The Oath of The Vayuputras

by Amish

  Kurush pressed the ring on his index finger into the centre of the symbol. A block of rock, the size of a human head, emerged from the right. Kurush quickly placed both his hands on the rock, stepped back to get some leverage, and pushed hard.

  Shiva watched in wonder as the mountain seemed to come to life. A substantial section, nearly four metres across and three metres wide, receded inwards and then slid aside, revealing a pathway going deep into the mountain’s womb.

  Kurush turned towards Shiva and indicated that they were good to go. Shiva helped Gopal onto his horse and handed the reins to his friend. As he walked towards his horse, he noticed that while the rocky outcrop where he had tethered his animal looked natural, in fact, it was manmade. Shiva mounted his horse and quickly joined Gopal and Kurush, riding into the heart of the mountain.

  The rocky concealed entrance had closed behind them just as smoothly. It would have been pitch dark inside except for a flaming torch that was maintained by the Parihans on one of the walls, which threw its light ahead for a few metres. Beyond that, the light lost its struggle against the omnipresent darkness of the cavernous pathway. Kurush picked three unlit torches from a recess on the wall, lit them and handed one each to Gopal and Shiva. Thereupon he swiftly rode ahead, holding his torch aloft. Shiva and Gopal kicked their horses and made haste after him.

  Soon the pathway split into a fork, but Kurush unhesitatingly led them up one, disregarding the other. Just like the Nagas in the Dandak forests, the Vayuputras too had ensured that in the unlikely scenario of any unauthorised person finding his way into the secret pathway, he would inevitably get lost within the mountain, unless led by a Vayuputra guide.

  Shiva expected many more such misleading paths along the way. He was not disappointed.

  A half hour later, after a long monotonous ride, the travellers emerged on the other side of the mountain, almost blinded by the sudden onslaught of bright sunlight. Even as his eyes adjusted, Shiva’s jaw dropped with amazement as he took in what lay ahead.

  The other side of the mountain was dramatically different from what they had seen up to now. A broad, winding road had been cut into the sides of the mountain. Called the Rudra Avenue by the local Parihans, a beautifully carved railing ran along its sides, affording protection for horses or carriages from slipping off the road to certain death in the sheer ravine below. The Rudra Avenue wound its way along the steep mountain in a gentle descent to the bottom. The valley itself, naturally dry as a bone, was surrounded on all sides by steep mountains. The splendour of nature notwithstanding, what Shiva was struck by was what the Parihans had done with it. Hidden away from prying eyes, surrounded by unconquerable mountains, in this secluded spot, they had truly created a land of fairies, Pariha.

  The Rudra Avenue ended at the base of a terrace. This platform though, unlike the ones built by the Meluhans, had not been constructed as protection against flood. The problem with water in Pariha was not one of excess but that of scarcity. The platform had been built to create a smooth base atop the rough, undulating, mountainous valley, allowing for the construction of massive structures upon it. The city of Pariha had been built on it.

  Kurush, Gopal and Shiva approached the platform at the lowest point of the valley. The platform was at its tallest here, nearly twenty metres high. A massive ceremonial gate had been erected at what was obviously the only entry point into the city. The road was surrounded by high walls on both sides, and narrowed down as it led to the well barricaded gate. Looking admiringly around, the warrior in Shiva understood that the approach to the city gates perforce funnelled an attacking force into a narrow neck, thus making defence easy for the Parihans.

  The massive ornate city gates had been hewn out of the local brown stone that Shiva had frequently seen en route. The gate itself was flanked on either side by large pillars, on which crouched two imposing creatures, as if ready to pounce in defence of their city. This unfamiliar creature carried the head of a man on the body of a lion and sprouted the broad wings of an eagle. Parihan pride was unmistakable in the features of the face: a sharp forehead held high, a hooked nose, neatly beaded beard, a drooping moustache and lengthy locks emerging from under a square hat. The aggressive, warrior-like visage was tempered somewhat by calm, almost friendly eyes.

  Shiva noted that Kurush’s conversation with the gatekeeper was done. He walked back and spoke respectfully to Gopal. ‘My Lord, the formalities have been completed. Please accept my apologies that it took us so long to get here. Shall we?’

