The Oath of the Vayuputras: Shiva Trilogy 3

Chapter 1

The Return of a Friend

Before the Beginning

Blood dribbled into the water, creating unhurried ripples which expanded slowly to the edges of the cistern. Shiva bent over the container as he watched the rippling water distort his reflection. He dipped his hands in the water and splashed some on his face, washing off the blood and gore. Recently appointed Chief of the Gunas, he was in a mountain village far from the comforts of the Mansarovar Lake. It had taken his tribe three weeks to get there despite the punishing pace he had set. The cold was bone-chilling, but Shiva didn’t even notice. Not because of the heat that emanated from the Pakrati huts that were being gutted by gigantic flames, but because of the fire that burnt within.

Shiva wiped his eyes and stared at his reflection in the water. Raw fury gripped him. Yakhya, the Pakrati chieftain, had escaped. Shiva controlled his breathing, still recovering from the exhaustion of combat.

He thought he saw his uncle, Manobhu’s bloodied body in the water. Shiva reached out below the surface of the water with his hand. ‘Uncle!’

The mirage vanished. Shiva squeezed his eyes shut.

The macabre moment when he had found his uncle’s body replayed in his mind. Manobhu had gone to discuss a peace treaty with Yakhya, hoping the Pakratis and Gunas would end their incessant warmongering. When he hadn’t returned at the appointed time, Shiva had sent out a search party. Manobhu’s mutilated body, along with those of his bodyguards, had been found next to a goat trail on the way to the Pakrati village.

A message had been written in blood; on a rock next to where Manobhu had breathed his last.

‘Shiva. Forgive them. Forget them. Your only true enemy is Evil.’

All that his uncle wanted was peace and this is how they had repaid him.

‘Where’s Yakhya?’ Bhadra’s scream broke Shiva’s chain of thoughts.

Shiva turned. The entire Pakrati village was up in flames. Some thirty dead bodies lay strewn across the clearing; brutally hacked by the enraged Gunas seeking vengeance for their former chief’s death. Five Pakrati men knelt on the ground, tied together, a continuous rope binding their wrists and feet. Both ends of the rope had been hammered into the ground. The fierce Bhadra, bloodied sword in hand, led the twenty Guna guards. It was impossible for the Pakratis to escape.

At a distance, another contingent of Guna warriors guarded the shackled Pakrati women and children; unharmed thus far. The Gunas never killed or even hurt women and children. Never.

‘Where is Yakhya?’ repeated Bhadra, pointing his sword menacingly at a Pakrati.

‘We don’t know,’ the Pakrati answered. ‘I swear we don’t know.’

Bhadra dug his sword point into the man’s chest, drawing blood. ‘Answer and you shall have mercy. All we want is Yakhya. He will pay for killing Manobhu.’

‘We didn’t kill Manobhu. I swear on all the mountain gods, we didn’t kill him.’

Bhadra kicked the Pakrati hard. ‘Don’t lie to me, you stinking arsehole of a yak!’

Shiva turned away as his eyes scanned the forests beyond the clearing. He closed his eyes. He could still hear his uncle Manobhu’s words echo in his ears. ‘Anger is your enemy. Control it! Control it!’

Shiva took deep breaths as he tried to slow down his furiously pounding heart.

‘If you kill us, Yakhya will come back and kill all of you,’ screamed a Pakrati at the end of the rope line. ‘You will never know peace! We shall have the final vengeance!’

‘Shut up, Kayna,’ shouted another Pakrati, before turning to Bhadra. ‘Release us. We had nothing to do with it.’

But the Pakrati seemed to have come unhinged. ‘Shiva!’ shouted Kayna.

Shiva turned.

‘You should be ashamed to call Manobhu your uncle,’ roared Kayna.

‘Shut up, Kayna!’ screamed all the other Pakratis.

But Kayna was beyond caring. His intense loathing for the Gunas had made him abandon his instinct for self-preservation. ‘That coward!’ he spat. ‘Manobhu bleated like a goat as we shoved his intestines and his peace treaty down his throat!’

Shiva’s eyes widened, as the rage bubbling under the surface broke through. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he drew his sword and charged. Without breaking a step, he swung viciously as he neared the Pakratis, beheading Kayna in one mighty blow. The severed head smashed into the Pakrati beside him, before ricocheting off to the distance.

‘Shiva!’ screamed Bhadra.

They needed the Pakratis alive if they were to find Yakhya. But Bhadra was too disciplined a tribesman to state the obvious. Besides, at that moment, Shiva didn’t care. He swirled smoothly, swinging his sword again and again, decapitating the next Pakrati and the next. It was only a matter of moments before five beheaded Pakrati bodies lay in the mud, their hearts still pumping blood out of their gaping necks, making it pool around the bodies, almost as though they lay in a lake of blood.

