Immortals of Meluha

by Amish Tripathi

  Shiva noticed a large number of couples crowded into a small garden on the side of the road doing unspeakable things to each other. They seemed to brazenly disregard the presence of voyeuristic eyes on the street or in the park itself. He noticed with surprise that the eyes staring from the street were not judgemental, but excited. Shiva noted the glaring contrast with the Meluhans who would not even embrace each other in public.

  Shiva suddenly started in surprise as he felt a feminine hand brush lightly against his backside. He turned sharply to notice a young woman grin back at him and wink. Before Shiva could react, he spotted a much older woman walking right behind. Thinking of her to be the younger woman’s mother, Shiva decided to let the indiscretion pass for fear of causing any embarrassment. As he turned, he felt a hand on his backside again, this time more insistent and aggressive. He turned around and was shocked to find the mother smiling sensuously at him. A flabbergasted Shiva hurried down the road, escaping the bazaar before any more passes could stun his composure.

  He continued walking in the direction of the towering Ramjanmabhoomi temple. As he approached, the unassailable jangle of Ayodhya dimmed significantly. This was a quiet residential area of the city. Probably for the rich, judging by the exquisite mansions and the avenues. Turning to the right, he came upon the road which led to his destination. It curved smoothly up the hill, caressing its sides in a sensuous arc. This was probably the only road in Ayodhya, besides the Rajpath, not pitted with potholes. Magnificent gulmohur trees rose brilliantly along the flanks of the road, their dazzling orange leaves lighting the path for the weary and the lost. The path leading towards their answers. The path to Lord Ram.

  Shiva closed his eyes and took a deep breath as anxiety gnawed at his heart. What would he find? Would he find peace? Would he find answers? Would he, as he hoped, find that he had done some good? Good that wasn’t visible to him right now. Or would he be told that he had made a terrible mistake and thousands had died a senseless death? Shiva opened his eyes slowly, steeled himself and began walking, softly repeating the name of the Lord.

  Ram. Ram. Ram. Ram.

  A little distance up, Shiva’s chant was disturbed. At an arched twist of the road, he saw an old, shrivelled man, who appeared like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He had a wound on his ankle which had festered because of the humidity and neglect. He was dressed in a torn jute sack, tied precariously at his waist and hung from his shoulders with a hemp rope. Sitting on the sidewalk, his sinewy right hand scratched vigorously at his head, disturbing the lice going about their job diligently. With his weak left hand, he precariously balanced a banana leaf which held a piece of bread and gruel. It looked like the kind of food distributed at cheap restaurants on the donations of a few kindly or guilty souls. The kind of food that would not even be fed to animals in Meluha.

  Intense anger surged through Shiva. This old man was begging, nay suffering, at the doors of Lord Ram’s abode and nobody seemed to care. What kind of government would treat its people like this? In Meluha, the government assiduously nurtured all its citizens. There was enough food for everyone. Nobody was homeless. The government actually worked. This old man would not have had to endure this humiliation if he lived in Devagiri!

  The anger in Shiva gave way to a flood of positive energy, as he realised that he had found his answer. He knew now that Parvateshwar was right. Maybe the Chandravanshis were not evil, but they led a wretched existence. The Suryavanshi system would improve their lives dramatically. There would be abundance and prosperity all around when Parvateshwar honed the moribund Chandravanshi administration. There will be some good that will come out of this war. Maybe he had not made such a terrible mistake. He thanked Lord Ram. He thought he had found his answer.

  Fate, however, conspired to deny Shiva this small consolation. The old beggar noticed Shiva staring at him. Shiva’s sympathetic eyes and compassionate smile caused the beggar’s haggard cheeks to spring to life, as he smiled in return. However, it wasn’t the smile of a broken man begging for alms. It was the warm welcoming smile of a man at peace with himself. Shiva was taken aback.

  The old man smiled even more warmly while raising his weak hand with great effort. ‘Would you like some food, my son?’

  Shiva was stunned. He felt small against the mighty heart of the wretched man he had thought was deserving of pity and kindness.

  Seeing Shiva gaping, the old man repeated, ‘Would you like to eat with me, son? There is enough for both.’

