by Amish
‘I don’t think anyone is interested in my knowledge.’
‘That is for posterity to determine. You should only do your duty.’
Bhrigu fell silent.
‘Panditji, your karma is to spread your knowledge throughout the world,’ said Kartik. ‘Whether others choose to listen or not is their karma.’
Bhrigu shook his head as a wry smile softened his expression. ‘You speak well, son of the Neelkanth. But I chose to support something that turned out to be evil. For this sin, I must die. There is no karma left for me in this life. I will have to wait to be born again.’
‘One cannot allow a bad deed to arrest the wheel of karma. Don’t banish yourself from this world as a punishment for your sin. Instead, stay here and do some Good, so that you can cleanse your karma.’
Bhrigu stared at Kartik silently.
‘One cannot undo what has happened. But the inexorable march of time offers the wise opportunities for redemption. I entreat you, do not escape. Stay in this world and do your karma.’
Bhrigu smiled. ‘You are very intelligent for such a young boy.’
‘I’m the son of Shiva and Sati,’ smiled Kartik. ‘I am the younger brother of Ganesh. When the gardeners are good, the flower will bloom.’
Bhrigu turned towards the idol of Lord Indra within the sanctum sanctorum. The great God, the killer of the primal demon Vritra, stood resplendent as he held his favourite weapon, Vajra, the thunderbolt. Bhrigu folded his hands into a Namaste and bowed, praying for the God’s blessing.
The maharishi then turned back to Kartik and whispered, ‘Samhita...’
‘The Bhrigu Samhita,’ said Kartik. ‘The world will benefit from your vast knowledge, Panditji. Come with me. Don’t sit here and wait for death.’
The sun rose on the day that would be Devagiri’s last. The Pashupatiastra was ready. After barring the gates, Shiva’s soldiers had been asked to retreat beyond the safety line, out of the range of the expected radius of exposure. The relatives of those remaining within Devagiri too waited patiently, as they were herded back by Chandraketu’s Brangas. They kept up a constant prayer for the souls of their loved ones who were left behind in the city.
Maharishi Bhrigu and another three hundred people, who knew the secrets of the Somras, had been successfully spirited out of Devagiri the previous night. They were now kept imprisoned in a temporary stockade ten kilometres north of Devagiri under the watchful eye of Divodas and his soldiers. Kartik intended to wait for his father’s anger to subside before talking to him about Bhrigu and the others.
The peace conference building had been abandoned. Nandi and the other surviving bodyguards had been carefully evacuated onto Shiva’s ship, where a medical team under the supervision of Ayurvati maintained a constant vigil.
Ayurvati was worried about the blackish-red mark on Shiva’s brow. It had made its appearance many times before, especially when Shiva was angry. But very rarely had it stayed for so long. Shiva had brushed aside Ayurvati’s concerns.
Shiva, Kali, Ganesh and Kartik carried Sati’s body gently to a specially prepared cabin on the ship. Her corpse was laid with great care within another tomb of ice.
Shiva gently ran his hand across Sati’s face and whispered, ‘Devagiri will pay for its crimes, my love. You will be avenged.’
As Shiva stepped back, the soldiers placed another block of ice on top, enveloping Sati’s body completely.
Shiva, Kali, Ganesh and Kartik took one last look at Sati before turning around and walking out of the ship. Gopal and the kings in Shiva’s army waited at the port.
Shiva turned and nodded towards the ship captain. Soldiers marched into the rowing deck of the ship to row it back a fair distance down the Saraswati River, far away from the external blast radius of the Pashupatiastra.
‘The weapon is armed, Lord Neelkanth,’ said Tara.
Shiva cast an expressionless look at an unhappy Gopal and then turned back towards Tara. ‘Let’s go.’
It was the fourth hour of the second prahar, just a couple of hours before Devagiri was to be destroyed. Veerini knocked on Parvateshwar’s door. There was no answer. Parvateshwar and Anandmayi were probably alone at home.
Veerini pushed open the door and stepped into the house. She walked past the lobby into the central courtyard.
‘General!’ called out Veerini.
No response.
