The Oath of the Vayuputras: Shiva Trilogy 3

Chapter 9

The Love-struck Barbarian

‘Your uncle was a Vayuputra Lord?’ asked an amazed Sati.

Sati and Shiva were in their private chambers. Shiva had just related his entire conversation with the Vasudevs and the decision that he had arrived at.

‘Not just an ordinary Lord!’ smiled Shiva. ‘An Amartya Shpand.’

Sati raised her arms and rested them on Shiva’s muscular shoulders, her eyes teasing. ‘I always knew there was something special about you; that you couldn’t have been just another rough tribal. And now I have proof. You have pedigree!’

Shiva laughed loudly, holding Sati close. ‘Rubbish! You thought I was an uncouth barbarian when you first laid your eyes on me!’

Sati edged up on her toes and kissed Shiva warmly on his lips. ‘Oh, you are still an uncouth barbarian...’

Shiva raised his eyebrows.

‘But you are my uncouth barbarian...’

Shiva’s face lit up with the crooked smile he reserved for Sati; the smile that made her weak in the knees. He held her tight and lifted her up, close to his lips. Her feet dangling in the air, they kissed languidly; warm and deep.

‘You are my life,’ whispered Shiva.

‘You are the sum of all my lives,’ said Sati.

Shiva continued to hold her up in the air, embracing her tight, resting his head on her shoulders. Sati had her arms around her husband, her fingers running circles in his hair.

‘So, are you going to let me down sometime?’ asked Sati.

Shiva just shook his head in answer. He was in no hurry.

Sati smiled and rested her head on his shoulders, content to let her feet dangle in mid-air, playing with Shiva’s hair.



‘Here you go,’ said Sati.

Shiva took the glass of milk from her. He liked his milk raw: no boiling, no jaggery, no cardamom, nothing but plain milk. Shiva drained the glass in large gulps, handed it to Sati and sank back on his chair with his feet up on the table. Sati put the glass down and sat next to him. Shiva looked across the balcony, towards the Vishnu temple. He took a deep breath and turned to Sati. ‘You’re right. Much as I respect Ganesh’s tactical thinking, this time he is wrong. Parvateshwar will not leave me.’

Sati nodded emphatically in agreement. ‘Without an inspirational leader like him, the armies of Meluha and Swadweep, though strong, will lack motivation as well as sound battle tactics.’

‘That is true. But let us hope that the people themselves will rise up in rebellion and there will be no need for war.’

‘How can we ensure that, though? If you send the proclamation banning the Somras to the kings, they will make sure that the general public will not know.’

‘That’s exactly what the Vasudevs and I discussed. My proclamation should not only reach the royalty but every citizen of India directly. The best way to ensure this is to display the proclamation in all the temples. All Indians visit temples regularly, and when they do, they will read my order.’

‘And I’m sure the people will be with you. Let’s hope that the kings listen to the will of their people.’

‘Yes, I cannot think of another way to avoid war. I expect unflinching support from only the royalty of Kashi, Panchavati and Branga. Every other king will make his choice based on selfish interests alone.’

Sati held Shiva’s hand and smiled. ‘But we have the King of Kings, the Parmatma himself with us. We will not lose.’

‘We cannot afford to lose,’ said Shiva. ‘The fate of the nation is at stake.’



‘Are you sure you can do this, Kartik?’ asked Ganesh.

Kartik looked up at his brother with eyes like still waters. ‘Of course, I can. I’m your brother.’

Ganesh smiled and stepped away from the elephant mounting platform. Kartik and another diminutive Vasudev soldier were sitting on a howdah atop one of the largest bull elephants in the Ujjain stables. The howdah had been altered from its standard structure; the roof had been removed and the side walls cut by half. This reduced the protection to the riders, but dramatically improved their ability to fire weapons. Kartik had come up with an innovative idea that used the elephant as more than just a battering ram for enemy lines; instead, it could be used as a high platform from which to fire weapons in all directions.

This strategy envisioned a deliberate and co-ordinated movement of war elephants as opposed to a wild charge. The issue of the choice of weapons, however, remained. Arrows discharged from elephant-back could never be so numerous as to cause serious damage. The Vasudev military engineers were ready with a solution – an innovative flame-thrower which used a refined version of the liquid black fuel imported from Mesopotamia. This devastating weapon spewed a continuous stream of fire, burning all that stood in its path. The fuel tanks occupied a substantial part of the howdah, leaving just enough room for two such weapons and infantrymen. The flame-throwers were not just heavy but released intense heat while operational. Therefore, they required strong operators. But constraints of space in the howdah also meant that the operators be, perforce, of short stature. Kartik, along with such a soldier, had volunteered to man this potential inferno.

