beyond all reason. But it couldn’t have been for real. He kept riding on.
The Pashupatiastra missiles were descending rapidly.
‘S-H-I-V-A! S-H-I-V-A!’
Shiva looked back.
A bloodied and mutilated Sati was running after him. Her left hand was spewing blood in bursts, in tune with each beat of her pounding heart. Two massive wounds on her abdomen gaped open as blood streamed out from them in a torrent. Her left eye was gouged out. Her burn scar seemed like it was on fire once again. She was struggling desperately, but she kept running towards Shiva.
‘S-H-I-V-A! HELP ME! DON’T LEAVE ME!’
An army of soldiers chased Sati, holding bloodied swords aloft. Each warrior was the exact likeness of Daksha. The area between Shiva’s brows began throbbing even more desperately. The fire within was struggling to burst through.
‘SATI!’ screamed Shiva, as he pulled the reins of his horse. He was not going to lose her again.
The horse balked at Shiva’s anxious command and refused to slow down.
‘SATI!’
&nbs
p; Shiva desperately yanked at the reins. But the horse had a mind of its own. He was not going to either slow down or turn. The beast could sense the stench of death behind it.
Shiva pulled both his feet out of the stirrups and jumped to the ground, the speed of his fall making him lurch dangerously. He rolled quickly and was up on his feet in a flash.
‘SATI!’
The horse kept galloping ahead towards the safety line as Shiva turned around, drew his sword and ran to protect the mirage of his wife.
‘Baba!’ shouted Ganesh. ‘Come back!’
The blackish-red mark at the centre of Shiva’s forehead burst open and blood spewed out. He ran desperately towards his wife, roaring at the army of Dakshas who chased her.
‘LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU BASTARDS! FIGHT ME!’
The three Pashupatiastra missiles simultaneously exploded as planned, some fifty metres above the three platforms. A blinding burst of light erupted. Shiva’s army and the Devagiri refugees shielded their eyes, only to be stunned by what they saw of their own bodies. Glowing and translucent, blood, muscle and even bone were visible. They even saw a demonic flash within their bodies, an echo of the devastating blasts over Devagiri. Sheer terror entered their hearts.
Almost immediately thereafter, three bursts of satanic fire descended from the heights where the three Pashupatiastras had exploded. They tore into Devagiri fiendishly, instantaneously incinerating all three platforms. The great City of the Gods, built and nurtured over centuries, was reduced to nothingness in a fraction of a second.
‘Lord Ram, be merciful,’ whispered Ayurvati in absolute horror as she saw the massive explosion from aboard the ship that was carrying Sati.
As the fire ripped through Devagiri, giant pillars of smoke shot up from the site of the explosions. As Tara had predicted, the energy blasts of the three missiles seemed to attract each other. All the three pillars of smoke crashed into each other with diabolical rage, as thunder and lightning cracked through the destructive field. The unified pillar of smoke now shot higher; higher than anything that any living creature watching the explosion had ever seen. The smoke column rose like a giant and steeply inclined pyramid and then it exploded into a massive cloud about one kilometre high in the air. And just as instantaneously, the pyramid of smoke collapsed into itself, closeted permanently within the ruins of Devagiri.