Immortals of Meluha

by Amish Tripathi

‘He is a vikarma! That makes him weak!’

  ‘Lord Shiva has ordered that there are no vikarmas anymore.’

  ‘I don’t think the Neelkanfh truly knows right from wrong!’

  ‘VIDYU!’ shouted Mayashrenik.

  Vidyunmali was surprised by the outburst.

  ‘If the Neelkanth says it is right,’ continued Mayashrenik, ‘then it is right!’

  CHAPTER 22

  Empire of Evil

  ‘This is the military formation I think ideal for the battle,’ said Parvateshwar.

  Vraka and Parvateshwar were sitting in the general’s private office. The formation was that of a bow. The soldiers would be arranged in a wide semi-circular pattern. The slower corps, like the tortoises, would be placed at the centre. The flanks would comprise quicker units such as the light infantry. The cavalry would be at both the ends of the bow, ready to be quickly deployed anywhere on the front or to ride along the sides of the bow for protection. The bow formation was ideal for a smaller army. It provided flexibility without sacrificing strength.

  ‘It is ideal, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘What does the Mahadev have to say?’

  ‘Shiva thinks it suits our requirements perfectly’

  Vraka did not like it when Parvateshwar referred to the Neelkanth by his name. But who was he to correct his general? ‘I agree, my Lord.’

  ‘I will lead the left flank,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘And you will lead the right. That is why I need your opinion on some things.’

  ‘Me, my Lord?’ asked an astonished Vraka. ‘I thought the Mahadev would lead the other flank.’

  ‘Shiva? No, I don’t think he would be fighting this war, Vraka.’

  Vraka looked up in surprise. But he remained silent.

  Parvateshwar probably felt the need to explain, for he continued speaking. ‘He is a good and capable man, no doubt. But the uppermost desire in his mind is retribution, not justice for Meluha. We will help him wreak vengeance when we throw the guilty Naga at his feet. He won’t be putting his own life at risk in a war just to find one Naga.’

  Vraka kept his eyes low, lest they betray the fact that he disagreed with his chief.

  ‘To be fair,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘We can’t impose on him just because he has a blue throat. I respect him a lot. But I don’t expect him to fight. What reason would there be for him to do that?’

  Vraka looked up for a brief instant at Parvateshwar’s eyes. Why was his general refusing to accept what was so obvious to everyone? Was he so attached to Lord Ram that he couldn’t believe that another saviour had arrived on earth? Did he actually believe that Lord Ram could be the only one? Hadn’t Lord Ram himself said that he is replaceable, only dharma is irreplaceable?

  ‘Furthermore,’ continued Parvateshwar, ‘he is married now. He is obviously in love. He is not going to risk Sati being bereaved again. Why should he? It’s unfair of us to demand this of him.’

  ‘Vraka thought, not daring to voice his opinion. The Mahadev will fight for all of us, General. He will battle to protect us. Why? Because that is what Mahadevs do.’

  Vraka was not aware that Parvateshwar was hoping something similar in his mind. He too wished that Shiva would rise to be a Mahadev and lead them to victory against the Chandravanshis. However, Parvateshwar had learned through long years of experience that while many men tried to rise up to Lord Ram’s level, none had ever succeeded. Parvateshwar had laid hopes on a few such men in his youth. And he had always been disillusioned at the end. He was simply preparing himself for another such expected disappointment from Shiva. He didn’t plan to be left without a backup if Shiva refused to fight the battle against the Chandravanshis.

  The war council sat silently as Daksha read the letter that had come back from Swadweep — from the court of Emperor Dilipa. Daksha’s reaction upon reading the letter left no doubt as to the message it contained. He shut his eyes, his face contorted in rage, his fist clenched tight. He handed the letter over to Kanakhala and sneered, ‘Read it. Read it out loud so that the whole world may be sickened by the repugnance of the Chandravanshis.’