Ganesh stood at a distance along with Parshuram, Nandi and Brahaspati. He shouted out to his brother. ‘Are you ready, Kartik?’

Kartik shouted back, ‘I was born ready, dada.’

Ganesh smiled as he turned towards the Vasudev commander. ‘Let’s begin, brave Vasudev.’

The commander nodded and waved a red flag.

Kartik and the Vasudev soldier immediately struck a flame and lit the weapons. Two devilishly long streams of fire burst out and reached almost thirty metres, on both sides of the elephant. A protective covering around the elephant’s sides ensured it did not feel the heat. Kartik and the Vasudev had been tasked with reducing some thirty mud statues to ashes. The ‘enemy’ mud soldiers had been spread out, to test the range and accuracy of the weapon. Though heavy, the fire-weapons were surprisingly manoeuvrable. The mahout concentrated on following Kartik’s orders and the mud-soldiers were reduced to ashes in no time.

Parshuram turned towards Ganesh. ‘These can be devastating in war, Lord Ganesh. What do you think?’

Ganesh smiled as he borrowed a phrase from his father. ‘Hell yes!’



‘We have transcribed your proclamation, Lord Neelkanth,’ said Gopal.

Gopal and Shiva were in the Vishnu temple, near the central pillar. Shiva read the papyrus scroll.

To all of you who consider yourselves the children of Manu and followers of the Sanatan Dharma, this is a message from me, Shiva, your Neelkanth.

I have travelled across our great land, through all the kingdoms we are divided into, met with all the tribes that populate our fair realm. I have done this in search of the ultimate Evil, for that is my task. Father Manu had told us Evil is not a distant demon. It works its destruction close to us, with us, within us. He was right. He told us Evil does not come from down below and devour us. Instead, we help Evil destroy our lives. He was right. He told us Good and Evil are two sides of the same coin. That one day, the greatest Good will transform into the greatest Evil. He was right. Our greed in extracting more and more from Good turns it into Evil. This is the universe’s way of restoring balance. It is the Parmatma’s way to control our excesses.

I have come to the conclusion that the Somras is now the greatest Evil of our age. All the Good that could be wrung out of the Somras has been wrung. It is time now to stop its use, before the power of its Evil destroys us all. It has already caused tremendous damage, from the killing of the Saraswati River to birth deformities to the diseases that plague some of our kingdoms. For the sake of our descendants, for the sake of our world, we cannot use the Somras anymore.

Therefore, by my order, the use of the Somras is banned forthwith.

To all those who believe in the legend of the Neelkanth: Follow me. Stop the Somras.

To all those who refuse to stop using the Somras: Know this. You will become my enemy. And I will not stop till the use of the Somras is stopped. This is the word of your Neelkanth.

Shiva looked up and nodded.

‘This will be distributed to all the pandits in all the Vasudev temples across the Sapt Sindhu,’ said Gopal. ‘Our Vasudev Kshatriyas will also travel to other temples across the land. They will carry your proclamation carved on stone tablets and fix them on the walls of temples. All of them will be put up on the same night, one year from now. The kings will have no way to control it since it will be released simultaneously all over. Your word will reach the people.’

This is exactly what Shiva wanted. ‘Perfect, Panditji. This will give us one year to prepare for war. I would like to be in Kashi when this proclamation is released.’

‘Yes, my friend. Until then, we need to prepare for war.’

‘I also need to use this one year to uncover the identity of my true enemy.’

Gopal frowned. ‘What do you mean, great Neelkanth?’

‘I don’t believe that either Emperor Daksha or Emperor Dilipa is capable of mounting a conspiracy of this scale. They are obviously being led by someone. That person is my real enemy. I need to find him.’

‘I thought you know who your real enemy is.’

‘Do you know his identity?’

‘Yes, I do. And you are right. He is truly dangerous.’

‘Is he so capable, Panditji?’

‘A lot of people are capable, Neelkanth. What makes a capable person truly dangerous is his conviction. If we believe that we’re fighting on the side of Evil, there is moral weakness in our mind. Somewhere deep within, the heart knows that we’re wrong. But what happens if we actually believe in the righteousness of our cause? What if your enemy genuinely believes that he is the one fighting for Good and that you, the Neelkanth, are fighting for Evil?’

Shiva raised his eyebrows. ‘Such a person will never stop fighting. Just like I won’t.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Who is this man?’

