1900 BC, Mansarovar Lake(At the foot of Mount Kailash, Tibet)

Shiva gazed at the orange sky. The clouds hovering above Mansarovar had just parted

to reveal the setting sun. The brilliant giver of life was calling it a day once again. Shiva

had seen a few sunrises in his twenty-one years. But the sunset! He tried never to miss

the sunset! On any other day, Shiva would have taken in the vista — the sun and the

immense lake against the magnificent backdrop of the Himalayas stretching as far back

as the eye could see. But not today.

He squatted and perched his lithe, muscular body on the narrow ledge extending over

the lake. The numerous batde-scars on his skin gleamed in the shimmering reflected

light of the waters. Shiva remembered well his carefree childhood days. He had

perfected the art of throwing pebbles that bounced off the surface of the lake. He still

held the record in his tribe for the highest number of bounces: seventeen.

On a normal day, Shiva would have smiled at the memory from a cheerful past that had

been overwhelmed by the angst of the present. But today, he turned back towards his

village without any hint of joy.

Bhadra was alert, guarding the main entrance. Shiva gestured with his eyes. Bhadra

turned back to find his two back-up soldiers dozing against the fence. He cursed and

kicked them hard.

Shiva turned back towards the lake.

God bless Bhadra! At least he takes some responsibility.

Shiva brought the chillum made of yak-bone to his hps and took in a deep drag. Any

other day, the marijuana would have spread its munificence, dulling his troubled mind

and letting him find some moments of solace. But not today.

He looked left, at the edge of the lake where the soldiers of the strange foreign visitor

were kept under guard. With the lake behind them and twenty of Shiva’s own soldiers

guarding them, it was impossible for them to mount any surprise attack.

They let themselves be disarmed so easily. They aren’t like the bloodthirsty idiots in our

land who are looking for any excuse to fight.

The foreigner’s words came flooding back to Shiva. ‘Come to our land. It lies beyond the

great mountains. Others call it Meluha. I call it Heaven. It is the richest and most

powerful empire in India. Indeed the richest and most powerful in the whole world. Our

government has an offer for immigrants. You will be given fertile land and resources for

farming. Today, your tribe, the Gunas, fight for survival in this rough, arid land. Meluha

offers you a lifestyle beyond your wildest dreams. We ask for nothing in return. Just live

in peace, pay your taxes and follow the laws of the land.’

Shiva mused that he would certainly not be a chief in this new land.

Would I really miss that so much?

His tribe would have to live by the laws of the foreigners. They would have to work

every day for a living.

That’s better than fighting every day just to stay alive!

Shiva took another puff from his chillum. As the smoke cleared, he turned to stare at the

hut in the centre of his village, right next to his own, where the foreigner had been

stationed. He had been told that he could sleep there in comfort. In fact, Shiva wanted

to keep him hostage. Just in case.

We fight almost every month with the Pakratis just so that our village can exist next to

the holy lake. They are getting stronger every year, forming new alliances with new

tribes. We can beat the Pakratis, but not all the mountain tribes together! By moving to

Meluha, we can escape this pointless violence and may be live a life of comfort. What

could possibly be wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we take this deal? It sounds so damn

good!

Shiva took one last drag from the chillum before banging it on the rock, letting the ash

slip out and rose quickly from his perch. Brushing a few specks of ash from his bare

chest, he wiped his hands on his tiger skin skirt, rapidly striding to his village. Bhadra

and his back-up stood to attention as Shiva passed the gate. Shiva frowned and

gestured for Bhadra to ease up.

Why does he keep forgetting that he has been my closestfriend since childhood? My

becoming the chief hasn’t really changed anything. He doesn’t need to behave

unnecessarily servile in front of others.

The huts in Shiva’s village were luxurious compared to others in their land. A grown

man could actually stand upright in them. The shelter could withstand the harsh

mountain winds for nearly three years before surrendering to the elements. He flung the

empty chillum into his hut as he strode to the hut where the visitor lay sleeping soundly.

Either he doesn’t realise he is a hostage. Or he genuinely believes that good behaviour

begets good behaviour.

Shiva remembered what his uncle, also his Guru, used to say. ‘People do what their

society rewards them to do. Ifthe society rewards trust, people will be trusting.’

Meluha must he a trusting society if it teaches even its soldiers to expect the best in

strangers.

Shiva scratched his shaggy beard as he stared hard at the visitor.

He had said his name was Nandi.

The Meluhan’s massive proportions appeared even more enormous as he sprawled on

the floor in his stupor, his immense belly jiggling with every breath. Despite being

obese, his skin was taut and toned. His child-like face looked even more innocent

asleep, with his mouth half open.

Is this the man who will lead me to my destiny? Do I really have the destiny my uncle

spoke of?

‘Your destiny is much larger than these massive mountains. But to make it come true,

you will have to cross these very same massive mountains.’

Do I deserve a good destiny? My people come first. Will they be happy in Meluha?

Shiva continued to stare at the sleeping Nandi. Then he heard the sound of a conch

shell.

Pakratis!

‘POSITIONS!’ screamed Shiva, as he drew his sword.

Nandi was up in an instant, drawing a hidden sword from his fur coat kept to the side.

They sprinted to the village gates. Following standard protocol, the women started

rushing to the village centre, carrying their children along. The men ran the other way,

swords drawn.

‘Bhadra! Our soldiers at the lake!’ shouted Shiva as he reached the entrance.

Bhadra relayed the orders and the Guna soldiers obeyed instantly. They were surprised

to see the Meluhans draw weapons hidden in their coats and rush to the village. The

Pakratis were upon them within moments.

It was a well-planned ambush by the Pakratis. Dusk was usually a time when the Guna

soldiers took time to thank their gods for a day without battle. The women did their

chores by the lakeside. If there was a time of weakness for the formidable Gunas, a

time when they weren’t a fearsome martial clan, but just another mountain tribe trying to

survive in a tough, hostile land, this was it.

But fate was against the Pakratis yet again. Thanks to the foreign presence, Shiva had

ordered the Gunas to remain alert. Thus they were forewarned and the Pakratis lost the

element of surprise. The presence of the Meluhans was also decisive, turning the tide of

the short, brutal battle in favour of the Gunas. The Pakratis had to retreat.

Bloodied and scarred, Shiva surveyed the damage at the end of the battle. Two Guna

soldiers had succumbed to their injuries. They would be honoured as clan heroes. But

even worse, the warning had come too late for at least ten Guna women and children.

Their mutilated bodies were found next to the lake. The losses were high.

Bastards They kill women and children when they can’t beat us!

A livid Shiva called the entire tribe to the centre of the village. His mind was made.

‘This land is fit for barbarians! We have fought pointless battles with no end in sight. You

know my uncle tried to make peace, even offering access to the lake shore to the

mountain tribes. But these scum mistook our desire for peace as weakness. We all

know what followed!’

The Gunas, despite being used to the brutality of regular battle, were shell-shocked by

the viciousness of the attack on the women and children.

‘I keep nothing secret from you. All of you know the invitation of the foreigners,’

continued Shiva, pointing to Nandi and the Meluhans. ‘They fought shoulder-to-shoulder

with us today. They have earned my trust. I want to go with them to Meluha. But this

cannot be my decision alone.’

‘You are our chief, Shiva,’ said Bhadra. ‘Your decision is our decision. That is the

tradition.’

‘Not this time,’ said Shiva holding out his hand. ‘This will change our lives completely. I

believe the change will be for the better. Anything will be better than the pointlessness

of the violence we face daily. I have told you what I want to do. But the choice to go or

not is yours. Let the Gunas speak. This time, I follow you.’

The Gunas were clear on their tradition. But the respect for Shiva was not just based on

convention, but also on his character. He had led the Gunas to their greatest military

victories through his genius and sheer personal bravery.

They spoke in one voice. ‘Your decision is our decision.’

It had been five days since Shiva had uprooted his tribe. The caravan had camped in a

nook at the base of one of the great valleys dotting the route to Meluha. Shiva had

organized the camp in three concentric circles. The yaks had been tied around the

outermost circle, to act as an alarm in case of any intruders. The men were stationed in

the intermediate ring to fight if there was a battle. And the women and children were in

the innermost circle, just around the fire. Expendable first, defenders second and the

most vulnerable at the inside.

Shiva was prepared for the worst. He believed that there would be an ambush. It was

only a matter of time.

The Pakratis should have been delighted to have access to the prime lands, as well as

free occupation of the lake front. But Shiva knew that Yakhya, the Pakrati chief, would

not allow them to leave peacefully. Yakhya would like nothing better than to become a

legend by claiming that he had defeated Shiva’s Gunas and won the land for the

Pakratis. It was precisely this weird tribal logic that Shiva detested. In an atmosphere

like this, there was never any hope for peace.

Shiva relished the call of battle, revelled in its art. But he also knew that ultimately, the

battles in his land were an exercise in futility.

He turned to an alert Nandi sitting some distance away. The twenty-five Meluhan

soldiers were seated in an arc around a second camp circle.

Why did he pick the Gunas to immigrate? Why not the Pakratis?

Shiva’s thoughts were broken as he saw a shadow move in the distance. He stared

hard, but everything was still. Sometimes the light played tricks in this part of the world.

Shiva relaxed his stance.

And then he saw the shadow again.

‘TO ARMS!’ screamed Shiva.