‘General!’ said Veerini again, a little louder this time. ‘It is I, the Queen of Meluha.’
‘Your Highness!’
Veerini glanced up to see a surprised Parvateshwar looking down from the balcony on the top floor. His hair was dishevelled and an angvastram had been hastily thrown over his shoulders.
‘My apologies if I have come at a bad time, General.’
‘Not at all, Your Highness,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘It’s just that we don’t have much time left,’ said Veerini. ‘There is something I needed to tell you.’
‘Please give me a moment, Your Highness. I’ll be down shortly.’
‘Of course,’ said Veerini.
Veerini walked into the large waiting room next to the courtyard, settled on a comfortable chair and waited. A few minutes later Parvateshwar, clad in a spotless white dhoti and angvastram, his hair neatly in place, walked into the room. Behind him was his wife, Anandmayi, also clad in white, the colour of purity.
Veerini rose. ‘Please accept my apologies for disturbing you.’
‘Not at all, Your Highness,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Please be seated.’
Veerini resumed her seat, as Parvateshwar and Anandmayi sat next to her.
‘What did you want to talk about, Your Highness?’ asked Parvateshwar.
Veerini seemed to hesitate. Then she looked at Anandmayi and Parvateshwar with a smile. ‘I wanted to thank you.’
‘Thank us?’ asked a surprised Parvateshwar, casting a look at Anandmayi before turning back to Veerini. ‘Thank us for what, Your Highness?’
‘For keeping the legacy of Devagiri alive,’ said Veerini.
Parvateshwar and Anandmayi remained silent, their expressions reflecting their confusion.
‘Devagiri is not just a physical manifestation,’ said Veerini, waving her hand around. ‘Devagiri exists in its knowledge, its philosophies and its ideologies. You have managed to keep that alive by saving our intellectuals.’
An embarrassed Parvateshwar didn’t know how to react. How could he openly acknowledge having broken the law to save the scientists who worked at the Somras factory? ‘Your Highness, I didn’t...’
Veerini raised her hand. ‘Your conduct has been exemplary all your life, Lord Parvateshwar. Don’t spoil it by lying on your last day.’
Parvateshwar smiled.
‘The people you’ve saved are not merely the repositories of the knowledge of Somras, but also of the accumulated knowledge of our great land. They are the custodians of our philosophies, of our ideologies. They will keep our legacy alive. For that, Devagiri and Meluha will forever be grateful to you.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ said Anandmayi, accepting the gratitude on behalf of her discomfited husband.
‘It’s bad enough that the both of you are dying for my husband’s sins,’ said Veerini. ‘It would have been really terrible had Maharishi Bhrigu and our intellectuals suffered for it as well.’
‘I think what’s really unfair is your suffering for your husband’s sins, Your Highness,’ said Anandmayi. ‘Your husband may not have been a good emperor, but you have been an excellent queen.’
‘No, that’s not true. If it were, I would have stood up to my husband instead of standing by him.’
They sat quietly together for a moment, then Veerini straightened her shoulders and rose to leave. ‘Time grows short,’ she said, ‘and there are preparations we still have to make for our final journey. Thank you, both of you, and let us say our farewells. For one last time.’
Chapter 52
The Banyan Tree
Da
ksha sat quietly in his chamber, staring out of the window, waiting for his death. He looked towards the door, wondering where Veerini had gone so early in the morning.
Has she abandoned me as well?
As death approached, he was honest enough at least with himself, to not blame her if she had.
Daksha took a deep breath, wiped a tear and turned his gaze back at the window, towards the banyan tree in the distance. It was a magnificent tree, centuries old, even older than Daksha. He had known this tree for as long as he could remember. He recalled its size when he was young and the fact that he always marvelled at how the tree never seemed to stop growing. Its branches spread themselves out over vast distances, and when they extended too far, they dropped thin reed-like roots into the ground. The drop-roots then matured, anchoring themselves deep, drawing nourishment and growing enough in bulk to eventually resemble another trunk, thus supporting the further extension of the branch that gave them birth. After a few decades, there were so many new trunks that it was impossible to tell which the original one was. It had been a single tree when Daksha was born. It still was, but now it was so massive, that it appeared like a jungle.