‘He is a maharishi, in fact most people in India revere him as a Saptrishi Uttradhikari,’ said Gopal, using the Indian term for the successors of the seven great sages of yore. ‘His scientific knowledge and devotion to the Parmatma are second to none in the modern age. His immense spiritual power makes emperors quake in his presence. He leads a selfless, frugal life in Himalayan caves. He comes down to the plains only when he feels that India’s interests are threatened. And he has spent the whole of last year in either Meluha or Ayodhya.’

‘Does he genuinely believe that the Somras is Good?’

‘Yes. And he believes that you are a fraud. He knows that the Vayuputras did not select you. In fact, we believe that the Vayuputras are on his side. For who else could have given him the daivi astras that were used in the attack at Panchavati?’

‘Is there a possibility that he could have made the daivi astras himself? That is what I assumed must have happened.’

‘Trust me, that is not possible. Only the Vayuputras have the know-how to make the daivi astras. Nobody else does; not even us.’

Shiva stared at Gopal, stunned. ‘I didn’t expect the Vayuputras to support me; I am not one of them. But I thought that they would at least be neutral.’

‘No, my friend. We must assume that the Vayuputras are on the side of your enemy. They may even be in agreement with him about the Somras still being Good.’

Shiva breathed deeply. This man sounded formidable. ‘Who is he?’

‘Maharishi Bhrigu.’



Bhrigu’s eyes scanned the distance, observing the Meluhan soldiers practising their art. Daksha stood next to him with his eyes pinned to the ground. Mayashrenik, the stand-in general of the Meluhan army in the absence of Parvateshwar, was a few metres ahead.

Bhrigu said softly, without turning towards Daksha, ‘Your soldiers are exceptional, Your Highness.’

Daksha did not answer as he continued to study the ground.

Bhrigu shook his head. ‘Your Highness, I said that your soldiers are well trained.’

Daksha turned his attention towards Bhrigu. ‘Of course, My Lord. I’d already mentioned this to you. There is no need to worry. To begin with, a war is unlikely. But even the possibility of war leaves little to fear for I have the combined Ayodhyan and Meluhan armies at my command which...’

‘We have much to fear,’ said Bhrigu, interrupting Daksha. ‘Your soldiers are well trained. But they are not well led.’

‘But Mayashrenik...’

‘Mayashrenik is not a leader. He is a great second-in-command. He will follow orders unquestioningly and implement them effectively. But he cannot lead.’

‘But...’

‘We need someone who can think; someone who can strategise; someone who is willing to suffer for the sake of the greater good. We need a leader.’

‘But I am their leader.’

Bhrigu looked contemptuously at Daksha. ‘You are not a leader, Your Highness. Parvateshwar is a leader. But you sent him off with that fraud Neelkanth. I don’t know if he is alive, or even worse, if he has switched loyalties to that barbarian from Tibet.’

Daksha took offence at Bhrigu’s criticism. ‘Parvateshwar is not the only great warrior in Meluha, My Lord. We can use Vidyunmali. He’s a capable strategist and would make a great general.’

‘I don’t trust Vidyunmali. And I’d like to suggest that Your Highness is hardly the best judge of people.’

Daksha promptly went back to studying the ground that had held his fascination a few moments back.

Bhrigu took a deep breath. This discussion was pointless. ‘Your Highness, I’m going to Ayodhya. Please make the arrangements.’

‘Yes, Maharishiji,’ said Daksha.



Bhagirath and Anandmayi were in the last clearing of the forests of Dandak. It would take a few more months to reach Branga and from there on, Kashi. But the remaining journey was the last thing on Bhagirath’s mind.

‘What have they been talking about for so long?’ asked Bhagirath.

Anandmayi turned in the direction of Bhagirath’s gaze. Ayurvati and Parvateshwar were gesticulating wildly. But the tone of their voices, true to Meluhan character, remained soft and polite. They seemed to be in the middle of an intense debate.

Anandmayi shook her head. ‘I don’t have supernatural abilities. I can’t hear what they’re saying.’

‘But I can take a good guess,’ said Bhagirath. ‘I hope that Ayurvati succeeds.’

Anandmayi turned towards Bhagirath, frowning.

‘Ayurvati has already made her decision. She is with us. She is with the Mahadev. And now, I think, she is trying to convince Parvateshwar.’

Anandmayi knew that her brother was probably right, but love was forcing her to hope. ‘Bhagirath, Parvateshwar has not made his decision as yet. He is devoted to the Mahadev. Don’t assume...’

‘Trust me, if it comes down to a war and he has to choose between Lord Shiva and his precious Meluha, your husband will choose Meluha.’

‘Bhagirath, shut up!’

Bhagirath turned towards Anandmayi, irritated. ‘I am only speaking the truth.’

‘That is a matter of opinion.’