The Gunas and Meluhans drew their weapons and took up battle positions as fifty

Pakratis charged in. The stupidity of rushing in without thought hit them hard as they

met with a wall of panicky animals. The yaks bucked and kicked uncontrollably, injuring

many Pakratis before they could even begin their skirmish. A few slipped through. And

weapons clashed.

A young Pakrati, obviously a novice, charged at Shiva, swinging wildly. Shiva stepped

back, avoiding the strike. He brought his sword back up in a smooth arc, inflicting a

superficial cut on the Pakrati’s chest. The young warrior cursed and swung back,

opening his flank. That was all Shiva needed. He pushed his sword in brutally, cutting

through the gut of his enemy. Almost instantly, he pulled the blade out, twisting it as he

did, and left the Pakrati to a slow, painful death. Shiva turned around to find a Pakrati

ready to strike a Guna. He jumped high and swung from the elevation slicing neatly

through the Pakrati’s sword arm, severing it.

Meanwhile Bhadra, as adept at the art of battle as Shiva, was fighting two Pakratis

simultaneously, with a sword in each hand. His hump did not seem to impeded his

movements as he transferred his weight easily, striking the Pakrati on his left on his

throat. Leaving him to die slowly, he swung with his right hand, cutting across the face

of the other soldier, gouging his eye out. As the soldier fell, Bhadra brought his left

sword down brutally, ending the suffering quickly for this hapless enemy.

The battle at the Meluhan end of camp was very different. They were exceptionally welltrained soldiers. But they were not vicious. They were following rules, avoiding killing, as

far as possible.

Outnumbered and led poorly, it was but a short while before the Pakratis were beaten.

Almost half of them lay dead and the rest were on their knees, begging for mercy.

One of them was Yakhya, his shoulder cut deep by Nandi, debilitating the movement of

his sword arm.

Bhadra stood behind the Pakrati chief, his sword raised high, ready to strike. ‘Shiva,

quick and easy or slow and painful?’

‘Sir!’ intervened Nandi, before Shiva could speak. Shiva turned towards the Meluhan.

‘This is wrong! They are begging for mercy! Killing them is against the rules of war.’

‘You don’t know the Pakratis!’ said Shiva. ‘They are brutal. They will keep attacking us

even if there is nothing to gain. This has to end. Once and for all.’

‘It is already ending. You are not going to live here anymore. You will soon be in

Meluha.’

Shiva stood silent.

Nandi continued, ‘How you want to end this is up to you. More of the same or different?’

Bhadra looked at Shiva. Waiting.

‘You can show the Pakratis that you are better,’ said Nandi. Shiva turned towards the

horizon, seeing the massive mountains.

Destiny? Chance of a better life?

He turned back to Bhadra. ‘Disarm them. Take all their provisions. Release them.’

Even if the Pakratis are mad enough to go back to their village, rearm and come back,

we would be long gone.

A shocked Bhadra stared at Shiva. But immediately started implementing the order.

Nandi gazed at Shiva with hope. There was but one thought that reverberated through

his mind. ‘Shiva has the heart. He has the potential. Please, let it be him. I pray to you

Lord Ram, let it be him.’

Shiva walked back to the young soldier he had stabbed. He lay writhing on the ground,

face contorted in pain, as blood oozed slowly out of his guts. For this first time in his life,

Shiva felt pity for a Pakrati. He drew his sword and ended the young soldier’s suffering.

After marching continuously for four weeks, the caravan of invited immigrants crested

the final mountain to reach the outskirts of Srinagar, the capital of the valley of Kashmir.

Nandi had talked excitedly about the glories of his perfect land. Shiva had prepared

himself to see some incredible sights, which he could not have imagined in his simple

homeland. But nothing could have primed him for the sheer spectacle of what certainly

was paradise. Meluha . The land of pure life!

The mighty Jhelum river, a roaring tigress in the mountains, slowed down to the beat of

a languorous cow as she entered the valley. She caressed the heavenly land of

Kashmir, meandering her way into the immense Dal Lake. Further down, she broke

away from the lake, continuing her journey to the sea.

The vast valley was covered by a lush green canvas of grass. On it was painted the

masterpiece that was Kashmir. Rows upon rows of flowers arrayed all of God’s colours,

their brilliance broken only by the soaring Chinar trees, offering a majestic, yet warm

Kashmiri welcome. The melodious singing of the birds calmed the exhausted ears of

Shiva’s tribe, accustomed only to the rude howling of icy mountain winds.

‘If this is the border province, how perfect must the rest of the country be?’ whispered

Shiva in awe.

The Dal Lake was the site of an ancient army camp of the Meluhans. Upon the western

banks of the lake, by the side of the Jhelum lay the frontier town that had grown beyond

its simple encampments into the grand Srinagar . Literally, the ‘respected city’ .

Srinagar had been raised upon a massive platform of almost a hundred hectares in

size. The platform built of earth, towered almost five metres high. On top of the platform

were the city walls, which were another twenty metres in height and four metres thick.

The simplicity and brilliance of building an entire city on a platform astounded the

Gunas. It was a strong protection against enemies who would have to fight up a fort wall

which was essentially solid ground. The platform served another vital purpose: it raised

the ground level of the city, an extremely effective strategy against the recurrent floods

in this land. Inside the fort walls, the city was divided into blocks by roads laid out in a

neat grid pattern. It had specially constructed market areas, temples, gardens, meeting

halls and everything else that would be required for sophisticated urban living. All the

houses looked like simple multiple-storeyed block structures from the outside. The only

way to differentiate a rich man’s house was that his block would be bigger.

In contrast to the extravagant natural landscape of Kashmir, the city of Srinagar itself

was painted only in restrained greys, blues and whites. The entire city was a picture of

cleanliness, order and sobriety. Nearly twenty thousand souls called Srinagar their

home. Now an additional two hundred had just arrived from Mount Kailash. And their

leader felt a lightness of being he hadn’t experienced since that terrible day, many years

ago.

I have escaped. I can make a new beginning. I can forget.

The caravan travelled to the immigrant camp outside Srinagar. The camp had been built

on a separate platform on the southern side of the city. Nandi led Shiva and his tribe to

the Foreigners’ Office, which was placed just outside the camp. Nandi requested Shiva

to wait outside as he went into the office. He soon returned, accompanied by a young

official. The official gave a practised smile and folded his hands in a formal namaste.

‘Welcome to Meluha. I am Chitraangadh. I will be your Orientation Executive. Think of

me as your single point of contact for all issues whilst you are here. I believe your

leader’s name is Shiva. Will he step up please?’

Shiva took a step forward. ‘I am Shiva.’

‘Excellent,’ said Chitraangadh. ‘Would you be so kind as to follow me to the registration

desk please? You will be registered as the caretaker of your tribe. Any communication

that concerns them will go through you. Since you are the designated leader, the

implementation of all directives within your tribe would be your responsibility’

Nandi cut into Chitraangadh’s officious speech to tell Shiva, ‘Sir, if you will just excuse

me, I will go to the immigrant camp quarters and arrange the temporary living

arrangements for your tribe.’

Shiva noticed that Chitraangadh’s ever-beaming face had lost its smile for a fraction of a

second as Nandi interrupted his flow. But he recovered quickly and the smile returned to

his face once again. Shiva turned and looked at Nandi.

‘Of course, you may. You don’t need to take my permission, Nandi,’ said Shiva. ‘But in

return, you have to promise me something, my friend.’

‘Of course, Sir,’ replied Nandi bowing slightly.

‘Call me Shiva. Not Sir,’ grinned Shiva. ‘I am your friend. Not your Chief.’

A surprised Nandi looked up, bowed again and said, ‘Yes Sir. I mean, yes, Shiva.’

Shiva turned back to Chitraangadh, whose smile for some reason appeared more

genuine now. He said, ‘Well Shiva, if you will follow me to the registration desk, we will

complete the formalities quickly.’

The newly registered tribe reached the residential quarters in the immigration camp, to

see Nandi waiting outside the main gates; he led them in. The roads of the camp were

just like those of Srinagar. They were laid out in a neat north-south and east-west grid.

The carefully paved footpaths contrasted sharply with the dirt tracks in Shiva’s own

land. He noticed something strange about the road though.

‘Nandi, what are those differently coloured stones running through the centre of the

road?’ asked Shiva.

‘They cover the underground drains, Shiva. The drains take all the waste water of the

camp out. It ensures that the camp remains clean and hygienic’

Shiva marvelled at the almost obsessively meticulous planning of the Meluhans.

The Gunas reached the large building that had been assigned to them. For the

umpteenth time, they thanked the wisdom of their leader in deciding to come to Meluha.

The three—storeyed building had comfortable, separate living quarters for each family.

Each room had luxurious furniture including a highly polished copper plate on the wall

on which they could see their reflection. The rooms had clean linen bed sheets, towels

and even some clothes. Feeling the cloth, a bewildered Shiva asked, ‘What is this

material?’

Chitraangadh replied enthusiastically, ‘It’s cotton, Shiva. The plant is grown in our lands

and fashioned into the cloth that you hold.’

There was a broad picture window on each wall to allow the light and the warmth of the

sun. Notches on each wall supported a metal rod with a controlled flame on top for

lighting. Each room had an attached bathroom with a sloping floor that enabled the

water to flow naturally to a hole which drained it out. At the right end of each bathroom

was a paved basin on the ground which culminated in a large hole. The purpose of this

contraption was a mystery to the tribe. The side walls had some kind of device, which

when turned, allowed water to flow through.