Daksha knew all Indians looked upon the grand banyan tree with utmost respect and devotion. It was considered holy in India; a tree that unselfishly gave its all to others, building an ecosystem that sustained many birds and animals. Innumerable plants and shrubs found succour and shade under its protective cover. It remained firm and solid, even in the face of the most severe storm. Indians believed that ancestral spirits, even the gods, inhabited the banyan tree.
For most citizens of Devagiri, this massive tree represented the ideal of life. They worshipped it.
Daksha’s perspective though, was very different.
At a very young age, he had noted that no offspring of a banyan was able to flourish, or even grow, around its parent. The roots of the tree were too strong; they twisted and pushed away any attempt by another banyan sapling to grow roots in the vicinity. For a young sapling to survive, it would have to move very far away from its parent.
I should have run away.
The banyan tree is pollinated by a particular species of wasp. But the tree extracts a terrible price from the tiny insect that aids its reproduction. It kills the wasp, kills it brutally, ripping the insect to shreds. Daksha’s interpretation of this fact was very simple: the banyan hated its own progeny so much that it would murder the kindly wasp that tries to bring its offspring to life.
To a neglected child’s imagination, the banyan tree’s munificence was reserved for others. It did not care for its own. In fact, it went out of its way to harm its own.
So while everyone else looks upon the banyan tree with reverential eyes, Daksha viewed it with fear and hatred.
He was fearful because this was not the only banyan tree in his life. He had had another: his father.
He hated his father with venomous intensity; but at a deeper level, perhaps loved and admired his abilities. Just like the desperate offspring of the banyan, he had always tried to prove that he could be as great as his father. He had carried this burden all his life. But there had been this one time when he had unshackled himself from his father’s grip; when he had been free for a few magical moments. He remembered that day so clearly. It had been a long time ago; more than a hundred years.
Sati had just returned from the Maika gurukul, a headstrong, idealistic girl of sixteen. In keeping with her character, she had jumped in to save an immigrant woman from a vicious pack of wild dogs. Daksha remembered well that Parvateshwar and he had rushed in to her rescue. He also remembered that, despite not being an accomplished warrior, he had, with Parvateshwar’s help, courageously fought back the dogs that were out to kill his daughter. He had been seriously injured in that terrible fight.
Fortunately, the medical teams had reached quickly. Parvateshwar and Sati’s injuries were superficial and had been quickly dressed. Daksha knew that since he had been in the thick of the battle, his injuries were the most serious. The medical officers had decided to take him to the ayuralay so that senior doctors could examine him. However, due to massive blood loss, he had lost consciousness on the way.
When he had regained consciousness, he had found himself in the ayuralay. He remembered that he’d scolded Sati for risking her own life to save an insignificant immigrant woman. Later, when recuperating in his room, he had asked Veerini to bring Sati to him, in order to make peace with her now. But before Sati could be brought in, Daksha’s father Brahmanayak had stormed into the chamber, accompanied by the doctor who had treated Daksha.
Brahmanayak, being one of the foremost warriors in Meluha, had mocked Daksha about how he could have got himself so badly injured while fighting mere dogs. The doctor had pulled Brahmanayak out of the room using the excuse of a private conversation, wanting to save Daksha from any further mental anguish. As soon as Brahmanayak had left the room, Veerini had repeated the plea she had made many times earlier, that they should escape from Meluha and live in Panchavati with both their daughters, Kali and Sati.
‘Daksha, trust me,’ said Veerini. ‘We’ll be happy in Panchavati. If there was any other place where we could live with both Kali and Sati, I’d suggest it. But there isn’t.’
Maybe Veerini’s right. I can escape the old man. We can be happy. Also, Sati is the only pure one in my bloodline. Veerini’s corrupt soul has led to Kali’s birth. It’s difficult to help them. But I have to protect Sati from the terrible fate of seeing her father being insulted every day. My elder daughter is the only one worthy of my love.
Daksha breathed deeply. ‘But how...’