  ‘There’s no need for an apology, Kurush,’ said Gopal politely. ‘Let’s go.’

  Shiva quietly followed Kurush and Gopal, keenly aware of the gatekeeper’s quizzical, perhaps even judgemental eyes.

  They crossed a massive tiled courtyard, guiding their horses onto the cobbled pathway leading to the top of the platform. The gradient was gentle, making it easy to negotiate the single hair-pin bend they encountered. A few pedestrians sauntered along the accompanying steps, provided with long treads to facilitate the climb. All along the pathway, the rock face of the platform had been carved and painted. Against the relief of glazed tiles, sculpted Parihans gazed at passers-by with their distinguished features, long coats and square hats. As if from nowhere, water rippled down the centre of the rock face, leaving a lilting musical sound in its wake. Shiva made a mental note to ask Gopal the secret of this water source in the harsh desert.

  Shiva’s questions were quickly forgotten as he reached the top and exclaimed with wonder at the sheer beauty of all that he beheld.

  ‘By the Holy Lake!’

  He had just had his first vision of the exquisite, symmetrical gardens of Pariha. These artificial heavenly creations were so extraordinary that Parihans had named them Paradaeza, the walled place of harmony.

  The Paradaeza extended along the central axis of the rectangular city, with buildings built around it. The park and the city extended all the way to the edge of a great mountain at the upper end of the valley, which had been named the Mountain of Mercy by the Asuras. A water channel emerged from the heart of the mountain, flowing through the garden in an unerringly straight line, filling up large square ponds intermittently. The ponds themselves had flamboyant fountains constructed in the centre, spewing water high into the air. The left and right halves of the gardens, divided by the water channel, were perfect mirror images of each other. The entire expanse was covered with a carpet of thick and carefully manicured grass, which provided the base around which flower beds and trees were arranged in perfect harmony. The flora had obviously been imported from around the world; roses, narcissus, tulips, lilacs, jasmine, orange and lemon trees dotted the landscape in poetic profusion.

  Shiva was so lost in the beauty of the garden that he didn’t hear his friend call.

  ‘Lord Neelkanth?’ repeated Gopal.

  Shiva turned to the Chief Vasudev.

  ‘We can always come back here, my friend. But for now, we need to retire to our guesthouse.’

  Shiva and Gopal had been housed in the state guesthouse, reserved for elite visitors to Pariha. Here too, the duo encountered the Parihan obsession with beauty and elegance.

  Dismounting from their horses, Shiva and Gopal strode into the building. The entrance led to a wide, comfortable veranda lined with neat rows of perfectly circular columns providing support to a great stone ceiling. The columns were coloured a vivid pink all the way to the top, at which point, near the ceiling, it contained discreet etchings of animal figurines. Shiva squinted to get a better look.

  ‘Bulls,’ remarked Shiva.

  Bulls and cows were sacred amongst the Indians, central to the spiritual experience of life.

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Gopal. ‘Bulls are revered by the Parihans as well. They’re symbolic of strength and virility.’

  As they reached the other end of the veranda, they encountered three elegantly dressed Parihans. The one in front held out a tray with warm, moistened and scented towels. Gopal immediately picked one up and we
nt on to wipe the accumulated dust and grime from his face and hands. Shiva followed his example.

  A Parihan woman walked up to Gopal, bowed low and spoke softly. ‘Welcome, honoured Chief Vasudev Gopal. We can scarce believe our good fortune in hosting the representative of the great Lord Ram.’

  ‘Thank you, My Lady,’ said Gopal. ‘But you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name and I do not know yours.’

  ‘My name is Bahmandokht.’

  ‘The daughter of Bahman?’ said Gopal, for he was familiar with their old language, Avesta.

  Bahmandokht smiled. ‘That is one of the meanings, yes. But I prefer the other one.’

  ‘And, what is that?’

  ‘A maiden with a good mind.’

  ‘I’m sure you live by that name, My Lady.’

  ‘I try my best, Lord Gopal.’

  Gopal smiled and folded his hands into a Namaste.