  An overwhelmed Shiva could not find the strength to speak. There wasn’t enough food for even one man. Why was this man offering to share what little food he had? It didn’t make sense.

  Thinking Shiva to be hard of hearing, the old man spoke a litde louder. ‘My son, sit with me. Eat.’

  Shiva struggled to find the strength to shake his head slightly. ‘No thank you, sir.’

  The old man’s face fell immediately. ‘This is good food,’ he said, his eyes showing the hurt he felt. ‘I would not offer it to you otherwise.’

  Shiva realised that he had insulted the old man’s pride. He had just treated him like a beggar. ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant. I know it’s good food. It’s just that I...’

  The old man interrupted Shiva’s words with a warm grin. ‘Then sit with me, my son.’

  Shiva nodded quietly. He sat down on the pavement. The old man turned towards Shiva and placed the banana leaf on the ground, in between the two of them. Shiva looked at the bread and watery gruel, which until moments back appeared unfit for humans. The old man looked up at Shiva, his half blind eyes beaming. ‘Eat.’

  Shiva picked up a small morsel of the bread, dipped it in the gruel and swallowed. It slipped into his body easily, but weighed heavy on his soul. He could feel his righteousness being squeezed out of him as the poor, old man beamed generously.

  ‘Come on, my son. If you are going to eat so litde, how will you maintain your big muscular body?’

  A starded Shiva glanced up at the old man; the circumference of those shrunken arms would have been smaller than Shiva’s wrist. The old man was taking ridiculously small bites, moving larger portions of the bread towards Shiva. Shiva could not find the heart to look up any more. As his heart sank deeper and his tears rose, he ate the portion the old man gave him quickly. The food was over in no time.

  Freedom. Freedom for the wretched to also have dignity. Something impossible in Meluha’s system of governance.

  ‘Are you full now, my son?’

  Shiva nodded slowly, still not daring to look into the old man’s eyes.

  ‘Good. Go. It’s a long walk to the temple.’

  Shiva looked up, bewildered at the astounding generosity being shown to him. The old man’s sunken cheeks were spread wide as he smiled affectionately. He was on the verge of starvation, and yet he had given practically all his food to a stranger. Shiva cursed his own heart for the blasphemy he had committed. The blasphemy of thinking that he could actually ‘save’ such a man. Shiva found himself bending forward, as if in the volition of a greater power. He extended his arms and touched the feet of the old man.

  The old man raised his hand and touched Shiva’s head tenderly, blessing him. ‘May you find what you are looking for, my son.’

  Shiva got up, his heart heavy with tears of guilt, his throat choked with the cry of remorse, his soul leaden and its self-righteousness crushed by the old man’s munificence. He knew his answer. What he had done was wrong. He had committed a terrible mistake. These people were not evil.

  CHAPTER 26

  The Question of Questions

  The road to the Ramjanmabhoomi temple clung to the sides of a gently sloping hill, before ending its journey at Lord Ram’s abode. It afforded a breathtaking view of the city below. But Shiva did not see it. Neither did he see the magnificent construction of the gigantic temple or the gorgeously landscaped gardens around it. The temple was sheer poetry, written in white marble, composed by the architect of the gods. The architect had design
ed a grand staircase leading up to the main temple platform, which appeared awe-inspiring, yet inviting. Colossal and ornate marble statues in sober blue and grey had been engraved on the platform. Elaborately carved pillars supported an ostentatious yet tasteful ceiling of blue marble. The architect obviously knew that Lord Ram’s favourite time of the day was the morning. For on the ceiling, the morning sky, as it would have been seen in the absence of the temple roof, had been lovingly painted. On top of the ceiling, the temple spire shot upwards to a height of almost one hundred metres, like a giant namaste to the gods. The Swadweepans, to their credit, had not forced their garish sensibilities on the temple. Its restrained beauty was in keeping with the way the sober Lord Ram would have liked it.

  Shiva did not notice any of this. Nor did he look at the intricately carved statues in the inner sanctum. Lord Ram’s idol at the centre was surrounded by his beloveds. To the right was his loving wife, Sita, and to the left was his devoted brother, Lakshman. At their feet, on his knees, was Lord Ram’s most fervent and favourite disciple, Hanuman, of the Vayuputra tribe, the sons of the Wind God.