‘I am the crown prince of Ayodhya. Many will say my opinion is the truth.’

Anandmayi tapped her brother on his head. ‘And I, as the crown prince’s elder sister, have the right to shut him up any time I choose!’



‘Parvateshwar, you have not thought this through,’ said Ayurvati.

Parvateshwar smiled sadly. ‘I have not been thinking of much else in the last few months. I know the path that I must take.’

‘But will you be able to act against the living God you worship?’

‘Since there is no other choice, I must.’

‘But Lord Ram had said that we must protect our faith. The Mahadevs and the Vishnus are our living gods. How do we protect our religion if we do not fight alongside our living gods?’

‘You are confusing faith and religion. They are two completely different things.’

‘No, they are not.’

‘Yes, they are. The Sanatan Dharma is my religion. But it is not my faith. My faith is my country. My faith is Meluha. Only Meluha.’

Ayurvati sighed and looked up at the sky. She shook her head and turned back towards Parvateshwar. ‘I know how devoted you are to the Neelkanth. Can you go to war against the Lord; do you have it in your heart to even harm him?’

Parvateshwar breathed deeply, his eyes moist. ‘I will fight all who seek to harm Meluha. If Meluha must be conquered, it will be over my dead body.’

‘Parvateshwar, do you really think that the Somras is not Evil? That it should not be banned?’

‘No. I know it should be banned. I have already stopped using the Somras. I stopped using it the day Brahaspati told us about all the evil that it has been responsible for.’

‘Then why are you willing to fight to defend this halahal?’ asked Ayurvati, using an old Sanskrit term for the most potent poison in the universe.

‘But I am not defending the Somras,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘I’m defending Meluha.’

‘But the both of them are on the same side,’ said Ayurvati.

‘That is my misfortune. But defending Meluha is my life’s purpose; this is what I was born to do.’

‘Parvateshwar, Meluha is not what it used to be. You’re well aware of the fact that Emperor Daksha is no Lord Ram. You are fighting for an ideal that does not exist anymore. You are fighting for a country whose greatness lives on only in memory. You are fighting for a faith that has been corrupted beyond repair.’

‘That may be so, Ayurvati. But this is my purpose; to fight and die for Meluha.’

Ayurvati shook her head in irritation, but her voice was unfailingly polite. ‘Parvateshwar, you are making a mistake. You are pitting yourself against your living God. You are defending the Somras, which even you believe has turned evil. And you are doing all this to serve some “purpose”. Does the purpose of defending Meluha justify all the mistakes that you know you are making?’

Parvateshwar spoke softly, ‘Shreyaan sva dharmo vigunaha para dharmaat svanushthitat.’

Ayurvati smiled ruefully as she recalled the old Sanskrit shloka, a couplet attributed to Lord Hari, after whom the city of Hariyupa had been named. It meant that it was better to commit mistakes on the path that one’s soul is meant to walk on, than to live a perfect life on a path that is not meant for one’s soul. Discharge one’s own swadharma, personal law, even if tinged with faults, rather than attempt to live a life meant for another.

Ayurvati shook her head. ‘How can you be sure that this is your duty? Should you just be true to the role the world has foisted upon you? Aren’t you blindly obeying what society is forcing you to do?’

‘Lord Hari also said that those who allow others to dictate their own duties are not living their own life. They are, in fact, living someone else’s life.’

‘But that is exactly what you are doing. You are allowing others to dictate your duties. You are allowing Meluha to dictate the purpose of your soul.’

‘No, I am not.’

‘Yes, you are. Your heart is with Lord Shiva. Can you deny that?’

‘No, I can’t. My heart is with the Neelkanth.’

‘Then how do you know that protecting Meluha is your duty?’

‘Because I know,’ said Parvateshwar firmly. ‘I just know that this is my duty. Isn’t that what Lord Hari had said? Nobody in the world, not even God, can tell us what our duty is. Only our soul can. All we have to do is surrender to the language of silence and listen to the whisper of our soul. My soul’s whisper is very clear. Meluha is my faith; protecting my motherland is my duty.’

Ayurvati ran her hand over her bald pate, touching her choti, the knot of hair signifying Brahmin antecedents. She turned to look at Anandmayi and Bhagirath in the distance. She knew that there was nothing more to be said.

‘You will be on the losing side, Parvateshwar,’ said Ayurvati.

‘I know.’

‘And you will be killed.’

‘I know. But if that is my purpose, then so be it.’

Ayurvati shook her head and touched Parvateshwar’s shoulder compassionately.

Parvateshwar smiled wanly. ‘It will be a glorious death. I shall die at the hands of the Neelkanth.’