by Amish
Mithra was in the antechamber of his office, when he heard a soft noise from the veranda. The nascent moon cast a faint light, impairing vision, but Mithra knew who it was as he walked over.
He heard a soft, feminine voice call out in a whisper, ‘Great Mithra, I have sent her to them.’
‘Thank you, Bahmandokht. The Vayuputras will be indebted to you in perpetuity, for you have helped our tribe fulfil our mission and our vow to Lord Rudra.’
Bahmandokht bowed low. There had been a time when she had loved the man who’d become the Mithra. But once he had assumed his office as the chief, the only feelings she had allowed herself were those of devotion and respect.
She stepped away quietly.
The Mithra stared at Bahmandokht’s retreating form and then returned to the antechamber. He sat on a simple chair, leaned back and closed his eyes. The ancient memory was still fresh in his mind, as if it had all happened yesterday – the conversation with his close friend and brother-in-law, Manobhu.
‘Are you sure, Manobhu?’ asked the Parihan, who would go on to become the Mithra.
The Tibetan feigned outrage as he looked at his friend and fellow Vayuputra.
‘I mean no disrespect, Manobhu. But I hope you realise that what we’re doing is illegal.’
Manobhu allowed himself a slight smile as he scratched his shaggy beard. His matted hair had been tied up in a bun with a string of beads, in the style favoured by his tribe, the fierce Gunas. His body was covered with deep scars acquired from a lifetime of battle. His tall, muscular physique was always in a state of alertness, ever ready for war. His demeanour, his clothes, his hair – all conveyed the impression of a ruthless warrior. But his eyes were different. They were a window to his calm mind, one that had found its purpose and was at peace. Manobhu’s eyes had always intrigued the Parihan, compelling him to become a follower.
‘If you are unsure, my friend,’ said Manobhu, ‘you don’t have to do this.’
The Parihan looked away.
‘Don’t feel pressured to do this just because you’re related to me,’ continued Manobhu, whose brother had married the Parihan’s sister.
The Parihan returned his gaze. ‘How does the reason matter? What matters is the result. What matters is whether Lord Rudra’s commandment is being followed.’
Manobhu continued to lock gaze with the Parihan, his eyes mirthful. ‘You should know Lord Rudra’s commandments better than I do. After all, he was a Parihan. Like you.’
The Parihan stole a look at the back of the room nervously, where a diabolical mixture was boiling inside a vessel, the fire below it steady and even.
Manobhu stepped forward and put his hand on the Parihan’s shoulder. ‘Trust me, the Somras is turning Evil. Lord Rudra would have wanted us to do this. If the council doesn’t agree, then the hell with them. We will ensure that Lord Rudra’s commandments are followed.’
The Parihan looked at Manobhu and sighed. ‘Are you sure that your nephew has the potential to fulfil this mission? That he can one day be the successor to Lord Rudra?’
Manobhu smiled. ‘He’s your nephew too. His mother is your sister.’
‘I know. But the boy doesn’t live with me. He lives with you, in Tibet. I have never met him. I don’t know if I ever will. And you refuse to even tell me his name. So I ask again: Are you sure he is the one?’
‘Yes,’ Manobhu was confident in his belief. ‘He is the one. He will grow up to be the Neelkanth. He will be the one who will carry out Lord Rudra’s commandment. He will take Evil out of the equation.’
‘But he needs to be educated. He needs to be prepared.’
‘I will prepare him.’
‘But what is the point? The Vayuputra council controls the emergence of the Neelkanth. How will our nephew be discovered?’
‘I’ll arrange it at the right time,’ said Manobhu.
The Parihan frowned. ‘But how will you...’
‘Leave that to me,’ interrupted Manobhu. ‘If he is not discovered, it will mean that the time for Evil has not yet come. On the other hand, if I’m able to ensure that he is discovered...’
‘...then we will know that Evil has risen,’ said the Parihan, completing Manobhu’s sentence.
Manobhu shook his head, disagreeing partially with his brother-in-law. ‘To be more precise, we would know that Good has turned into Evil.’