  Kanakhala frowned slightly before taking the letter and reading it out loud. ‘Emperor Daksha, Suryavanshi liege, protector of Meluha. Please accept my deep condolences for the dastardly attack on Mount Mandar. Such a senseless assault on peaceful Brahmins cannot but be condemned in the strongest of terms. We are shocked that any denizen of India would stoop to such levels. It is, therefore, with surprise and sadness that I read your letter. I assure you that neither me nor anyone in my command has anything to do with this devious attack. Hence I have to inform you, with regret, that there is nobody I can hand over to you. I hope that you understand the sincerity of this letter and will not make a hasty decision, which may have regrettable consequences for you. I assure you of my empire’s full support in the investigation of this outrage. Please do inform us of how we can be of assistance to you in bringing the criminals to justice.’

  Kanakhala took a deep breath to compose herself. The anger over the typically Chandravanshi doubletalk was washing right through her, making her regret her earlier stand.

  ‘It’s personally signed by the Emperor Dilipa,’ said Kanakhala, completing her reading of the letter.

  ‘Not Emperor Dilipa,’ growled a fuming Daksha. ‘Terrorist Dilipa of the Empire of Evil!’

  ‘War!’ arose a cry from the council, unanimous in its rage.

  Daksha looked over at a scowling Shiva who nodded imperceptibly.

  ‘War it is!’ bellowed Daksha. ‘We march in two weeks!’

  The bracelet seemed to develop a life of its own. It had swelled to enormous proportions, dwarfing Shiva. Its edges were engulfed in gigantic flames. The three colossal serpents, which formed the Aum, separated from each other and slithered towards Shiva. The one in the centre, while nodding to the snake on its left, hissed, ‘He got your brother. And the other one will soon get your wife.’

  The serpents to the left and right scowled eerily.

  Shiva pointed his finger menacingly at the serpent in the centre. ‘You dare touch even a hair on her and I will rip your soul out of...’

  ‘But I...’ continued the serpent, not even acknowledging Shiva’s threat. ‘I’m saving myself. I’m saving myself for you.’

  Shiva stared at the serpent with impotent rage.

  ‘I will get you,’ said the serpent as its mouth opened wide, ready to swallow him whole.

  Shiva’s eyes suddenly opened wide. He was sweating hard. He looked around, but couldn’t see a thing. It was extraordinarily dark. He reached out for Sati, to check if she was safe. She wasn’t there. He was up in a flash, feeling a chill in his heart, almost expecting that the serpents had escaped his dreams and transformed into reality.

  ‘Shiva,’ said Sati, looking at him.

  She was sitting at the edge of the bed. The tiny military tent they slept in could not afford the luxury of chairs. This tent had been their travelling home for the last one month as the Meluhan army marched towards Swadweep.

  ‘What is it, Sati?’ asked Shiva, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He slipped the offending bracelet that he held tightly in his hands, back into his pouch.

  When had I taken it out?

  ‘Shiva,’ continued Sati. She had tried to talk about this for the last two weeks. Ever since she had been sure of the news, but had never found an opportune moment. She always managed to convince herself that this was minor news and it would not be right for her to trouble her husband with this, especially when he was going through one of the worst phases of his life. But it was too late now. He had to learn from her and not somebody else. News like this did not remain secret in an army camp for long. ‘I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shiva, though his dream still rankled. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t think I will be able to fight in the war.’

  ‘What? Why?’ asked a startled Shiva. He knew that cowardice was a word that did not exist in Sati’s dictionary. Then
why was she telling him so? And why now, when the army had already marched for nearly a month through the dense forests that separated Meluha from Swadweep? They were already in enemy territory. There was no turning back. ‘Sati, this is not like you.’

  ‘Umm, Shiva,’ said an embarrassed Sati. Such discussions were always difficult for the somewhat prudish Suryavanshis. ‘I have my reasons.’

  ‘Reasons?’ asked Shiva. ‘What...’

  Suddenly the reason smacked Shiva like a silent thunderbolt.

  ‘My god! Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sati, bashfully.

  ‘By the Holy Lake! I am going to be a father?’

  Seeing the ecstasy on Shiva’s face, Sati felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t told him before.

  ‘Wow!’ whooped a thrilled Shiva as he swirled her in his arms. ‘This is the best news I have heard in a long time!’

  Sati smiled warmly and rested her head on his tired but strong shoulders.

  ‘We will name our daughter after the one who has comforted you through the last two months, when I have been of no help,’ said Shiva. ‘We will name her Krittika!’