‘Magic!’ whispered Bhadra’s mother.

Beside the main door of the building was an attached house. A doctor and her nurses

walked out of the house to greet Shiva. The doctor, a petite, wheat-skinned woman was

dressed in a simple white cloth tied around her waist and legs in a style the Meluhans

called dhoti . A smaller white cloth was tied as a blouse around her chest while another

cloth called an angvastram was draped over her shoulders. The centre of her forehead

bore a white dot. Her head had been shaved clean except for a knotted tuft of hair at the

back, called a choti . A loose string called a janau was tied down from her left shoulder

across her torso to the right side.

Nandi was genuinely starded at seeing her. With a reverential namaste, he said, ‘Lady

Ayurvati! I didn’t expect a doctor of your stature here.’

Ayurvati looked at Nandi with a smile and a polite namaste. ‘I strongly believe in the

field-work experience programme, Captain. My team follows it strictly. However, I am

terribly sorry but I didn’t recognise you. Have we met before?’

‘My name is Captain Nandi, my lady,’ answered Nandi. We haven’t met but who doesn’t

know you, the greatest doctor in the land?’

‘Thank you, Captain Nandi,’ said a visibly embarrassed Ayurvati. ‘But I think you

exaggerate. There are many far superior to me.’ Turning quickly towards Shiva, Ayurvati

continued, ‘Welcome to Meluha. I am Ayurvati, your designated doctor. My nurses and I

will be at your assistance for the time that you are in these quarters.’

Hearing no reaction from Shiva, Chitraangadh said in his most earnest voice, ‘These

are just temporary quarters, Shiva. The actual houses that will be allocated to your tribe

will be much more comfortable. You have to stay here only for the period of the

quarantine which will not last more than seven days.’

‘Oh no, my friend! The quarters are more than comfortable. They are beyond anything

that we could have imagined. What say Mausi?’ grinned Shiva at Bhadra’s mother,

before turning back to Chitraangadh with a frown. ‘But why the quarantine?’

Nandi cut in. ‘Shiva, the quarantine is just a precaution. We don’t have too many

diseases in Meluha. Sometimes, immigrants may come in with new diseases. During

this seven—day period, the doctors will observe and cure you of any such ailments.’

‘And one of the guidelines that you have to follow to control diseases is to maintain strict

hygiene standards,’ said Ayurvati.

Shiva grimaced at Nandi and whispered, ‘Hygiene standards?’

Nandi’s forehead crinkled into an apologetic frown while his hands gently advised

acquiescence. He mumbled, ‘Please go along with it, Shiva. It is just one of those things

that we have to do in Meluha. Lady Ayurvati is considered to be the best doctor in the

land.’

‘If you are free right now, I can give you your instructions,’ said Ayurvati.

‘I am free right now,’ said Shiva with a straight face. ‘But I may have to charge you

later.’

Bhadra giggled softly, while Ayurvati stared at Shiva with a blank face, clearly not

amused at the pun.

‘I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,’ said Ayurvati frostily. ‘In any case, we will

begin at the bathroom.’

Ayurvati walked into the guest house, muttering under her breath, ‘These uncouth

immigrants...’

Shiva raised his eyebrows towards Bhadra, grinning impishly.

Late in the evening, after a hearty meal, all the Gunas were served a medicinal drink in

their rooms.

‘Yuck!’ grimaced Bhadra, his face contorted. ‘This tastes like Yak’s piss!’

‘How do you know what yak’s piss tastes like?’ laughed Shiva, as he slapped his friend

hard on the back. ‘Now go to your room. I need to sleep.’

‘Have you seen the beds? I think this is going to be the best sleep of my life!’

‘I have seen the bed, dammit!’ grinned Shiva. ‘Now I want to experience it. Get out!’

Bhadra left Shiva’s room, laughing loudly. He wasn’t the only one excited by the

unnaturally soft beds. Their entire tribe had rushed to their rooms for what they

anticipated would be the most comfortable sleep of their lives. They were in for a

surprise.

Shiva tossed and turned on his bed constantly. He was wearing an orange coloured

dhoti. The tiger skin had been taken away to be washed — for hygienic reasons. His

cotton angvastram was lying on a low chair by the wall. A half lit chillum lay forlorn on

the side-table.

This cursed bed is too soft. Impossible to sleep on!

Shiva yanked the bed sheet off the mattress, tossed it on the floor and lay down. This

was a little better. Sleep was stealthily creeping in on him. But not as strongly as at

home. He missed the rough cold floor of his own hut. He missed the shrill winds of

Mount Kailash, which broke through the most determined efforts to ignore them. He

missed the comforting stench of his tiger skin. No doubt, his current surroundings were

excessively comfortable, but they were unfamiliar and alien.

As usual, it was his instincts which brought up the truth:

‘It’s not the room.It’s you.’

It was then that Shiva noticed that he was sweating. Despite the cool breeze, he was

sweating profusely. The room appeared to be spinning lightly. He felt as if his body was

being drawn out of itself. His frostbitten right toe felt as if it was on fire. His battle

scarred left knee seemed to be getting stretched. His tired and aching muscles felt as if

a great hand was remoulding them. His shoulder bone, dislocated in days past and

never completely healed, appeared to be ripping the muscles aside so as to re-engineer

the joint. The muscles in turn seemed to be giving way to the bones to do their job.

Breathing was an effort. He opened his mouth to help his lungs along. But not enough

air flowed in. Shiva concentrated with all his might, opened his mouth wide and sucked

in as much air as he could. The curtains by the side of the window rustled as a kindly

wind rushed in. With the sudden gush of air, Shiva’s body relaxed just a bit. And then

the battle began again. He focused and willed giant gasps of air into his hungry body.

Knock! Knock!

The light tapping on the door alerted Shiva. He was disoriented for a moment. Still

breathing hard! His shoulder was twitching. The familiar pain was missing. He looked

down at his knee. It didn’t hurt anymore. The scar had vanished. Still gasping for breath!

He looked down at his toe. Whole and complete now. He bent to check it. A cracking

sound reverberated through the room as his toe made its first movement in years. Still

breathing hard! There was also an unfamiliar tingling coldness in his neck. Very cold.

Knock! Knock! A little more insistent now.

A bewildered Shiva staggered to his feet, pulled the angvastram around his neck for

warmth and opened the door.

The darkness veiled his face, but Shiva could still recognise Bhadra. He whispered in a

panic stricken voice, ‘Shiva, I’m sorry to disturb you so late. But my mother has

suddenly got a very high fever. What should I do?’

Shiva instinctively touched Bhadra’s forehead. ‘You too have a fever Bhadra. Go to your

room. I will get the doctor.’

As Shiva raced down the corridor towards the steps he encountered many more doors

opening with the now familiar message. ‘Sudden fever! Help!’

Shiva sprinted down the steps to the attached building where the doctors were housed.

He knocked hard on the door. Ayurvati opened it immediately, as if she was expecting

him. Shiva spoke calmly. ‘Ayurvati, almost my entire tribe has suddenly fallen ill. Please

come fast, they need help.’

Ayurvati touched Shiva’s forehead. You don’t have a fever?’

Shiva shook his head. ‘No.’

Ayurvati frowned, clearly surprised. She turned and ordered her nurses, ‘Come on. It’s

begun. Let’s go.’

As Ayurvati and her nurses rushed into the building, Chitraangadh appeared out of

nowhere. He asked Shiva, ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. Practically everybody in my tribe suddenly fell ill.’

‘You too are sweating heavily’

‘Don’t worry. I don’t have a fever. Look, I’m going back into the building. I want to see

how my people are doing’

Chitraangadh nodded, adding, ‘I’ll call Nandi.’

As Chitraangadh sped away in search of Nandi, Shiva ran into the building. He was

surprised the moment he entered. All the torches in the building had been lit. The

nurses were going from room to room, methodically administering medicines and

advising the scared patients on what they should do. A scribe walked along with each

nurse meticulously noting the details of each patient on a palm-leaf booklet. The

Meluhans were clearly prepared for such an eventuality. Ayurvati stood at the end of the

corridor, her hands on her hips. Like a general supervising her superbly trained and

efficient troops. Shiva rushed up to her and asked, ‘What about the second and third

floor?’

Ayurvati answered without turning to him. ‘Nurses have already reached all over the

building. I will go up to supervise once the situation on this floor has stabilised. We’ll

cover all the patients in the next half hour.’

‘You people are incredibly efficient but I pray that everyone will be okay,’ said a worried

Shiva.

Ayurvati turned to look at Shiva. Her eyebrows were raised slightly and a hint of a smile

hovered on her serious face. ‘Don’t worry. We’re Meluhans. We are capable of handling

any situation. Everybody will be fine.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Yes. Please go take a bath.’

‘What?!’

‘Please go take a bath. Right now,’ said Ayurvati as she turned back to look at her team.

‘Everybody, please remember that all children below the age of fifteen must be

tonsured. Mastrak, please go up and start the secondary medicines. I’ll be there in five

minutes.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said a young man as he hurried up the steps carrying a large cloth bag.

‘You’re still here?’ asked Ayurvati as she noticed that Shiva hadn’t left.