The conversation was interrupted by a soft hissing sound from the far corner of the room. The medicine was ready. The two friends walked over to the fire and peered into the vessel. A thick reddish-brown paste had formed; small bubbles were bursting through to the surface.
‘It only needs to cool down now. The task is done,’ said the Parihan.
Manobhu looked at his brother-in-law. ‘No, my friend. The task has just begun.’
The Mithra breathed deeply as he came back to the present. He whispered, ‘I never thought that our rebellion would succeed, Manobhu.’
He rose from his chair, walked over to the veranda and looked up at the sky. In the old days, his people believed that great men, once they had surrendered their mortal flesh, went up to live among the stars and keep watch over them all. Mithra focused his eyes on one particular star and smiled. ‘Manobhu, it was a good idea to name our nephew Shiva. A good clue to help me guess that he is the one.’
‘To begin with, let me tell you that most of the Vayuputras are against you,’ said Scheherazade.
‘That’s not really much of a secret,’ said Shiva wryly.
‘Look, you can’t blame the Vayuputras. Our laws state very clearly that only one of us, from amongst those who’re authorised by the Vayuputra tribe, can become the Neelkanth. You have emerged out of nowhere. The laws don’t allow us to recognise or help someone like you.’
‘And yet, you are here,’ said Shiva. ‘I don’t think you’re working alone. You were standing right at the back, almost hidden, when I saw you in the lobby. I bet you are not a fully-accepted Parihan. I can’t see someone like you having the courage to do this all by yourself. Some powerful Parihans are putting you up to it. Which makes me believe that some Vayuputras realise what I am saying is true, that Evil has risen.’
Scheherazade smiled softly. ‘Yes. There are some very powerful Vayuputras who are on your side. But they cannot help you openly. Unlike most of the earlier Neelkanth pretenders, your blue throat is genuine. This leads to one inescapable conclusion; some Vayuputra has helped you many decades ago. Can you imagine the chaos this has caused? There were unprecedented accusations flying thick and fast after your emergence; people within Pariha were accusing each other of having broken Lord Rudra’s laws and helping you clandestinely when you were young. It was tearing the Vayuputras apart till Lord Mithra put an end to it. He held that our tribe has not authorised you as the Neelkanth and perhaps it was the doing of someone from within your own country.’
‘So, if any Vayuputra helps me, he will be seen as the traitor who started it all, many years ago.’
‘Exactly,’ answered Scheherazade.
‘What is the way out?’ asked Gopal.
‘You, My Lord Chief Vasudev, must lead the mission,’ said Scheherazade. ‘Lord Shiva must stay in the background. Don’t ask for assistance to be provided for the Neelkanth, but to you as a member of the Vasudev tribe, seeking justice. They cannot say no to a just demand from the representative of Lord Ram.’
‘I am sorry? I didn’t understand.’
‘What does the Neelkanth need, Lord Gopal?’ asked Scheherazade. ‘He needs the Brahmastra to threaten Meluha...’
‘How did you...’
‘With due respect, don’t ask superfluous questions, Lord Gopal. What Lord Shiva and you need is obvious. We have to devise the best way for you to get it. If you ask for the Brahmastra so that you can fight Evil, then you will open yourself to questions as to Lord Shiva’s legitimacy in deciding what Evil is, for we all know that he has not been authorised or trained by the Vayuputras. Instead, seek redress for a crime committe
d on Indian soil by a person who the Vayuputras have supported in the past. And what crime was that? The unauthorised use of daivi astras.’
‘Lord Bhrigu...’ said Gopal, remembering the great maharishi’s use of the divine weapons in Panchavati.
‘Exactly. The laws of Lord Rudra make it clear that for the first unauthorised use of daivi astras, the punishment is a fourteen-year exile into the forests. A second unauthorised use is punishable by death. Many in the council agree that Lord Bhrigu has got away lightly, despite having used daivi astras.’
‘So the Vasudevs are to present themselves as the ones enforcing the justice of Lord Rudra?’
‘Exactly. It is impossible for a Vayuputra to say no to this. You should state that the law on the daivi astra ban was broken and those who did this – Lord Bhrigu, the Emperor of Meluha and the King of Ayodhya – need to be punished. And, the Vasudevs have decided to mete out justice.’