  Sati looked up in surprise. She didn’t believe that it was possible to love him even more. But it was. She smiled. ‘It could be a son, you know’

  ‘Nah,’ grinned Shiva. ‘It will be a daughter. And I’ll spoil her to high heavens!’

  Sati laughed heartily. Shiva joined in. His first spirited laugh in over two months. He embraced Sati, feeling the negative energy dissipate from his being. ‘I love you, Sati.’

  ‘I love you too,’ she whispered.

  Shiva raised the curtain to come out of the tent that Sati was ensconced in. Krittika and Ayurvati were with her. A retinue of nurses attended to her every need. Shiva had been obsessive about the health of his unborn child, questioning Ayurvati incessantly about every aspect of Sati’s well-being for the last two months of the march to Swadweep.

  The Suryavanshis had moved valiantly for nearly three months. The path had been much more challenging than expected. The forest had reclaimed its original habitat with alarming ferocity. The army was invaded by wild animals and disease at every turn. They had lost two thousand men. And not one to the enemy. After weeks of hacking and marching, the scouts had finally managed to lead the Suryavanshi army to the Chandravanshis.

  The Chandravanshis were camped on a sweeping plain called Dharmakhet. Their choice was clever. A substantial and uncluttered field, it had enough room to allow the Chandravanshis to manoeuvre their million strong army. The full weight of their numerical superiority would come into play. The Suryavanshi army had tried to wait out the Chandravanshis, to test if they would lose patience and attack in a less advantageous area. But the Chandravanshis had held firm. Finally, the Suryavanshis moved camp to an easily defensible valley close to Dharmakhet.

  Shiva looked up at the clear sky. A lone eagle flew overhead, circling the royal camp, while five pigeons flew lower, unafraid of the eagle. A strange sign. His Guna shaman would have probably said that it’s a bad time for batde, for the pigeons clearly have a hidden advantage.

  Don’t think about it. It is all nonsense in any case.

  Breathing in the fresh morning air deeply, he turned right, towards Emperor Daksha’s tent. Nandi was walking towards him.

  ‘What is it Nandi?’

  ‘I was just coming towards your tent, my Lord. The Emperor requests your presence. There’s been a troubling development’

  Shiva and Nandi hurried towards Daksha’s tastefully appointed royal tent. They entered to find Daksha and Parvateshwar engrossed in a discussion. Vraka, Mayashrenik and Drapaku sat at a distance. Drapaku was a little further away from the rest.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ groaned Daksha.

  ‘Your Highness?’ asked Shiva.

  ‘My Lord! I’m glad you’re here. We face complete disaster.’

  ‘Let’s not use words like that, your Highness,’ said Shiva. Turning towards Parvateshwar, he asked, ‘So your suspicions were correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘The scouts just returned a few minutes ago. There was a reason the Chandravanshis were refusing to mobilise. They have despatched a hundred thousand soldiers in a great arc around our position. They will enter our valley by tomorrow morning. We will be sandwiched between their main force ahead of us and another hundred thousand at the back.’

  ‘We can’t fight on two fronts, my Lord,’ cried Daksha.

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Was it Veerbhadra’s scouts who returned with the news?’ asked Shiva.

  Parvateshwar nodded. Shiva turned towards Nandi, who rushed out immediately. Moments later, Veerbhadra stood before them.

  ‘What route is the Chandravanshi detachment taking, Bhadra?’ asked Shiva.

  ‘Up the east, along the steep mountains on our side. I think they intend to enter our valley some fifty kilometres up north.’

  ‘Did you take a cartographer with you as Parvateshwar had instructed?’

  Veerbhadra nodded, moved to the centre table and laid out the map on it. Shiva and Parvateshwar leaned across. Pointing to the route with his fingers, Veerbhadra said, ‘This way’.

  Shiva suddenly started as he noticed the ideal defensive position on the map, deep north of the Suryavanshi camp. He looked up at Parvateshwar. The same thought had occurred to the General.

  ‘How many men do you think, Parvateshwar?’

  ‘Difficult to say. It will be tough. But the pass looks defendable. It will need a sizeable contingent though. At least thirty thousand.’