  Shiva could not find the strength to meet Lord Ram’s eyes. He feared the verdict he would receive. He crouched behind a pillar, resting against it, grieving. When he couldn’t control his intense feelings of guilt anymore, his eyes released the tears they had been holding back. Shiva made desperate attempts to control his tears, but they kept flowing as though a dam had burst. He bit into his balled fist, overcome by remorse. He curled his legs up against his chest and rested his head on his knees.

  Drowning in his sorrow, Shiva did not feel the compassionate hand on his shoulder. Seeing no reaction, the hand squeezed his shoulder lightly. Shiva recognised the touch but kept his head low. He did not want to appear weak, be seen with tears in his eyes. The gentle hand, old and worn with age, withdrew quietly, while its owner waited patiently until Shiva composed himself. When the time was right, he came forward and sat down in front of him. A sombre Shiva did a formal namaste to the Pandit, who looked almost exactly like the Pandits that Shiva had met at the Brahma temple at Meru and the Mohan temple at Mohan Jo Daro. He sported a similar extensively flowing white beard and a white mane. He wore a saffron dhoti and angvastram, just like the other pandits. The wizened face had the same calm, welcoming smile. The only difference was that this Pandit bore a considerably more generous waist.

  ‘Is it really so bad?’ asked the Pandit, his eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly, in the typically Indian empathetic look.

  Shiva shut his eyes and lowered his head again. The Pandit waited patiently for Shiva’s reply. ‘You don’t know what I have done!’

  ‘I do know.’

  Shiva looked up at the Pandit, his eyes full of surprise and shame.

  ‘I know what you have done, Oh Neelkanth,’ said the Pandit. ‘And I ask again, is it really so bad?’

  ‘Don’t call me the Neelkanth,’ glared Shiva. ‘I don’t deserve the tide. I have the blood of thousands on my hands.’

  ‘Many more than thousands have died,’ said the Pandit. ‘Probably hundreds of thousands. But you really think they wouldn’t have died if you hadn’t been around? Is the blood really on your hands?’

  ‘Of course it is! It was my stupidity that led to this war. I had no idea what I was doing. A responsibility was thrust upon me and I wasn’t worthy of it! Hundreds of thousands have perished as a result!’

  Shiva curled up his fist and pounded his forehead, desperately trying to soothe the throbbing heat on his brow. The Pandit stared in mild surprise at the deep red blotch on Shiva’s forehead, right between his eyes. It didn’t bear the colour of a blood clot. It was a much deeper hue, almost black. The Pandit controlled his surprise and remained silent. Now was not the correct time.

  ‘And it’s all because of me,’ moaned Shiva, his eyes moistening again. ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘Soldiers are Kshatriyas, my friend,’ said the Pandit, a picture of calm. ‘Nobody forces them to die. They choose their path, knowing the risks. And the possible glory that comes with it. The Neelkanth is not the kind of person on whom responsibility can be thrust against his will. You chose this. You were born for it.’

  Shiva looked at the Pandit starded. His eyes seemed to ask, ‘Born for it?’

  The Pandit ignored the question in Shiva’s eyes. ‘Everything happens for a reason. If you are going through this turmoil, there is a divine plan behind it.’

  ‘What bloody divine reason can there be for so many deaths?’

  ‘The destruction of evil? Wouldn’t you say that is a very important reason?’

  ‘But I did not destroy evil!’ yelled Shiva. ‘These people aren’t evil. They’re just different. Being different isn’t evil.’

  The Pandit’s face broke into his typically enigmatic smile. ‘Exactly. They are not evil. They are just different. You have realised it very quickly, my friend, a lot earlier than the previous Mahadev.’

  Shiva was perplexed by the Pandit’s words for an instant. ‘Lord Rudra?’

  ‘Yes! Lord Rudra.’

  ‘But he did destroy evil. He destroyed the Asuras.’

  ‘And, who said the Asuras were evil?’

  ‘I read it…’ Shiva stopped mid—sentence. He finally understood.