Shiva spoke softly, controlling his rising anger, ‘What difference will my bathing make?

My people are in trouble. I want to help.’

‘I don’t have the time or the patience to argue with you. You will go take a bath right

now!’ said Ayurvati, clearly not trying to control her rising temper.

Shiva glared at Ayurvati as he made a heroic effort to rein in the curses that wanted to

leap out of his mouth. His clenched fists wanted to have an argument of their own with

Ayurvati. But she was a woman.

Ayurvati too glared back at Shiva. She was used to being obeyed. She was a doctor. If

she told a patient to do something, she expected it to be done without question. But in

her long years of experience she had also seen a few patients like Shiva, especially

from the nobility. Such patients had to be reasoned with. Not instructed . Yet, this was

a simple immigrant. Not some nobleman!

Controlling herself with great effort, Ayurvati said, ‘Shiva, you are sweating. If you don’t

wash it off, it will kill you. Please trust me. You cannot be of any help to your tribe if you

are dead.’

Chitraangadh banged loudly on the door. A bleary eyed Nandi woke up cursing. He

wrenched the door open and growled, ‘This better be important!’

‘Come quickly. Shiva’s tribe has fallen ill.’

‘Already? But this is only the first night!’ exclaimed Nandi. Picking up his angvastram he

said, ‘Let’s go!’

The bathroom seemed a strange place for a bath. Shiva was used to splashing about in

the chilly Mansarovar Lake for his bi-monthly ablutions. The bathroom felt strangely

constricted. He turned the magical device on the wall to increase the flow of water. He

used the strange cake-like substance that the Meluhans said was a soap to rub the

body clean. Ayurvati had been very clear. The soap had to be used. He turned the

water off and picked up the towel. As he rubbed himself vigorously, the mystifying

development he had ignored in the past few hours came flooding back. His shoulder felt

better than new He looked down in awe at his knee. No pain, no scar. He stared in

wonder at his completely healed toe. And then he realised that it wasn’t just the injured

parts, but his entire body felt new, rejuvenated and stronger than ever. His neck,

though, still felt intolerably cold.

What the devil is going on?

He stepped out of the bathroom and quickly wore a new dhoti. Again, Ayurvati’s strict

instructions were not to wear his old clothes which were stained by his sweat. As he

was putting on the angvastram around his neck for some warmth, there was a knock on

the door. It was Ayurvati. ‘Shiva, can you open the door please? I just want to check

whether you are all right.’

Shiva opened the door. Ayurvati stepped in and checked Shiva’s temperature; it was

normal. Ayurvati nodded slightly and said, ‘You seem to be healthy. And your tribe is

recovering quickly as well. The trouble has passed.’

Shiva smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks to the skills and efficiency of your team. I am truly sorry

for arguing with you earlier. It was unnecessary. I know you meant well.’

Ayurvati looked up from her palm-leaf booklet with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow.

‘Being polite, are we?’

‘I’m not that rude, you know,’ grinned Shiva. ‘You people are just too supercilious!’

Ayurvati suddenly stopped listening as she stared at Shiva with a stunned look on her

face. How had she not noticed it before? She had never believed in the legend. Was

she going to be the first one to see it come true? Pointing weakly with her hands she

mumbled, ‘Why have you covered your neck?’

‘It’s very cold for some reason. Is it something to get worried about?’ asked Shiva as he

pulled the angvastram off.

A cry resounded loudly through the silent room as Ayurvati staggered back. Her hand

covered her mouth in shock while the palm leaves scattered on the floor. Her knees

were too weak to hold her up. She collapsed with her back against the wall, never once

taking her eyes off Shiva. Tears broke through her proud eyes. She kept repeating, ‘Om

Brahmaye namah. Om Brahmaye namah.’

‘What happened? Is it serious?’ asked a worried Shiva.

You have come! My Lord, you have come!’

Before a bewildered Shiva could react to her strange reaction, Nandi rushed in and

noticed Ayurvati on the ground. Copious tears were flowing down her face.

‘What happened, my lady?’ asked a startled Nandi.

Ayurvati just pointed at Shiva’s neck. Nandi looked up. The neck shone an eerie

iridescent blue. With a cry that sounded like that of a long caged animal just released

from captivity, Nandi collapsed on his knees. ‘My Lord! You have come! The Neelkanth

has come!’

The Captain bent low and brought his head down to touch the Neelkanth’s feet

reverentially. The object of his adoration however, stepped back, befuddled and

perturbed.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Shiva asked agitatedly.

Holding a hand to his freezing neck, he turned around to the polished copper plate and

stared in stunned astonishment at the reflection of his neel kanth ; his blue throat .

Chitraangadh, holding the door frame for support, sobbed like a child. ‘We’re saved!

We’re saved! He has come!

Chenardhwaj, the governor of Kashmir, wanted to broadcast to the entire world that the

Neelkanth had appeared in his capital city. Not in the other frontier towns like

Takshashila, Karachapa or Lothal. His Srinagar! But the bird courier had arrived almost

immediately from the Meluhan capital Devagiri, the abode of the gods. The orders

were crystal clear. The news of the arrival of the Neelkanth had to be kept secret until

the emperor himself had seen Shiva. Chenardhwaj was ordered to send Shiva along

with an escort to Devagiri. Most importantly, Shiva himself was not to be told about the

legend. ‘The emperor will appropriately advise the supposed Neelkanth

,’

were the exact words in the message.

Chenardhwaj had the privilege of informing Shiva about the journey. Shiva though, was

notin the most amenable of moods. He was utterly perplexed by the sudden devotion of

every Meluhan around him. Since he had been transferred to the gubernatorial

residence, where he lived in luxury, only the most important citizens of Srinagar,

had

access to him.

‘My Lord, we will be escorting you to Devagiri, our capital. It is a few weeks’journeys

from here,’ said Chenardhwaj as he struggled to bend his enormous and muscular

frame lower than he ever had.

I’m not going till somebody tells me what is going on! What the hell is this damned

legend of the Neelkanth?’ Shiva asked angrily.

‘My Lord, please have faith in us. You will know the truth soon. The emperor himself will

tell you when you reach Devagiri.’

‘And what about my tribe?’

‘They will be given lands right here in Kashmir, my Lord. All the resources that they

need to lead a comfortable life will be provided for.’

‘Are they being held, hostage?’

‘Oh no, my Lord,’ said a visibly disturbed Chenardhwaj. ‘They are your tribe, my Lord.

Ihad my way, they would live like nobility for the rest of their lives. But the laws cannot

be broken, my Lord. Not even for you. We can only give them what had been promised.

Over time my Lord, you can decide to change the laws you feel necessary.

Then we could certainly accommodate them anywhere.’

‘Please, my Lord,’ pleaded Nandi. ‘Have faith in us. You cannot imagine how important

you are to Meluha. We have been waiting for a very long time for you. We need your

help.’

Please help me! Please!

The memory of another desperate plea from a distraught woman years ago returned to

haunt Shiva as he was stunned into silence.

‘Your destiny is much larger than these massive mountains.’

Nonsense! I don’t deserve any destiny. If these people knew my guilt, they would stop

this bullshit instantly!

‘I don’t know what to do, Bhadra.’

Shiva was sitting in the royal gardens on the banks of the Dal Lake while his friend sat

at his side, carefully filling some marijuana into a chillum. As Bhadra used the lit stick to

bring the chillum to life, Shiva said impatiently, ‘That’s a cue for you to speak, you fool.’

‘No. That’s a cue for me to hand you the chillum, Shiva.’

‘Why will you not council me?’ asked Shiva in anguish. ‘We are still the same friends

who never made a move without consulting each other!’

Bhadra smiled. ‘No, we are not. You are the Chief now. The tribe lives and dies by your

decisions. It cannot be corrupted by any other person’s influence. We are not like the

Paris, where the Chief has to listen to whoever is the loudmouth on their council.

Only the chief’s wisdom is supreme amongst the Gunas. That is our tradition.’

Shiva raised his eyes in exasperation. ‘Some traditions are meant to be broken!’

Bhadra stayed silent. Stretching his hand, Shiva grabbed the chillum from Bhadra. He

took one deep puff, letting the marijuana spread its munificence into his body.

‘I’ve heard just one line about the legend of the Neelkanth,’ said Bhadra. ‘Apparently

Meluha is in deep trouble and only the Neelkanth can save them.’

‘But I can’t seem to see any trouble out here? Everything seems perfect. If they want to

see real trouble we should take them to our land!’

Bhadra laughed slightly. ‘But what is it about the blue throat that makes them believe

you can save them?’

‘Damned if I know! They are so much more advanced than us. And yet they worship me

like I am some god. Just because of this blessed blue throat’

‘I think their medicines are magical though. Have you noticed that the hump on my back

has reduced a little bit?’

‘Yes, it has! Their doctors are seriously gifted.’

‘You know their doctors are called Brahmins?’

‘Like Ayurvati?’ asked Shiva, passing the chillum back to Bhadra.

‘Yes. But the Brahmins don’t just cure people. They are also teachers, lawyers, priests,

any intellectual profession.’

‘Talented people,’ sniffed Shiva.

‘That’s not all,’ said Bhadra, in between a long inhalation.

‘They have a concept of specialisation. So in addition to the Brahmins, they have a

group called Kshatriyas, who are the warriors and rulers. Even the women can be

Kshatriyas!’

