The Secret of the Nagas

by Amish Tripathi

  Anandmayi bent low to touch the stage with her forehead, seeking blessings and inspiration for her performance. The Chandravanshis in the front row leaned forward to get a better view of the ample cleavage that was revealed. If it had been any other dancer, the audience would probably have been whistling by now. But this was the Princess of Swadweep. So, they just kept ogling silently at her.

  Then another dancer walked onstage: Uttanka. The progeny of a famed Magadhan brigadier, Uttanka’s military career was cut short by an injury which left him with a severe hump on his right shoulder. Like most people frustrated with their lot in life, he too had sought refuge in Kashi, where he discovered the beauty of dance. But the same injury which had stumped his military career held back his dancing career as well. His shoulder movements were restricted, keeping him from becoming a truly great performer. There were whispers that Anandmayi, a true Chandravanshi whose heart automatically reached out towards the weak, had felt pity for Uttanka and hence had agreed to partner him.

  But there was also a feeling that this sympathy was misplaced. Uttanka would probably be humiliated on stage. They were expected to perform a complex dance which encaptured the enticement of the legendary sage Vishwamitra by the celestial nymph Menaka. Would Uttanka be equal to the task?

  Anandmayi, unmindful of such speculation, bowed towards Uttanka. He bowed back. Then, they stepped close to each other. Far closer than the standard position for commencing this dance. Probably a necessary adjustment as Uttanka’s arm could not extend very far. Shiva turned once again towards Parvateshwar. He had narrowed his eyes a bit and seemed to be holding his breath.

  Is he jealous?

  The Princess of Ayodhya had choreographed their dance well, having changed the ancient rules of this particular act, in order to suit Uttanka’s restricted arm movements. But the changes also ensured that the two of them danced very close to each other throughout the performance, creating an air of intense sensuality. The audience first watched in shock, their jaws open. How could a former soldier be allowed to hold Princess Anandmayi so close? But then they were pulled in by the sheer quality of the act. Nobody had seen the dance of Vishwamitra and Menaka in such a blatantly passionate form before.

  As the piece ended, the audience stood up, applauding wildly and whistling. It had been a truly remarkable performance. Anandmayi bowed low and then pointed at Uttanka, graciously giving the credit to the physically-challenged former soldier. Uttanka beamed at the appreciation he received, finding meaning in his life, perhaps for the first time.

  Parvateshwar was the only one present who wasn’t clapping.

  Next day, Parvateshwar was sparring with Purvaka within the temporary military training grounds that had been constructed in the Kashi royal palace. The former brigadier was rediscovering his seemingly lost fearsome powers. Despite the lack of sight, Purvaka could sense Parvateshwar’s actions with his keen hearing and was responding brilliantly, dodging when necessary, jabbing when possible.

  Parvateshwar was delighted.

  Calling a halt, Parvateshwar turned towards Drapaku and nodded. He then turned towards Purvaka and executed the formal Meluhan salute, with a slight bow of his head. Purvaka too beat his chest with his fist and bent low, far lower than Parvateshwar had bowed. He respected Parvateshwar’s legendary prowess.

  ‘It will be my honour to include you in the Suryavanshi brigade travelling with the Neelkanth, Brigadier Purvaka,’ said Parvateshwar.

  Purvaka smiled. This was the first time he had been called Brigadier in decades. ‘The honour is all mine, General. And thank you for not shafting me into the Chandravanshi brigade. I don’t think I could tolerate their inefficiency!’

  Bhagirath, standing at one end of the room, could not stop himself from laughing. ‘We’ll see who works harder for the Neelkanth, Purvaka! Don’t forget, you are in Chandravanshi territory now. Battles are fought differently here.’

  Purvaka did not respond. His training forbade him from talking back to a royal. He nodded.

  Just then, Anandmayi entered the room. Bhagirath smiled and glanced at Parvateshwar, before looking back at her. She was in a bright, harlequin-green blouse and short dhoti, a colour so loud that only a woman of Anandmayi’s beauty and chutzpah could have carried it off. He suspected that Anandmayi’s need to gain Parvatshwar’s attention was making her become more brazen by the day. He had never seen his sister quite this way and wasn’t sure whether to have a chat with her or to draw Parvateshwar out and ask him about his intentions.