  Unlike most Parihans who had studiously ignored Shiva all this time, Bahmandokht addressed the Neelkanth with a polite bow. ‘Welcome, Lord Shiva. I do hope we have given you no cause for complaint.’

  ‘None at all,’ said Shiva graciously.

  ‘I know you are here on a mission,’ said Bahmandokht. ‘I do not make so bold as to speak for my entire tribe, but I personally hope that you succeed. India and Pariha are intertwined by ancient bonds. If something needs to be done that is in the interest of your country, I believe it is our duty to help. It is the dictate that Lord Rudra laid down for us.’

  Shiva acknowledged the courtesy and held his hands together in a Namaste. ‘That spirit is returned in full measure by my country, Lady Bahmandokht.’

  Bahmandokht glanced at a woman standing at the back towards the end of the lobby. Shiva’s eyes followed her and rested on a tall woman, dressed in traditional Parihan garb. Despite the attire, it was obvious that she wasn’t native to Pariha. Bronze-complexioned with jet black hair, she had large attractive doe-eyes and a voluptuous body, unlike the slender locals. She was a gorgeous woman indeed.

  ‘Lord Shiva,’ said Bahmandokht, pulling the Neelkanth’s attention back. ‘My aide will show you to your chamber.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Shiva.

  As Gopal and Shiva were escorted away, the Neelkanth looked back. The mystery woman had disappeared.

  Shiva and Gopal were led into a lavish suite of rooms with two separate bed chambers. The suite had been furnished with every luxury imaginable. Door-length windows at the far end opened on to a huge balcony with large recliners and a couple of cloth-covered pouffes that could double up as tables. The living room contained a mini fountain on the side, its cascading waters creating a soothing tinkle. Delicately woven wall-to-wall plush carpets covered every inch of the floor. Bolsters and cushions of various sizes were strewn on the carpets at several corners, making comfortable floor-seating areas. An ornately carved oak table was placed in one corner, accompanied with cushioned chairs on the side. Another corner was occupied by Parihan musical instruments, keeping in mind the role of leisure in hospitality. Lavish gold and silver plated accoutrements decorated the mantelpiece and shelves on the walls. This was ostentatious even by the standards of Swadweepan royalty.

  The two bedrooms had comfortable soft beds with silk linen. Bowls of fruit had been thoughtfully placed on low tables next to the beds. Even clothes had been specially ordered and placed in cupboards for the two guests, including traditional Parihan cloaks.

  Shiva looked at Gopal with a twinkle in his eye and chortled, ‘I think these miserable quarters will have to suffice!’

  Gopal joined in mirthfully.

  Chapter 37

  Unexpected Help

  After a sumptuous dinner, Gopal and Shiva were back in their chambers, welcoming the opportunity for relaxation and inactivity. The fountain in the room having drawn his attention, Shiva quipped, ‘Panditji, where do they get the water from?’

  ‘For this fountain?’ asked Gopal.

  ‘For all the fountains, ponds and channels that we have seen. Quite frankly, building this city and these gardens would have required a prodigious amount of water. This is a desert land with almost no natural rivers. I was told that they don’t even have regular rains. So where does this water come from?’

  ‘They owe it to the brilliance of their engineers.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘There are massive natural springs and aquifers to the north of Pariha.’

  ‘That is water within the rocks and the ground, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But springs can never be as bountiful.’

  ‘True, but scarcity engenders ingenuity. When you don’t have enough water, you learn to use it judiciously. All the fountain and canal water that you see in the city is recycled waste water.’

  Shiva, who had dipped his hand into the fountain water, immediately recoiled.

  Gopal laughed softly. ‘Don’t worry, my friend. That water has been treated and completely cleaned. It’s even safe to drink.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  Gopal smiled as Shiva judiciously wiped his hands with a sanitised napkin.

  ‘How far away are these springs and aquifers?’

  ‘The ones that supply this city are a good fifty to hundred kilometres away,’ answered Gopal.

  Shiva whistled softly. ‘That’s a long distance. How do they get the water here in such large quantities? I haven’t seen any canals.’

  ‘Oh, they have canals. But you can’t see them as they are underground.’