‘Really? They allow women into their army?’

‘Well, apparently there aren’t too many female Kshatriyas. But yes, they are allowed into

the army.’

‘No wonder they are in trouble!’

The friends laughed loudly at the strange ways of the Meluhans. Bhadra took another

puff from the chillum before continuing his story. ‘And then they have Vaishyas, who are

craftsmen, traders and business people and finally the Shudras who are the farmers

and workers. And one caste cannot do another caste’s job.’

‘Hang on,’ said Shiva. ‘That means that since you are a warrior, you would not be

allowed to trade at the marketplace?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bloody stupid! How would you get me my marijuana? After all, that is the only thing you

are useful for!’

Shiva leaned back to avoid the playful blow from Bhadra. ‘All right, all right. Take it

easy!’ he laughed. Stretching out, he grabbed the chillum from Bhadra and took another

deep drag.

We’re talking about everything except what we should be talking about.

Shiva became serious again. ‘But seriously, strange as they are, what should I do?’

‘What are you thinking of doing?’

Shiva looked away as if contemplating the roses in the far corner of the garden. ‘I don’t

want to run away once again.’

‘What?’ asked Bhadra, not hearing Shiva’s tormented whisper.

‘I said,’ repeated Shiva loudly, ‘I can’t bear the guilt of running away once again.’

‘That wasn’t your fault...’

‘YES, IT WAS!’

Bhadra fell silent. There was nothing that could be said. Covering his eyes, Shiva

sighed once again. ‘Yes, it was...’

Bhadra put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, pressing it gently, letting the terrible

moment pass. Shiva turned his face. ‘I’m asking for advice, my friend. What should I

do? If they need my help, I can’t turn away from them. At the same time, how can I

leave our tribe all by themselves out here? What should I do?’

Bhadra continued to hold Shiva’s shoulder. He breathed deeply. He could think of an

answer. It may have been the correct answer for Shiva, his friend. But was it the correct

answer for Shiva, the leader!

‘You have to find that wisdom yourself, Shiva. That is the tradition.’

‘O the hell with you!’

Shiva threw the chillum back at Bhadra and stormed away.

Itwas only a few days later that a minor caravan consisting of Shiva, Nandi and three

soldiers were scheduled to leave Srinagar. The small party would ensure that they

moved quickly through the realm and reached Devagiri as soon as possible. Governor

Chenardhwaj was anxious for Shiva to be recognised quickly by the empire as the true

Neelkanth. He wanted to go down in history as the governor who found the Lord.

Shiva had been made ‘presentable’ for the emperor. His hair had been oiled and

smoothened. Lines of expensive clothes, attractive ear-rings, necklaces and other

jewellery was brought to adorn his muscular frame. His fair face had been scrubbed

clean with special Ayurvedic herbs to remove years of dead skin & decay. A cravat

had been fabricated out of cotton to cover his glowing blue throat. Beads had been

cleverly darned on to the cravat to make it look like the traditional necklaces that

Meehanmen wore while on religious exercises. The cravat felt warm on his still cold

throat.

‘I will be back soon,’ said Shiva as he hugged Bhadra’s mother. He was amazed that

the old lady’s limp was a little less noticeable.

Their medicines are truly magical.

As a morose Bhadra looked at him, Shiva whispered, ‘Take care of the tribe. You are in

charge till I come back.’

Bhadra stepped back, starded. ‘Shiva you don’t have to that just because I am your

friend.’

‘I have to do it, you fool. And the reason I have to do i that you are more capable than

me.’

Bhadra stepped up and embraced Shiva, lest his frie notice the tears in his eyes. ‘No

Shiva, I am not. Not even my dreams.’

‘Shut up! Listen to me carefully,’ said Shiva as Bhai smiled sadly. ‘I don’t think the

Gunas are at any risk out here. At least not as much as we were at Mount Kailash. But

e\ then, if you feel you need help, ask Ayurvati. I saw her wl the tribe was ill. She

showed tremendous commitment save us all. She is worth trusting.’

Bhadra nodded, hugged Shiva again and left the room.

Ayurvati knocked politely on the door. ‘May I come in, my Lord?’

This was the first time she had come into his presence since that fateful moment seven

days back. It seemed like a lifetime to her. Though she appeared to be her confident

self again, there was a slightiy different look about her. She had the appearance of

someone who had been touched by the divine.

‘Come in Ayurvati. And please, none of this “Lord” business. I am still the same uncouth

immigrant you met a few days ago.’

‘I am sorry about that comment, my Lord. It was wrong of me to say that and I am willing

to accept any punishment that you may deem fit.’

‘What’s wrong with you? Why should I punish you for speaking the truth? Why should

this bloody blue throat change anything?’

‘You will discover the reason, my Lord,’ whispered Ayurvati with her head bowed. We

have waited for centuries for you.’

‘Centuries?! In the name of the holy lake, why? What can I do that any of you smart

people can’t?’

‘The emperor will tell you, my Lord. Suffice it to say that from all that I have heard from

your tribe, if there is one person worthy of being the Neelkanth, it is you.’

‘Speaking of my tribe, I have told them that if they need any help, they can request you.

I hope that is all right.’

‘It would be my honour to provide any assistance to them, my Lord.’

Saying this, she bent down to touch Shiva’s feet in the traditional Indian form of showing

respect. Shiva had resigned himself to accepting this gesture from most Meluhans but

immediately stepped back as Ayurvati bent down.

‘What the hell are you doing, Ayurvati?’ asked a horrified Shiva. You are a doctor, a

giver of life. Don’t embarrass me by touching my feet.’

Ayurvati looked up at Shiva, her eyes shining with admiration and devotion. This was

certainly a man worthy of being the Neelkanth.

Nandi entered Shiva’s room carrying a saffron cloth with the word ‘Ram’ stamped

across every inch of it. He requested Shiva to wrap it around his shoulders. As Shiva

complied, Nandi muttered a quick short prayer for a safe journey to Devagiri.

‘Our horses wait outside, my Lord. We can leave when you are ready,’ said Nandi.

‘Nandi,’ said an exasperated Shiva. ‘How many times must I tell you? My name is

Shiva. I am your friend, not your Lord’

‘Oh no, my Lord,’ gasped Nandi. ‘You are the Neelkanth. You are the Lord. How can I

take your name?’

Shiva rolled his eyes, shook his head slightiy and turned towards the door. ‘I give up!

Can we leave now?’

‘Of course, my Lord.’

They stepped outside to see three mounted soldiers waiting patiently, while tethered

close to them were three more horses. One each for Shiva and Nandi, while the third

was assigned for carrying their provisions. The well-organised Meluhan Empire had rest

houses and provision stores spread across all major travel routes. As long as there

were enough provisions for just one day, a traveller carrying Meluhan coins could

comfortably keep buying fresh provisions to last a journey of months.

Nandi’s horse had been tethered next to a small platform. The platform had steps

leading up to it from the other side. Clearly, this was convenient infrastructure for obese

riders who found it a little cumbersome to climb onto a horse. Shiva looked at Nandi’s

enormous form, then at his unfortunate horse and then back at Nandi.

‘Aren’t there any laws in Meluha against cruelty to animals?’ asked Shiva with the most

sincere of expressions.

‘Oh yes, my Lord. Very strict laws. In Meluha ALL life is precious. In fact there are strict

guidelines as to when and how animals can be slaughtered and...’

Suddenly Nandi stopped speaking. Shiva’s joke had finally breached Nandi’s slow wit.

They both burst out laughing as Shiva slapped Nandi hard on his back.

Shiva’s entourage followed the course of the Jhelum which had resumed its thunderous

roar as it crashed down the lower Himalayas. Once on the magnificent flat plains, the

turbulent river calmed down once again and flowed smoothly on. Smooth enough for the

group to get on one of the many public transport barges to sail quickly down to the town

of Brihateshpuram.

From there on, they went east by a well laid and marked road through Punjab, the heart

of the empire’s northern reaches. Punjab literally meant the land of the five rivers . The

land of the Indus, Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi and Beas. The four eastern rivers aspired to

grasp the grand Indus, which flowed farthest to the west. They succeeded

spectacularly, after convoluted journeys on the rich plains of Punjab. The Indus itself

found comfort and succour in the enormous, all embracing ocean. The mystery of the

ocean’s final destination though was yet to be unravelled.

‘What is Ram?’ enquired Shiva as he looked down at the word covering every inch of

his saffron cloth.

The three accompanying soldiers rode at a polite distance behind Shiva and Nandi. Far

enough not to overhear any conversation but close enough to move in quickly at the first

sign of trouble. It was a part of their standard Meluhan service rules.

‘Lord Ram was the emperor who established our way of life, my Lord,’ replied Nandi.

‘He lived around one thousand two hundred years ago. He created our systems, our

rules, our ideologies, everything. His reign is known simply as ‘Ram Rajya’ or ‘the rule

of Ram . The term ‘Ram Rajya’ is considered to be the gold standard of how an empire

must be administered, to create a perfect life for all its citizens. Meluha is still run

according to his principles. Jai Shri Ram.’

‘He must have been quite a man! For he truly created a paradise right here on earth.’