  Waving to her brother, Anandmayi marched straight up to Parvateshwar, Uttanka at her heels. She came uncomfortably close to Parvateshwar, forcing him to step back. ‘How is my favourite Meluhan General doing?’ she asked, arching her brows after giving him the once over.

  ‘We don’t have different kingdoms within Meluha, Your Highness. We have only one army,’ said Parvateshwar.

  Anandmayi frowned.

  ‘It means that there is no need to play favourites since there is only one Meluhan General.’

  ‘I agree. There is only one Parvateshwar...’

  Parvateshwar turned red. Drapaku grimaced with distaste.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Princess?’ Parvateshwar wanted to quickly find a way to end this conversation.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ smiled Anandmayi, pointing towards Uttanka. ‘This young man here is a refugee from Magadh. His name is Uttanka. He always wanted to be a warrior. But a riding accident left him with an injured shoulder. The idiotic, apparently merit-obsessed, Prince Surapadman dismissed him. Like most unhappy souls, he found his way to Kashi. I’m sure you saw him dance yesterday. He dances brilliantly. I want you to include him in the Neelkanth’s brigade.’

  ‘As a dancer?’ asked a flabbergasted Parvateshwar.

  ‘Do you like being deliberately stupid or is this just an act?’

  Parvateshwar frowned.

  ‘Obviously not as a dancer,’ shrugged an exasperated Anandmayi. ‘As a soldier.’

  Parvateshwar turned towards Uttanka. Feet spread. Arms close to his side weapons. Ready for battle. Uttanka had obviously been trained well. Then Parvateshwar’s eyes settled on Uttanka’s shoulders. The hump caused by the injury restricted his right arm’s movements. ‘You will not be able to battle a taller man.’

  ‘I will die before retreating, My Lord,’ said Uttanka.

  ‘I have no use for soldiers who die,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘I need soldiers who will kill and live. Why don’t you stick to dancing?’

  ‘Are you saying that dancers cannot be warriors?’ butted in Anandmayi.

  Parvateshwar glared. The Neelkanth was a celebrated dancer and a fearsome warrior. He turned around, picked up two wooden swords and shields, throwing one pair to Uttanka. He held up his sword, adjusted his shield and gestured to the Magadhan to get into position.

  ‘You’re going to fight him?’ asked a shocked Anandmayi. She knew Uttanka would be no match for Parvateshwar. ‘What is wrong with you? Why can’t he just come along...’

  Anandmayi stopped as Bhagirath touched her arm. He pulled her back. Purvaka and Drapaku too stepped back.

  ‘You still have a choice, soldier,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Walk away.’

  ‘I’d rather be carried out, My Lord,’ said Uttanka.

  Parvateshwar narrowed his eyes. He liked the man’s spirit. But he had to test his ability now. For spirit without ability usually led to a gruesome death on the battlefield.

  Parvateshwar moved slowly, waiting for Uttanka to charge. But the man kept still. Parvateshwar realised that the Magadhan was being defensive. Uttanka’s shoulder injury prevented a high arm assault that would be required to attack a taller man like Parvateshwar.

  The General charged. It was an unorthodox assault. He struck only from above, keeping his shield upfront at medium height. Uttanka had to keep stepping back, holding his shield high with his left hand to defend against the powerful blows. If he could have raised his right arm high, he would have
struck Parvateshwar’s exposed head and shoulder. But he couldn’t. So he kept jabbing back at chest height. Parvateshwar easily parried the blows with his shield. Slowly, but surely, Parvateshwar kept pushing Uttanka back towards the wall. It was a matter of time before he would have no place to retreat.

  Anandmayi, while happy at what she thought was the Meluhan General’s jealousy, was also worried about Uttanka. ‘Why can’t he show some compassion?’

  Bhagirath turned to his sister. ‘Parvateshwar is doing the right thing. An enemy will show no quarter in battle.’

  Just then Uttanka’s back hit the wall. His shield bobbed. Parvateshwar immediately swung from the right and hit Uttanka hard on his chest.

  ‘That would be a death blow with a real sword,’ whispered Parvateshwar.

  Uttanka nodded. He did not try to rub his obviously hurting chest.