‘You leave that to me. I’ll make the arrangements. Just say yes. Your father is leaving tomorrow for Karachapa. You are not so badly injured that you can’t travel. We’ll be in Panchavati before he knows you’re gone.’
Daksha stared at Veerini. ‘But...’
‘Trust me. Please trust me. It will be for our good. I know you love me. I know you love your daughters. Deep inside, I know you don’t really care about anything else. Just trust me.’
Perhaps this is what we need.
Daksha nodded.
Veerini smiled, bent close and kissed her husband. ‘I’ll make all the arrangements.’
Veerini turned and walked out of the room.
In this moment of solitude, Daksha glanced at the ceiling, feeling light and relaxed; feeling free.
Everything happens for a reason, perhaps even this battle with the dogs. We can be happy in Panchavati. We will be away from my father. We will be free of that monster. To hell with Meluha. To hell with the throne. I don’t want any of it. I just want to be happy. I just want to be with my Sati and be able to take care of her. I will also look after Veerini and Kali. Who do they have besides me?
He noticed Veerini’s prayer beads on the chair. Next to the prayer beads was the tiger claw that Sati wore as a pendant. It must have fallen off during the battle with the dogs and Veerini must have recovered it to return it to their young daughter. Daksha stared at the blood stains on the tiger claw; his daughter’s blood. His eyes became moist again.
I will be nothing like my father. I’ll take care of Sati. I will love her like every father should love his child. I will not ridicule her in public. I will not deride her for the qualities she doesn’t possess. Instead, I will cherish everything that she does have. She will be free to live her own dreams. I will not force my dreams upon her. I will love her for who she is; not for what I’d like her to be.
Daksha looked at his own injured body and shook his head.
All of this to save an immigrant woman! Sati can be so naive at times. But she is a child. I shouldn’t have screamed at her. I should have explained things calmly to her. After all, who does she have to look up to besides me?
Just then the door opened and Sati walked in, looking grouchy; almost angry.
Daksha smiled.
She’s only a child.
‘Come here, my child,�
� said Daksha.
Sati stepped forward hesitantly.
‘Come closer, Sati,’ laughed Daksha. ‘I’m your father. I’m not going to eat you up!’
Sati stepped closer. But her face still reflected the righteous anger she felt within.
Lord Ram, be merciful! This girl still thinks that she did the right thing in risking all our lives to save an unimportant immigrant woman.
Daksha reached out and held Sati’s hand, speaking patiently. ‘My child, listen to me. I care for you. I only had your best interests at heart. It was stupid of you to risk your life for that immigrant. But I admit I shouldn’t have shouted at...’
Daksha fell silent as the door swung open suddenly and Brahmanayak strode in.
Sati suddenly withdrew her hand and turned around to look at Brahmanayak, her back towards her father.
‘Aah!’ said Brahmanayak as his face broke into a broad smile. He walked up to Sati and embraced her. ‘At least one of my progeny has my blood coursing through her veins!’
Sati looked at Brahmanayak adoringly, pure hero-worship in her eyes. Daksha stared at him with impotent rage.
‘I’ve heard about what you did,’ said Brahmanayak to Sati. ‘You risked your own life to protect a woman whom you didn’t even know; a woman who was only a lowly immigrant.’
Sati smiled in embarrassment. ‘It was nothing, Your Highness.’
Brahmanayak laughed softly and patted Sati’s cheek. ‘I am not “Your Highness” for you, Sati. I’m your grandfather.’
Sati nodded, smiling.
‘I’m proud of you, my child,’ said Brahmanayak. ‘I am honoured to call you a Meluhan, honoured to call you my granddaughter.’
Sati’s smile broadened as her heart felt light. She had done the right thing after all. She embraced her grandfather once again.
Brahmanayak bent down and kissed his adolescent granddaughter on her forehead. He then turned to Daksha, the smile immediately disappearing from his face. With barely concealed contempt, he told his son, ‘I’m leaving for Karachapa tomorrow morning and will be gone for many weeks. Perhaps you will need that much time to recover from your so-called injuries. We’ll talk about your future when I return.’