Shiva did not lie when he said this. He truly believed that if there was a paradise

somewhere, it couldn’t have been very different from Meluha. This was a land of

abundance, of almost ethereal perfection! It was an empire ruled by clearly codified and

just laws, to which every Meluhan was subordinated, including the emperor. The

country supported a population of nearly eight million, which without exception seemed

well fed, healthy and wealthy. The average intellect was exceptionally high. They were a

slightiy serious people, but unfailingly polite and civil. It seemed to be a flawless society

where everyone knew his role and played it perfectly. They were conscious, nay

obsessive, about their duties. The simple truth hit Shiva: if the entire society was

conscious of its duties, nobody would need to fight for their individual rights. Since

everybody’s rights would be automatically taken care of through someone else’s

duties . Lord Ram was a genius!

Shiva too repeated Nandi’s cry, signifying Glory to Lord Ram. ‘Jai Shri Ram.’

Having left their horses at the government authorised crossing-house, they crossed the

river Ravi, close to Hariyupa , or the City of Hari . Shiva lingered there admiring

Hariyupa at a slight distance, while his soldiers waited just beyond his shadow, having

mounted their freshly allocated horses from the crossing-house on the other side of the

Ravi. Hariyupa was a much larger city than Srinagar and seemed grand from the

outside. Shiva thought seriously about exploring the magnificent city but that would

have meant a delay in the trip to Devagiri. Next to Hariyupa, Shiva saw a construction

project being executed. A new platform was being erected as Hariyupa had grown too

populous to accommodate everyone on its existing platform.

How the hell do they raise these magnificent platforms?

Shiva made a mental note to visit the construction site on his return journey. At a

distance, Jattaa, the captain of the river crossing house, was talking to Nandi while he

was about to climb the platform to mount his fresh horse.

‘Avoid the road via Jratakgiri,’ advised Jattaa. ‘There was a terrorist attack there last

night. All the Brahmins were killed and the village temple was destroyed. The terrorists

escaped as usual before any backup soldiers could arrive.’

‘When in Lord Agni’s name will we fight back? We should attack their country!’ snarled a

visibly angry Nandi.

‘I swear by Lord Indra, if I ever find one of these Chandravanshi terrorists, I will cut his

body into minute pieces and feed it to the dogs,’ growled Jattaa, clenching his fists tight.

‘Jattaa! We are followers of the Suryavanshis. We cannot even think of barbaric warfare

such as that!’ said Nandi.

‘Do the terrorists follow the rules of war when they attack us? Don’t they kill unarmed

men?’

‘That does not mean that we can act the same way, Captain. We are Meluhans!’ said

Nandi shaking his head.

Jattaa did not counter Nandi. He was distracted by Shiva still waiting at a distance. ‘Is

he with you?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘He doesn’t wear a caste amulet. Is he a new immigrant?’

‘Yes.’ replied Nandi, getting uncomfortable answering questions about Shiva.

‘And you’re going to Devagiri?’ asked an increasingly suspicious Jattaa, looking harder

towards Shiva’s throat. ‘I’ve heard some rumours coming from Srinagar...’

Nandi interrupted Jattaa suddenly. ‘Thank you for your help, Captain Jattaa.’

Before Jattaa could act on his suspicions, Nandi quickly climbed the platform, mounted

his horse and rode towards Shiva. Reaching quickly, he said, ‘We should leave, my

Lord.’

Shiva wasn’t listening. He was perplexed once again as he saw the proud Captain

Jattaa on his knees. Jattaa was looking directly at Shiva with his hands folded in a

respectful namaste. He appeared to be mumbling something very quickly. Shiva

couldn’t be sure from that distance, but it seemed that the Captain was crying. He shook

his head and whispered, ‘Why?’

‘We should go, my Lord,’ repeated Nandi, a litde louder.

Shiva turned to him, nodded and kicked his horse into action.

Shiva looked to his left as he rode on the straight road, observing Nandi goading his

valiant horse along. He turned around and was not surprised to see his three bodyguard

soldiers riding at exactly the same distance as before. Not too close, and yet, not too

far. He glanced back at Nandi, suspicious that the jewellery Nandi wore was not merely

ornamental. He wore two amulets on his thick right arm. The first one had some

symbolic lines which Shiva could not fathom. The second one appeared to have an

animal etching. Probably a bull. One of his gold chains had a pendant shaped like a

perfectly circular sun with rays streaming outwards. The other pendant was a brown,

elliptical seed-like object with small serrations all over it.

‘Can you tell me the significance of your jewellery or is that also a state secret?’ teased

Shiva.

‘Of course I can, my Lord,’ replied Nandi earnestly. He pointed at the first amulet that

had been tied around his massive arm with a silky gold thread. This is the amulet which

represents my caste. The lines drawn on it are a symbol of the shoulders of the

Parmatma, the almighty . This means that I am a Kshatriya.’

‘I am sure there are clearly codified guidelines for representing the other castes as well.’

‘Right you are, my Lord. You are exceptionally intelligent.’

‘No, I am not. You people are just exceptionally predictable.’

Nandi smiled as Shiva continued. ‘So what are they?’

‘What are what, my Lord?’

‘The symbols for the Brahmins, Vaishyas and Shudras.’

Well, if the lines are drawn to represent the head of the Parmatma, it would mean the

wearer is a Brahmin. The symbol for a Vaishya would be the lines forming a symbol of

the thighs of the Parmatma. And the feet of the Parmatma on the amulet would make

the wearer a Shudra.’

‘Interesting,’ said Shiva with a slight frown. ‘I imagine most Shudras are not too pleased

about their placement.’

Nandi was quite surprised at Shiva’s comments. He couldn’t understand why a Shudra

would have a problem with this long ordained symbol. But he kept quiet for fear of

disagreeing with his Lord.

‘And the other amulet?’ asked Shiva.

‘This second amulet depicts my chosen-tribe. Each chosen-tribe takes on jobs which fit

its profile. Every Meluhan, under the advice of their parents, applies for a chosen-tribe

when they turn twenty—five years old. Brahmins choose from birds, while Kshatriyas

apply for animals. Flowers are allocated to Vaishyas while Shudras must choose

amongst fishes. The Allocation Board allocates the chosen-tribe on the basis of a

rigorous examination process. You must qualify for a chosen-tribe that represents both

your ambitions and skills. Choose a tribe that is too mighty and you will embarrass

yourself throughout your life if your achievements don’t measure up to the standards of

that tribe. Choose a tribe too lowly and you will not be doing justice to your own talents.

My chosen-tribe is a bull. That is the animal that this amulet represents.’

‘And if I am not being rude, what does a bull mean in your rank of Kshatriya chosentribes?’

‘Well, it’s not as high as a lion, tiger or an elephant. But it’s not a rat or a pig either!’

‘Well, as far as I am concerned, the bull can beat any lion or elephant,’ smiled Shiva.

And what about the pendants on your chain?’

‘The brown seed is a representation of the last Mahadev, Lord Rudra. It symbolises the

protection and regeneration of life. Even divine weapons cannot destroy the life it

protects.’

‘And the Sun?’

‘My Lord, the sun represents the fact that I am a follower of the Suryavanshi kings —

the kings who are the descendants of the Sun’

‘What? The Sun came down and some queen...’ teased an incredulous Shiva.

‘Of course not, my Lord,’ laughed Nandi. ‘All it means is that we follow the solar

calendar. So you could say that we are the followers of the “path of the sun”. In practical

terms it denotes that we are strong and steadfast. We honour our word and keep our

promises even at the cost of our lives. We never break the law. We deal honourably

even with those who are dishonourable. Like the Sun, we never take from anyone but

always give to others. We sear our duties into our consciousness so that we may never

forget them. Being a Suryavanshi means that we must always strive to be honest, brave

and above all, loyal to the truth.’

‘A tall order! I assume that Lord Ram was a Suryavanshi king?’

‘Yes, of course,’ replied Nandi, his chest puffed up with pride. ‘He was the Suryavanshi

king. Jai Shri Ram.’

‘Jai Shri Ram,’ repeated Shiva.

Nandi and Shiva crossed the river Beas on a boat. Their three soldiers waited to cross

on the following craft. The Beas was the last river to be crossed after which stretched

the straight road towards Devagiri. Unseasonal rain the previous night had made the

crossing-house captain consider cancelling the day’s crossings across the river.

However the weather had been relatively calm since the morning, allowing the captain

to keep the service operational. Shiva and Nandi shared the boat with two other

passengers as well as the boatman who rowed them across. They had traded in their

existing horses at the crossing-house for fresh horses on the other side.

They were a short distance from the opposite bank when a sudden burst of torrential

rain came down from the heavens. The winds took on a sudden ferocity. The boatman

made a valiant effort to row quickly across, but the boat tossed violently as it

surrendered to the elements. Nandi stretched to tell Shiva to stay low for safety. But he

did not do it gently enough. His considerable weight caused the boat to list dangerously,

and he fell overboard.

The boatman tried to steady the boat with his rows to save the other passengers. Even

as he did so, he had the presence of mind to pull out his conch and blow an emergency

call to the crossing-house on the other side. The other two passengers should have

jumped overboard to save Nandi but his massive build made them hesitate. They knew

that if they tried to save him, they would most likely drown.