  ‘Yes,’ smiled the Pandit. ‘You have guessed it correctly. Just like the Suryavanshis and the Chandravanshis see each other as evil, so did the Devas and the Asuras. So if you are going to read a book written by the Devas, what do you think the Asuras are going to be portrayed as?’

  ‘You mean they were just like today’s Suryavanshis and Chandravanshis?’

  ‘More so than you can imagine. The Devas and the Asuras, just like the Chandravanshis and the Suryavanshis, represent two balancing life forces — a duality’

  ‘Duality?’

  ‘Yes, a duality that is one of the many perspectives of the universe — the masculine and the feminine. The Asuras and the Suryavanshis stand for the masculine. The Devas and the Chandravanshis speak for the feminine. The names change, but the life forces they embody remain the same. They will always exist. There is no way that either can be destroyed. Otherwise the universe will implode.’

  ‘And they see their fight with the other as the eternal struggle between good and evil.’

  ‘Exactly,’ beamed the Pandit, marvelling at Shiva’s keen mind even in this time of distress. ‘But they haven’t been fighting all the time. Sometimes, there have been long periods of cooperation as well. In times of strife, which usually happens when there is evil, it is easiest to blame each other. A difference of opinion between two dissimilar ways of life gets portrayed as a fight between good and evil. Just because the Chandravanshis are different from the Suryavanshis doesn’t mean that they are evil. Why do you think the Neelkanth had to be an outsider?’

  ‘So that he would not be biased towards any one point of view,’ said Shiva, as a veil lifted before his eyes.

  ‘Exactly! The Neelkanth has to be above all this. He has to be devoid of any bias.’

  ‘But I was not beyond biases. I was convinced that the Chandravanshis are evil. Maybe what Anandmayi says is right. Maybe I am naive, easily misled.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, my friend. You cannot drop from the sky knowing everything, can you? You would have to enter from any one side. And whichever side you entered the equation from, you would obviously be coloured by their viewpoint, seeing the other side as evil. You realized your error early. Lord Rudra did not recognise it till it was almost too late. He had nearly destroyed the Asuras before he grasped the simple fact that they were not evil, just different.’

  ‘Nearly destroyed them? You mean some Asuras still exist?’

  The Pandit smiled mysteriously. ‘That conversation is for another time my friend. The point you need to understand is that you are not the first Mahadev who was misled. And you will not be the last. Imagine, if you will, what Lord Rudra’s feelings of guilt must have been?’


  Shiva kept quiet, his eyes downcast. The knowledge of Lord Rudra’s guilt did not reduce the shame that racked his soul. Reading his thoughts, the Pandit continued. ‘You took the best decision you could take under the circumstances. I know this will be cold comfort, but being the Neelkanth isn’t easy. You will have to bear the burden of this guilt. I know the kind of person you are. It will be a heavy burden. Your challenge is not to ignore the guilt or the pain. You have too good a heart to be able to do that. Your challenge is to stay true to your karma, to your duty, in spite of the pain. That is the fate and the duty of a Mahadev.’

  ‘But what kind of a Mahadev am I? Why am I required? How am I to destroy evil if I don’t know what evil is?’

  ‘Who said your job is to destroy evil?’

  A startled Shiva glared at the Pandit. He hated the irritating word games that these pandits seemed to love.

  Glimpsing the anger in Shiva’s eyes, the Pandit clarified immediately. ‘The strength that evil has is overestimated, my friend. It is not so difficult to annihilate. All it takes is for a few good men to decide that they will fight it. At practically all the times that evil has raised its head, it has met the same fate. It has been destroyed.’

  ‘Then why am I required?’

  ‘You are required for the most crucial task: To answer that most important question.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What is evil?’

  ‘What is evil?’

  ‘Yes. Many wars have been fought between men,’ said the Pandit. ‘And many more will be fought in the future. That is the way of the world. But it is only a Mahadev who converts one of those wars into a battle between good and evil. It is only the Mahadev who can recognise evil and lead men against it. Before evil raises its ugly head and extinguishes all life.’

  ‘But how do I recognise evil?’

  ‘I can’t help you there my friend. I am not the Mahadev. This is a question you must find the answer to. But you have the heart. You have the mind. Keep them open and evil will appear before you.’