‘And we can tell the Vayuputras,’ said Shiva, completing Scheherazade’s thought, ‘that they may well have more reserves of daivi astras. So we need the Brahmastra to encourage them to do the right thing.’
Scheherazade smiled. ‘Use the laws to achieve your objective. Once you have the Brahmastra, use it to threaten the Meluhans. Evil must be stopped. But I’ve been asked to tell you that you shouldn’t...’
‘We will never use the Brahmastra,’ said Gopal, interrupting Scheherazade.
‘It’s not just about the laws of Lord Rudra,’ added Shiva. ‘Using a weapon of such horrifying power goes against the laws of humanity.’
Scheherazade nodded. ‘When you meet the council, insist on speaking with Lord Mithra in private. Tell them it is a matter of the daivi astra law being broken. Say that the Vasudevs cannot allow those who broke Lord Rudra’s law to go unpunished. That will be enough. It will then be a private conversation between Lord Mithra and the two of you. You will get what you want.’
Shiva smiled as he understood who amongst the Vayuputras was helping him. But he was still intrigued by Scheherazade, or whatever her real name was.
‘Why are you helping us?’ asked Shiva.
‘Because I’ve been told to do so.’
‘I don’t believe that. Something else is driving you. Why are you helping us?’
Scheherazade smiled sadly and looked at the carpet. Then she turned towards the balcony, staring into the dark night beyond. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and turned back towards Shiva. ‘Because there was a man whom I had loved once, who had told me that the Somras was turning evil. And I didn’t believe him at the time.’
‘Who is this man?’ asked Gopal.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ said Scheherazade. ‘He is dead. He was killed, perhaps by those who’d wanted to stop him. Ending the reign of the Somras is my way of apologising...’
Shiva leaned towards her, looked straight into Scheherazade’s eyes and whispered, ‘Tara?’
A stunned Scheherazade pulled back. Nobody had called her by that name in years. Shiva continued to observe her eyes.
‘By the Holy Lake,’ he whispered. ‘It is you.’
Scheherazade did not say anything. Her relationship with Brahaspati had been kept a secret. Many amongst the Parihans believed that the Somras was still a force for Good, and that the former chief scientist of Meluha was deeply biased and misguided about it. Tara would have preferred not having to live in Pariha as Scheherazade. But her presence here had served a purpose for her guru, Lord Bhrigu. Believing Brahaspati was dead, she had found no reason to return to her homeland.
‘But you are Lord Bhrigu’s student,’ said Shiva. ‘Why are you going against him?’
‘I’m not Tara.’
‘I know you are,’ said Shiva. ‘Why are you going against your guru? Do you believe that it was Lord Bhrigu who got Brahaspati killed at Mount Mandar?’
Scheherazade stood up and turned to leave. Shiva rose quickly, stretched out and held her hand. ‘Brahaspati is not dead.’
A dumbstruck Scheherazade stopped dead in her tracks.
‘Brahaspati is alive,’ said Shiva. ‘He is with me.’
Tears poured from Scheherazade’s eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Shiva stepped forward and repeated gently. ‘He is with me. Your Brahaspati is alive.’
Scheherazade kept crying, tears of confused happiness flowing down her cheeks.
Shiva gently held her hand in his own. ‘Tara, you will come back with us when we’re done here. I’ll take you back. I’ll take you back to your Brahaspati.’
Scheherazade collapsed into Shiva’s arms, inconsolable in her tears. She would be Tara once again.
Chapter 38
The Friend of God
The strategy that Tara had suggested worked like a charm. The Amartya Shpand was genuinely taken by surprise when Gopal entered their audience chamber without Shiva. When he raised the issue of Maharishi Bhrigu’s misuse of the daivi astras, they knew that they had been cornered. They had no choice but to grant Gopal an audience with the Mithra. That was the law.