Shiva felt no such hesitation as he quickly tossed aside his angvastram, pulled off his

shoes and dived into the turbulent river. Shiva swam with powerful strokes and quickly

reached a rapidly drowning Nandi. He had to use all of his considerable strength to pull

Nandi to the surface. In spite of being buoyed by the water, Nandi weighed significantiy

more than what any normal man would. It was fortunate that Shiva felt stronger than

ever since the first night at the Srinagar immigration camp. Shiva positioned himself

behind Nandi and wrapped one arm around his chest. He used his other arm to swim to

the bank. Nandi’s weight made it very exhausting work, but Shiva was able to tow the

Meluhan captain to the shore soon as the emergency staff from the crossing-house

came rapidly towards them.

Shiva helped them drag Nandi’s limp body on to the land. He was unconscious.

The emergency staff then began a strange procedure. One of them started pressing

Nandi’s chest in a quick rhythmic motion to the count of five. The moment he would

stop, another emergency staff would cover Nandi’s lips with his own and breathe hard

into his mouth. Then they would repeat the procedure all over again. Shiva did not

understand what was going on but trusted both the knowledge as well as the

commitment of the Meluhan medical personnel.

After several anxious moments, Nandi suddenly coughed up a considerable amount of

water and woke up with a start. At first he was disoriented but he quickly regained his

wits and turned abruptly towards Shiva, screeching, ‘My Lord, why did you jump in after

me? Your life is too precious. You must never risk it for me!’

A surprised Shiva supported Nandi’s back and whispered calmly, ‘You need to relax, my

friend.’

Agreeing with Shiva, the medical staff quickly placed Nandi on a stretcher to carry him

into the rest house that was attached to the crossing-house. The other boat passengers

were looking at Shiva with increasing curiosity. They knew that the fat man was a

relatively senior Suryavanshi soldier, judging by his amulets. Yet he called this fair,

caste-unmarked man ‘his Lord’. Strange. But all that mattered was that the soldier was

safe. They dispersed as Shiva followed the medical staff into the rest house.

Nandi lay in a semi-conscious state for several hours as the medicines administered by

the doctors worked on his body. Shiva sat by his side, repeatedly changing the wet cloth

on his burning forehead to control the fever. Nandi kept babbling incoherently as he

tossed and turned in his sleep, making Shiva’s task that much more difficult.

‘I’ve been searching... long... so long... a hundred years... never thought I.... find

Neelkanth... Jai Shri Ram...’

Shiva tried to ignore Nandi’s babble as he focussed on keeping the fever down. But his

ears had caught on to something.

He’s been searching for a hundred years?!

Shiva frowned.

The fever’s affecting his bloody brain! He doesn’t look a day older than twenty years!

‘I’ve been searching for a hundred years...,’ continued the oblivious Nandi. ‘...I found...

Neelkanth...’

Shiva stopped for a moment and stared hard at Nandi. Then shaking his head

dismissively, he continued his ministrations.

Shiva had been walking on a paved, signposted road along the River Beas for the better

part of an hour. He had left the rest house to explore the area by himself, much against

a rapidly recovering Nandi’s advice. Nandi was out of danger, but they had to wait for a

few days nevertheless, so that the Captain could be strong enough to travel. There was

not much Shiva could do at the rest house and he had begun to feel resdess. The three

soldiers had tried to shadow Shiva, but he had angrily dismissed them. ‘Will you please

stop trying to stick to me like leeches?’

The rhythmic hymns sung by the gentle waters of the Beas soothed Shiva. A cool

tender breeze teased his thick lock of hair. He rested his hand on the hilt of his

scabbard as his mind swirled with persistent questions.

Is Nandi really more than a hundred years old? But that’s impossible! And what the hell

do these craqy Meluhans need me for anyway? And why in the name of the holy lake is

my bloody throat still feeling so cold?

Lost in his thoughts, Shiva did not realise that he had strayed off the road into a

clearing. Staring him in the face was the most beautiful building he had ever seen. It

was built entirely with white and pink marble. An imposing flight of stairs led up to the

top of a high platform, which had been adorned by pillars around its entire

circumference. The ornate roof was topped by a giant triangular spire, like a giant

‘namaste’ to the gods. Elaborate sculptures were carved upon every available space on

the structure.

Shiva had spent many days in Meluha and all the buildings he had seen so far were

functional and efficient. However, this particular one was oddly flamboyant. At the

entrance, a signpost announced, Temple of Lord Brahma’. The Meluhans appeared to

reserve their creativity for religious places.

There was a small crowd of hawkers around the courtyard in the clearing. Some were

selling flowers, others were selling food. Still others were selling assorted items required

for a puja . There was a stall where worshippers could leave their footwear as they went

up to the temple. Shiva left his shoes there and walked up the steps. Entering the main

temple, he stared at the designs and sculptures, mesmerized by the sheer magnificence

of the architecture.

‘What are you doing here?’

Shiva turned around to find a Pandit staring at him quizzically. His wizened face sported

a flowing white beard matched in length only by his silvery mane. Wearing a saffron

dhoti and angvastram, he had the calm, gende look of a man who had already attained

nirvana , but had chosen to remain on earth to fulfil some heavenly duties. Shiva

realised that the Pandit was the first truly old person that he had seen in Meluha.

‘I am sorry. Am I not allowed in here?’ asked Shiva politely.

‘Of course you are allowed in here. Everyone is allowed into the house of the gods.’

Shiva smiled. Before he could respond however, the Pandit questioned once again, ‘But

you don’t believe in these gods, do you?’

Shiva’s smile disappeared as quickly as it came.

How the hell does he know?

The Pandit answered the question in Shiva’s eyes. ‘Everyone who enters this place of

worship looks only at the idol of Lord Brahma. Almost nobody notices the efforts and the

brilliance of the architects who built this lovely temple. You, however, have eyes only for

the work of the architects. You have not yet cast even a glance upon the idol.’

Shiva grinned apologetically. You guessed right. I don’t believe in symbolic gods. I

believe that the real god exists all around us. In the flow of the river, in the rustle of the

trees, in the whisper of the winds. He speaks to us all the time. All we need to do is

listen. However, I apologise if I have caused some offence in not showing proper

respect for your god.’

You don’t need to apologise, my friend,’ smiled the Pandit. There is no “your god” or

“;my god”. All godliness comes from the same source. Just the manifestations are

different. But I have a feeling that one day you will find a temple worth walking into just

for prayer, not to admire its beauty.’

‘Really? Which temple might that be?’

‘You will find it when you are ready, my friend.’

Why do these Meluhans always talk in bizarre riddles?

Shiva nodded politely, his expression pretending an appreciation for the Pandit’s words

that he did not truly feel. He thought it wise to flee the temple before his welcome was

stretched any further.

‘It’s time to get back to my rest house now, Pandit ji. But I eagerly look forward to finding

the temple of my destiny. It was a pleasure meeting you,’ said Shiva, as he bent down

to touch the Pandit’s feet.

Placing his hand on Shiva’s head, the Pandit said gently, ‘Jai Guru Vishwamitra. Jai

Guru Vashishta.’

Shiva rose, turned and walked down the steps. Looking at Shiva walking away from

him, clearly out of earshot, the Pandit whispered with an admiring smile, for he had

recognised his fellow traveller in karma . ‘The pleasure was all mine, my karmasaathi’

Shiva reached the shoe stall, out on his shoes and offered a coin for the service. The

shoe-keeper politely declined. ‘Thank you Sir, but this is a service provided by the

government of Meluha. There is no charge for it.’

Shiva smiled. ‘Of course! You people have a system for everything. Thank you.’

The shoe-keeper smiled back. ‘We are only doing our duty, Sir.’

Shiva walked back to the temple steps. As he sat down, he breathed in deeply and let

the tranquil atmosphere suffuse him with its serenity. And then it happened. The

moment that every unrealised heart craves for. The unforgettable instant that a soul,

clinging on to the purest memory of its previous life, longs for. The second, that in spite

of a conspiracy of the gods, only a few lucky men experience. The moment when she

enters his life.

She rode in on a chariot, guiding the horses expertly into the courtyard, while a lady

companion by her side held on to the railings. Although her black hair was tied in an

understated bun, a few irreverent strands danced a spellbinding kathak in the wind.

Her piercingly magnetic, blue eyes and bronzed skin were an invitation for jealousy from

the goddesses. Her body, though covered demurely in a long angvastram, still ignited

Shiva’s imagination enough to sense the lovely curves which lay beneath. Her flawless

face was a picture of concentration as she manoeuvred the chariot skilfully into its

parking place. She dismounted the chariot with an air of confidence. It was a calm

confidence which had not covered the ugly distance towards arrogance. Her walk was

dignified. Stately enough to let a beholder know that she was detached, but not cold.

Shiva stared at her like a parched piece of earth mesmerised by a passing rain cloud.

Have mercy on me!

‘My lady, I still feel it’s not wise to wander so far from the rest of your entourage,’ said

her companion.

She answered. ‘Krittika, just because others don’t know the law, doesn’t mean that we

can ignore it. Lord Ram clearly stated that once a year, a pious woman has to visit Lord

Brahma. I will not break that law, no matter how inconvenient it is to the bodyguards!’

The lady noticed Shiva staring at her as she passed by him. Her delicate eyebrows

arched into a surprised and annoyed frown. Shiva made a valiant attempt to tear his

glance away, but realised that his eyes were no longer in his control. She continued

walking up, followed by Krittika.