  Parvateshwar walked calmly back to the centre of the room and called out loudly. ‘Once more?’

  Uttanka trudged back into position. Parvateshwar attacked once more. Again with the same result.

  Seeing Uttanka in pain, Anandmayi hissed. She was about to step forward, but Bhagirath held her back. He too was worried. But he knew he couldn’t step in. That would be an insult to the General and the foolishly brave soldier who was trying to combat him.

  ‘Why did you bring that man here?’ asked Bhagirath.

  ‘Uttanka dances beautifully. I thought it would be fun to have him along on the voyage to Branga.’

  Bhagirath turned towards his sister with narrowed eyes. ‘That is not the whole truth. I know what you are doing. And it’s not fair.’

  ‘Everything’s fair in love and war, Bhagirath. But I certainly don’t want Uttanka getting hurt.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t have brought him here!’

  Parvateshwar was back in the centre. ‘Again?’

  Uttanka lumbered back. He was evidently in pain, his face revealing his increasing rage and frustration. Parvateshwar, on the other hand, was worried. He was afraid that he would end up breaking the soldier’s ribs if they had one more joust. But he had to stop this foolhardiness. If this was a real battle, Uttanka would have already been killed twice over.

  He charged at Uttanka again. To his surprise, Uttanka stepped to the side, letting Parvateshwar move forward with his momentum. Then Uttanka turned and charged as an aggressor. He swung to the left, letting his shield come down, leaving his flank open. Parvateshwar pushed his sword forward. Uttanka turned right to avoid the blow and in the same motion rolled his right arm in a swing, letting the momentum carry the sword higher than his injured shoulder would normally have allowed. He struck Parvateshwar on his neck. A kill strike, if it had been a real blade and not a practice weapon.

  Parvateshwar stood stunned. How had Uttanka managed to do that?

  Uttanka himself looked shocked. He had never managed to strike that high after his injury. Never.

  Parvateshwar’s face broke into a slight smile. Uttanka had given up being defensive, turned into an aggressor, and won.

  ‘Give up your attachment to your shield,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘When you attack hard, you do have the ability to kill.’

  Uttanka, still panting hard, smiled slowly.

  ‘Welcome to the Meluhan army, brave soldier.’

  Uttanka immediately dropped his sword and fell at Parvateshwar’s feet, his eyes moist.

  Parvateshwar pulled Uttanka up. ‘You are a Meluhan soldier now. And my soldiers don’t cry. Conduct yourself in the manner befitting a Meluhan military man.’

  Bhagirath sighed in relief and turned towards Anandmayi. ‘You were lucky this time.’

  Anandmayi nodded slowly. But her heart was already racing a few steps ahead. What really impressed Parvateshwar was military prowess. Anandmayi developed a new plan to ensnare her General.

  ‘Shiva is right, father,’ said Sati. ‘You can’t give away so much Somras. Meluha needs it.’

  It had been ten days since Kartik’s birth. Emperor Dilipa and his entourage had left for Ayodhya. Shiva had gone to the banks of the Ganga to supervise the ship building. Daksha and Veerini were sitting in Sati’s private chambers as the proud mother gently rocked Kartik’s crib.

  Veerini looked at Daksha, but did not say anything.

  ‘Let Meluha be my concern, my child,’ said Daksha. ‘You worry your pretty little head only with Kartik.’

  Sati hated being spoken to in such a patronising manner. ‘Father, of course I am thinking about Kartik. I am his mother. But I cannot forget our duties to Meluha.’

  ‘My child,’ smiled Daksha. ‘Meluha is safe. Safer than it has ever been. I don’t think you need to doubt my abilities to care for my people.’

  ‘Father, I’m not doubting your abilities. Or your commitment. All I’m saying is that I feel it’s wrong for Kartik to receive such a large share of Somras that rightly belongs to the people of Meluha. I am sure there is an immense shortage of the Somras after the destruction of Mount Mandar. Why give so much to my son? Just because he is the Emperor’s grandson? This is against Lord Ram’s rules.’

  Daksha laughed out loud. ‘My darling daughter, nowhere do Lord Ram’s rules say that an emperor cannot give Somras powder to his grandchild.’