The following day, Shiva and Gopal were led into the official audience hall and residence of the Mithra. It had been built at one end of the city, the last building abutting the Mountain of Mercy. Unlike the rest of Pariha, this structure was incredibly modest. It had a simple base made of stone, which covered the water channel that emerged from the mountain. On it were constructed austere pillars, which supported a wooden roof four metres high. On entry, one immediately stepped into a simple audience hall furnished with basic chairs and sombre carpets. The Mithra’s personal quarters lay farther inside, separated by stone walls and a wooden door. Shiva could sense that this was almost a stone replica of a large ceremonial tent, the wooden tent-poles having been converted to stone pillars and the cloth canopy into a wooden roof. In a way, this was a link to the nomadic past of Lord Rudra’s people, when everybody lived in simple, easily-built tents that could be dismantled and moved at short notice. Like a tribal leader of the old code, the Mithra lived in penurious simplicity while his people lived in luxury. The only indulgence that the Mithra had allowed himself was the beautiful garden that surrounded his abode. It was bountiful in its design, precise in its symmetry and extravagant in its colourful flora.
Shiva and Gopal were left alone in the audience hall, and the doors were shut. Within a few moments, the Mithra entered.
Shiva and Gopal immediately stood up. They greeted the Mithra with the ancient Parihan salute: the left hand was placed on the heart, fist open, as a mark of admiration. The right arm was held rigidly to the side of the body, bent upwards at the elbow. The open palm of the right hand faced outwards, as a form of greeting. The Mithra smiled genially and folded his hands together into the traditional Indian Namaste.
Shiva grinned, but remained silent, waiting for the Mithra to speak.
The Mithra was a tall, fair-skinned man, dressed in a simple brown cloak. A white hat covered his long brownish hair, with tiny beads wrapped around separated strands of his beard, much like all Parihans. Though the sack-like cloak made it difficult to judge, his body seemed strong and muscular. Of interest to Shiva were his delicate hands with long, slender fingers; like those of a surgeon rather than a warrior. But Shiva was most intrigued by the Mithra’s nose: sharp and long. It reminded him of his beloved mother.
The Mithra walked up to Shiva and held the Neelkanth by his shoulders. ‘What a delight it is to finally see you.’
Shiva noted that the Mithra didn’t even cursorily glance at his blue neck, something most people could not resist. The Mithra’s attention was focused on Shiva’s eyes.
And then the Mithra said something even more intriguing. ‘You have your father’s eyes. And your mother’s nose.’
He knew my father? And my mother?!
Before Shiva could react, the Mithra gently touched Shiva’s back, as he smiled at Gopal. ‘Come, let’s sit.’
As soon as they had seated themselves, the Mithra turned towa
rds the Neelkanth, ‘I can see the questions that are running through your mind. How do I know your father and mother? Who am I? What was my name before I became the Mithra?’
Shiva smiled. ‘This eye-reading business is very dangerous. It doesn’t allow one to have any secrets.’
‘Sometimes, it’s important that there be no secrets,’ said the Mithra, ‘especially when such big decisions are being taken. How else can we be sure that we have taken the right step?’
‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to. The questions running in my mind are not important to our mission.’
‘You’re right. You have been trained well. These questions may trouble your mind, but they are not important. But then, can we really carry out our mission with troubled minds?’
‘A troubled mind makes one lose sight of the mission,’ admitted Shiva.
‘And the world cannot afford to have you lose sight of your mission, great Neelkanth. You are too important for us. So let me answer your personal questions first.’
Shiva noticed that the Mithra had called him the Neelkanth, something which no Parihan had, until now.
‘My name is not important,’ said the Mithra. ‘I don’t hold that name anymore. My only identity is my title: the Mithra.’
Shiva nodded politely.
‘Now, how do I know your mother? Simple. I grew up with her. She was my sister.’
Shiva’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘You are my uncle?’
Mithra nodded. ‘I was your uncle before I became the Mithra.’
‘Why have I not met you before?’
‘It’s complicated. But suffice it to say that your father’s brother, Lord Manobhu, and I were good friends. I held him in deep regard. We’d decided to seal our friendship with a marriage between our two families. My sister went to live with Lord Manobhu’s brother in Tibet, after their wedding. And you were born from that union.’
‘But my uncle had rebellious ideas...’ said Shiva, trying to guess why the Mithra had been forced to keep his distance from their family.