  ‘They’ve built underground canals?’ asked Shiva, stunned.

  ‘They’re not as broad as the canals we have back home. But they serve the purpose. They built canals that are the size of underground drains, which begin at the aquifers and springs.’

  ‘But a hundred kilometres is a long way to transport water. How do they do that? Do they have underground pumps powered by animals?’

  ‘No. They use one of the most powerful forces of nature to do the job.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gravity. They built underground channels with gentle gradients that slope over a hundred kilometres. The water naturally flows down due to the force of gravity.’

  ‘Brilliant. But building something like this would require precision engineering skills of a high order.’

  ‘You’re right. The angle of the descent would have to be absolutely exact over very long distances. If the gradient is even slightly higher than required, the water would begin to erode the bottom of the channel, destroying it over time.’

  ‘And if the slope is a little too gentle, the water would simply stop flowing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Gopal. ‘You can imagine the flawless design and execution required, in implementing a project such as this.’

  ‘But when did they...’

  Shiva was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He immediately lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. ‘Panditji, were you expecting someone?’

  Gopal shook his head. ‘No. And, where is our guard? Isn’t he supposed to announce visitors?’

  Shiva pulled out his sword, indicating to Gopal that he should follow him, as he tiptoed to the door. The safest place for him was behind Shiva. The Vasudev chief was a Brahmin and not a warrior. Shiva waited near the door. The soft knock was heard again.

  Shiva turned and whispered to Gopal. ‘As soon as I pull the intruder in, shut the door and lock it.’

  Shiva held his sword to the side, pulled the door open and in one smooth motion, yanked the intruder into the room, pushing the Parihan to the ground. Gopal, moving just as rapidly, shut the door and bolted it.

  ‘I’m a friend!’ spoke a feminine voice, her hands raised in surrender.

  Shiva and Gopal stared at the woman on the ground, her face covered with a veil.

  She slowly got up, keeping her eyes fixed on Shiva’s sword. ‘You don’t need that. Parihans do not kill their guests. It is one of Lord Rudra’s laws.’

  Shiva refused to lower his
blade. ‘Reveal yourself,’ he commanded.

  The woman removed her veil. ‘You’ve seen me earlier, great Neelkanth.’

  Shiva recognised the intruder immediately. It was the dark-haired mystery woman he had seen in the lobby while he’d been talking to Bahmandokht.

  Shiva smiled. ‘I was wondering when I would see you next.’

  ‘I’ve come to help,’ said the woman, still unable to tear her eyes away from the sword. ‘So I’ll repeat that you really don’t need that. We Parihans will never break Lord Rudra’s laws.’

  Shiva sheathed his sword. ‘What makes you think we need your help?’

  ‘For the same reason that you don’t need your sword here: we Vayuputras never break Lord Rudra’s laws. I am here to help you get what you came for...’

  Shiva and Gopal joined the lady, having made her comfortable on the soft cushions.

  ‘What is your name?’ asked Shiva. ‘Why do you want to help us?’

  ‘My name is Scheherazade.’

  Scheherazade was a name that harked back to ancient Parihan roots; a person who gives freedom to cities.

  Shiva narrowed his eyes. ‘That is a lie. You are not from this land. What is your real name?’

  ‘I am a Parihan. This is my name.’

  ‘How can we trust you if you don’t even tell us your real name?’

  ‘My name has nothing to do with your mission. What the Amartya Shpand, the Vayuputra Council, think of your mission is what truly matters.’

  ‘And you can tell us what they think?’ asked Gopal.

  ‘That’s why I am here. I can tell you what you need to do to fulfil your mission.’

  The Mithra was a ceremonial title for the chief of the Vayuputra tribe. It literally translated as ‘friend’; for he was the deepest friend of the Vayuputra God, the Ahura Mazda.

  Ahura Mazda was a formless God, much like the Hindu concept of Parmatma. And Mithra was his representative on earth. Lord Rudra had mandated that the ancient title of Mithra be used for the Chief Vayuputra. Once a man became the Mithra, all his earlier identities were erased, including his old name. He even dissociated himself completely from his former family. Everyone was to know him thereafter as Mithra.