  ‘Of course the exact words will not be there, father,’ argued Sati, irritated. ‘And it is not about the exact words. It is the principles that Lord Ram had set up. An emperor must always put his people above his family. We are not following that principle.’

  ‘What do you mean we are not following that principle?’ asked Daksha, sounding angry. ‘Are you calling me a law-breaker?’

  ‘Father, please keep your voice low. Kartik will wake up. And if you are favouring Kartik over the common Meluhans, then yes, you are breaking Lord Ram’s laws.’

  Veerini cringed. ‘Please...’

  Ignoring Veerini’s plea, Daksha ranted. ‘I am not breaking Lord Ram’s laws!’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Sati. ‘Are you saying you have enough Somras for the Suryavanshis? That Kartik is not benefiting at the cost of another less fortunate Meluhan? Unless you promise me that, this Somras powder will just lie waste. I will not let anyone give it to Kartik.’

  ‘You will hurt your own son?’ asked Daksha, turning briefly to glance at his sleeping grandson, before glaring at Sati.

  ‘Kartik is my son. He will not like to benefit at the cost of others. Because I will teach him what raj dharma is.’

  His own daughter accusing him of not following his royal duties? Daksha exploded. ‘I HAVE TAKEN CARE OF MY RAJ DHARMA!’

  Kartik woke with a start and Sati reached out for him instinctively. His mother’s familiar fragrance calmed him instantly. Sati turned and glared at her father.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you this,’ said Daksha, ‘but since you are bent on hurting Kartik’s interests, listen. Another Somras manufacturing facility exists. Maharishi Bhrigu ordered me to build it secretly many years ago. It was a back-up for Mount Mandar. We kept it secret because there are traitors in our midst.’

  Sati stared at her father in shock. Veerini was holding her head.

  ‘So my beloved child,’ said a sarcastic Daksha. ‘I have followed my raj dharma. There is enough Somras for all of Meluha for centuries to come. Now give the drink of the gods to Kartik every day till he turns eighteen. He will go down in history as the greatest man ever.’

  Sati didn’t say anything. She still appeared shocked by the news of the secret Somras manufacturing facility. There were hundreds of questions running through her head.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ asked Daksha. ‘You will give the Somras to Kartik every day. Every day!’

  Sati nodded.

  Shiva was standing on the dried river bed where the Brangas had made their temporary workshop. Five ships were being constructed. Shiva, who had seen some massive ships being built at Karachapa, the Meluhan sea port, was amazed at the radically different design of the Branga ships. So was Parvateshwar.

  They walked
together around the great wooden stands on which the ships rested. The size and structure of the ships was vastly superior to the standard Swadweepan vessels. They were almost the size of Meluhan crafts. But the difference was at the bottom of the hull. Below the waterline, the hull had been thinned out to a ridiculously narrow range and it went down flat for a good two or three metres.

  ‘What is the point of this, Parvateshwar?’ asked Shiva.

  ‘I don’t know, My Lord,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘It is the strangest design I have ever seen.’

  ‘You think it helps the ship cut through the water faster?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But shouldn’t this extension make the ship less stable?’

  ‘The coating on it should make it heavy,’ said Shiva as he touched the metal plates that had been hammered into the wood. ‘Is this that strange new metal your people have discovered recently?’

  ‘Yes, My Lord. It does look like iron.’

  ‘In that case its heaviness probably increases stability.’

  ‘But the heaviness would also slow down the ship.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘I wonder what these strange grooves are for?’ asked Parvateshwar, running his hand over a deep furrow which ran all along the metal plates on the hull extension.

  ‘Or these hooks for that matter,’ said Shiva as he looked up at the many large hooks on the hull, around two metres above the furrow.

  Just then Divodas, accompanied by Ayurvati, joined them. Working in the sun for double shifts was tiring out the Brangas. Divodas had requested Shiva for Ayurvati’s help. Ayurvati was only too delighted to have her team prepare some ayurvedic energy infusions for the Brangas.

  ‘My Lord,’ said Divodas, smiling. ‘Lady Ayurvati is a genius. Drinking her medicines is like getting a shot of pure energy. My worker’s efforts have doubled over the last few days.’

  An embarrassed Ayurvati turned red. ‘No, no, it’s nothing.’