She turned around at the top of the temple steps, to see the caste unmarked immigrant

at a distance, still staring at her unabashedly. Before turning to walk into the main

temple, she muttered to Krittika, ‘These uncouth immigrants! As if we’ll find our saviour

amongst these barbarians!’

It was only when she was out of sight that Shiva could breathe again. As he desperately

tried to gather his wits, his overwhelmed and helpless mind took one obvious decision

— there was no way he was leaving the temple before getting another look at her. He

sat down on the steps once again. As his breathing and heartbeat returned to normal,

he finally began to notice the surroundings that had been consecrated by her recent

presence. He stared once again at the road on the left from where she had turned in.

She had ridden past the cucumber seller standing near the banyan tree.

Incidentally, why is the cucumber seller not trying to hawk his wares? He just seems to

be staring at the temple. Anyway, it is not any of my concern.

He followed the path that her chariot had taken as it had swerved to its left, around the

fountain at the centre of the courtyard. It had then taken a sharp right turn past the

shepherd standing at the entrance of the garden.

Incidentally, where were this shepherd’s sheep?

Shiva continued to look down the path the chariot had taken into the parking lot. Next to

the chariot stood another man who had just walked into the temple complex, but had

inexplicably not entered the temple itself. He turned to the shepherd and appeared to

nod slightly. Before Shiva could piece together the information that he had just seen, he

felt her presence again. He turned immediately to see her walking down the steps, with

Krittika walking silently behind. Still finding this rude, caste-unmarked, obviously foreign

man staring at her, she walked up to him and asked in a firm but polite voice, ‘Excuse

me, is there a problem?’

‘No. No. There’s no problem. I just felt that I had seen you before somewhere,’ replied a

flustered Shiva.

The lady was not sure how to respond to this. It was obviously a lie but there appeared

to be a sincere voice behind it. Before she could react, Krittika cut in rudely. ‘Is that the

best line you could come up with?’

As Shiva was about to retort, he was alerted by a quick movement from the cucumber

seller. Shiva turned to see him pulling out a sword as he tossed his shawl aside. The

shepherd and the man next to the chariot also stood poised in traditional fighter

positions with their swords drawn. Shiva immediately drew his sword and stretched out

his left hand protectively, to pull the object of his fascination behind him. She however

deftly side-stepped his protective hand, reached into the folds of her angvastram and

drew out her own sword.

Shiva glanced at her, surprised, and flashed her a quick, admiring smile. Her eyes

flashed right back, acknowledging the unexpected yet providential partnership.

She whispered under her breath to Krittika, ‘Run back into the temple. Stay there till this

is over.’

Krittika protested. ‘But my lady...’

‘NOW!’ she ordered.

Krittika turned and ran up the temple steps. Shiva and the lady stood back to back in a

standard defensive-partner position. They covered all the directions of any possible

attack. The three attackers charged in. Two more jumped in from behind the trees to

join the other three. Shiva raised his sword defensively as the shepherd came up close.

Feigning a sideward movement to draw the shepherd into an aggressive attack, Shiva

dropped his sword low. The shepherd should have been tempted to move in for a kill

wound and in response, Shiva would have quickly raised his sword and dug it deep into

the shepherd’s heart.

The shepherd, however, moved unexpectedly. Instead of taking advantage of Shiva’s

opening, he tried to strike Shiva’s shoulder. Shiva quickly raised his right arm and

swung viciously, inflicting a deep wound across the shepherd’s torso. As the shepherd

fell back, another attacker moved in from the right. He swung from a distance. Not too

smart a move, as it would merely have inflicted a surface nick. Shiva stepped back to

avoid the swing and brought his sword down in a smooth action to dig deep into the

attacker’s thigh. Screaming in agony, this attacker too fell back As another attacker

joined in the fight from the left, Shiva realised that this was indeed a very strange

assault.

The attackers seemed to know what they were doing. They seemed to be good

warriors. But they also seemed to be in a bizarre dance of avoidance. They did not

appear to want to kill. Merely injure. It was because they held themselves in check that

they were being beaten back very easily. Shiva parried off another attack from the left

and pushed his sword viciously into the man’s shoulder. The man screamed in pain as

Shiva pushed him off the blade with his left hand. Slowly, but surely, the attackers were

being worn out. They were suffering too many injuries to seriously carry on the assault

for long.

Suddenly a giant of a man ran in from behind the trees carrying swords in both hands.

The man was cloaked in a black hooded robe from head to toe while his face was

hidden by a black mask, shaped exactly like a human face. The only visible parts of his

body were his large impassive almond-shaped eyes and strong fleshy hands. He

charged upon Shiva and the lady as he barked an order to his men. He was too large to

battle with agility. But he compensated for his slow pace with his unusually skilled arms.

Shiva registered from the corner of his eye that the other attackers were picking up the

injured and withdrawing. The hooded figure was fighting a brilliant rearguard action as

his men retreated.

Shiva realised that the man’s hood would impair his side vision. That was a weakness

that could be exploited. Moving to the left, Shiva swung ferociously, hoping to peg him

back so that the lady could finish the job from the other side. But his opponent was up to

the challenge. As he stepped slightly back, he deflected Shiva’s swing with a deft move

of his right hand. Shiva noticed a leather band on the hooded figure’s right wrist. It had a

sharp symbol on it. Shiva swung his sword back but the hooded figure moved aside

effordessly to avoid the blow. He pushed back a brutal flanking attack from the lady with

his left hand. He was keeping just enough distance from Shiva and the lady to defend

himself while at the same time keeping them engaged in combat.

All of a sudden the hooded figure disengaged from the battle and stepped back. He

began to tread backwards as he continued to point both his swords ahead, one at Shiva

and the other at the lady. His men had all disappeared into the trees. As he reached a

safe distance, he turned and ran behind his men. Shiva considered chasing him but

almost immediately decided against it. He might just rush into an ambush.

Shiva turned to the lady warrior and inquired, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes I am,’ ‘she nodded before asking with a sombre expression. Are you injured?’

‘Nothing serious. I’ll survive!’ he grinned.

In the meantime, Krittika came running down the temple steps and asked breathlessly,

‘My lady. Are you alright?’

‘Yes I am,’ she answered. ‘Thanks to this foreigner here.’

Krittika turned to Shiva and said, ‘Thank you very much. You have helped a very

important woman.’

Shiva did not seem to be listening though. He continued to stare at Krittika’s mistress as

if he were possessed. Krittika struggled to conceal a smile.

The noble woman averted her eyes in embarrassment, but said politely, ‘I am sorry, but

I am quite sure that we have not met earlier.’

‘No it’s not that,’ said a smiling Shiva. ‘It’s just that in our society, women don’t fight. You

move your sword quite well for a woman.’

O hell! That came out all wrong.

‘Excuse me?’ she said, a slightly belligerent tone in her voice, clearly upset about the

for-a-woman remark. You don’t fight too badly either for a barbarian.’

‘Not too badly?! I’m an exceptional sword fighter! Do you want to try me?’

O bloody hell! What am I saying? I’m not going to impress her like this!

Her expression resumed its detached, supercilious look once again. ‘I have no interest

in duelling with you, foreigner.’

‘No. No. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t want to duel with you. I just wanted to tell you that I

am quite good at sword-fighting. I am good at other things as well. And it came out all

wrong. I rather like the fact that you fought for yourself. You are a very good

swordsman. I mean a swordswoman. In fact, you are quite a woman...,’ bumbled Shiva,

losing the filter of judgement, exactiy at the time when he needed it the most.

Krittika, with her head bowed, smiled at the increasingly appealing exchange.

Her mistress, on the other hand, wanted to chastise the foreigner for his highly

inappropriate words. But he had saved her life. She was bound by the Meluhan code of

conduct. ‘Thank you for your help, foreigner. I owe you my life and you will not find me

ungrateful. If you ever need my help, do call on me.’

‘Can I call on you even if I don’t need your help?’

Shit! What am I saying?!

She glared at the caste-unmarked foreigner who clearly did not know his place. With

superhuman effort, she controlled herself, nodded politely and said, ‘Namaste.’

With that, the aristocratic woman turned around to leave. Krittika continued to stare at

Shiva with admiring eyes.

However, on seeing her mistress leaving, she too turned hurriedly to follow.

‘At least tell me your name,’ said Shiva, walking to keep pace with her.

She turned around, staring even more gravely at Shiva.

‘Look, how will I find you if I need your help?’ asked Shiva sincerely.

For a moment, she was out of words or a glare. The request seemed reasonable. She

turned towards Krittika and nodded.

‘You can find us at Devagiri,’ answered Krittika. ‘Ask anyone in the city for Lady Sati.’

‘Sati...,’ said Shiva, letting the ethereal name roll over his tongue. ‘My name is Shiva.’

‘Namaste, Shiva. And I promise you, I will honour my word if you ever need my help,’

said Sati as she turned and climbed into her chariot, followed by Krittika.

Expertly turning the chariot, Sati urged her horses into a smooth trot. Without a

backward look she sped away from the temple. Shiva kept staring at the disappearing

profile of the chariot. Once it was gone, he continued to stare at the dust with intense

jealousy. It had been fortunate enough to have touched her.

I think I’m going to like this country.

For the first time in the journey, Shiva actually looked forward to reaching the capital city

of the Meluhans. He smiled and started towards the rest house.

Have to get to Devagiri quickly.