  ‘But we can’t spare too many men. I am sure the battle with the main Chandravanshi army to the south will also happen tomorrow. It would be the best time for them to take up positions.’

  Parvateshwar nodded grimly. The Meluhans might just have to retreat and manoeuvre for a batde on another, more advantageous position, he thought unhappily.

  ‘I think five thousand men ought to do it, my Lords.’

  Shiva and Parvateshwar had not noticed Drapaku move to the table. He was examining the pass that Shiva had just pointed out.

  ‘Look here,’ continued Drapaku, as Shiva and Parvateshwar peered.

  ‘The mountains ahead constrict rapidly to this pass, which is not more than fifty metres across. It doesn’t matter how big their army is, each charge by the enemy into the pass cannot comprise of more than a few hundred men.’

  ‘But Drapaku, with a hundred thousand men, they can launch one charge after another, almost continuously,’ said Mayashrenik. ‘And with the mountains so steep on the sides, you can’t use any of our missiles. Victory is almost impossible.’

  ‘It’s not about victory,’ said Drapaku. ‘It’s about holding them for a day so that our main army can fight.’

  ‘I will do it,’ said Parvateshwar.

  ‘No, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘You are required for the main charge.’ Shiva looked up at Parvateshwar.

  I need to be here as well.

  ‘I can’t do it either,’ said Shiva, shaking his head.

  Parvateshwar looked up at Shiva, disillusionment writ large on his face. While he had prepared his heart for disappointment, he had hoped that Shiva would prove him wrong. But it appeared clear to Parvateshwar that Shiva too would be simply watching the battìe from the viewing platform being made for Daksha.

  ‘Give me the honour, my Lord,’ said Drapaku.

  ‘Drapaku...,’ whispered Mayashrenik, not putting in words what everyone else knew.

  With only five thousand soldiers, the battle at the northern pass against the Chandravanshi detachment was a suicide mission.

  ‘Drapaku,’ said Shiva. ‘I don’t know if...’

  ‘I know, my Lord,’ interrupted Drapaku. ‘It is my destiny. I will hold them for one day. If Lord Indra supports me, I’ll even try for two. Get us victory by then.’

  Daksha suddenly interjected. ‘Wonderful. Drapaku, make preparations to leave immediately’

  Drapaku salute
d smartly and rushed out before any second thoughts were voiced.

  It took less than an hour before the vikarma brigade was marching out of the camp. The sun was high up in the sky and practically the entire camp was awake, watching the soldiers set out on their mission. Everyone knew the terrible odds the vikarmas were going to face. They knew that it was unlikely that any of these soldiers would be seen alive again. The soldiers, though, did not exhibit the slightest hesitation or hint of fear, as they walked on. The camp stood in silent awe. One thought reverberated through all of them.

  How could the vikarmas be so magnificent? They are supposed to be weak.

  Drapaku was at the lead, his handsome face smeared with war paint. On top of his armour, he wore a saffron angvastram. The colour of the Parmatma. The colour worn for the final journey. He didn’t expect to return.

  He stopped suddenly as Vidyunmali darted in front of him. Drapaku frowned. Before he could react, Vidyunmali had drawn his knife. Drapaku reached for his side arm. But Vidyunmali was quicker. He sliced his own thumb across the blade, and brought it up to Drapaku’s forehead. In the tradition of the great brother-warriors of yore, Vidyunmali ran his blood across Drapaku’s brow, signifying that his blood will protect him.

  ‘You’re a better man than me, Drapaku,’ whispered Vidyunmali.

  Drapaku stood silent, astonished by Vidyunmali’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

  Raising his balled fist high, Vidyunmali roared, ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

  ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’ bellowed the Suryavanshis, repeating it again and again.

  Drapaku and his soldiers looked around the camp, absorbing the respect that they had been denied so long. Way too long.

  ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

  Drapaku nodded, turned and marched on before his emotions spoiled the moment. His soldiers followed.

  ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

  It was an uncharacteristically warm morning for that time of the year.

  The Chandravanshi detachment had been surprised to find Meluhan soldiers at the northern pass the previous night. They had immediately attacked. The vikarmas had held them through the night, buying precious time for the main Suryavanshi army. This had to be the day for the main battle. Shiva was prepared.