Shiva breathed heavily, as he stared at the dead, his uncle’s voice ringing loudly in his head.

‘Anger is your enemy. Control it! Control it!’



‘I have been waiting for you, my friend,’ said the teacher. He was smiling, his eyes moist. ‘I’d told you, I would go anywhere for you. Even to Patallok if it would help you.’

How often had Shiva replayed these words uttered by the man who stood before him. But he had never fully understood the reference to the land of the demons. Now it all fell into place.

The beard had been shaved, replaced by a pencil-thin moustache. The broad shoulders and barrel chest were much better defined. The man must be getting regular exercise. The janau, the holy thread of Brahmin identity, was loosely slung over newly developed muscles. The head remained shaven, but the tuft of hair at the back appeared longer and neater. The deep-set eyes had the same serenity that had drawn Shiva to him earlier. It was his long-lost friend. His comrade in arms. His brother.

‘Brahaspati!’

‘It took you a very long time to find me.’ Brahaspati stepped close and embraced Shiva. ‘I have been waiting for you.’

Shiva hesitated for a moment before joyously embracing Brahaspati, allowing his emotions to take over. But no sooner had he regained his composure, than doubts started creeping into his mind.

Brahaspati created the illusion of his death. He allied with the Nagas. He destroyed his life’s purpose, the great Mount Mandar. He was the Suryavanshi mole!

My brother lied to me!

Shiva stepped back silently. He felt Sati’s hand on his shoulder, in silent commiseration.

Brahaspati turned to his students. ‘Children, could you please excuse us?’

The students immediately rose and left. The only people left in the room were Shiva, Brahaspati, Sati, Ganesh and Kali.

Brahaspati stared at his friend, waiting for the questions. He could sense the hurt and anger in Shiva’s eyes.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I thought I would spare you the dreadful personal fate that is the inheritance of the Mahadevs. I tried to do your task. One cannot fight Evil and not have its claws leave terrible scars upon one’s soul. I wanted to protect you.’

Shiva’s eyes narrowed. ‘Were you fighting Evil all by yourself? For more than five years?’

‘Evil is never in a rush,’ reasoned Brahaspati. ‘It creeps up slowly. It doesn’t hide, but confronts you in broad daylight. It gives decades of warnings, even centuries at times. Time is never the problem when you battle Evil. The problem is the will to fight it.’

‘You say that you have been waiting for me. And yet you hid all traces of yourself. Why?’

‘I always trusted you, Shiva,’ said Brahaspati, ‘but I could not trust all those who were around you. They would have prevented me from accomplishing my mission. I might even have been assassinated had they learnt about my plans. My mission, I admit, prevailed over my love for you. It was only when you parted ways with them, that I could meet you safely.’

‘That’s a lie. You wanted to meet me because you needed me for the success of your mission. Because you now know you cannot accomplish it by yourself.’

Brahaspati smiled wanly. ‘It was never meant to be my mission, great Neelkanth. It was always yours.’

Shiva looked at Brahaspati, expressionless.

‘You are partially right,’ said Brahaspati. ‘I wanted to meet you... No, I needed to meet you because I have failed. The coin of Good and Evil is flipping over and India needs the Neelkanth. It needs you, Shiva. Otherwise, Evil will destroy this beautiful land of ours.’

Shiva, while continuing to stare noncommittally at Brahaspati, asked, ‘The coin is flipping over, you say?’

Brahaspati nodded.

Shiva remembered Lord Manu’s words. Good and Evil are two sides of the same coin.

The Neelkanth’s eyes widened. The key question isn’t ‘What is Evil?’ The key question is: ‘When does Good become Evil? When does the coin flip?’

Brahaspati continued to watch Shiva keenly. Lord Manu’s rules were explicit; he could not suggest anything. The Mahadev had to discover and decide for himself.

Shiva took a deep breath and ran his hand over his blue throat. It still felt intolerably cold. It seemed as if the journey would have to end where it had begun.

What is the greatest Good; the Good that created this age? The answer was obvious. And therefore, the greatest Evil was exactly the same thing, once it began to disturb the balance.

Shiva looked at Brahaspati. ‘Tell me why...’

Brahaspati remained silent, waiting... The question had to be more specific.

‘Tell me why you think the Somras has tipped over from the greatest Good to the greatest Evil.’



Bits and pieces of the wreckage had been dutifully brought by the soldiers for examination by Parvateshwar and Bhagirath, who squatted at a distance.

Shiva had asked the Meluhan general and the Ayodhyan prince to investigate the wreckage. They had been tasked with determining the antecedents of the men who had attacked their convoy on the way to Panchavati. Parvateshwar and Bhagirath had stayed behind with a hundred soldiers while the rest of Shiva’s convoy had carried on to Panchavati.

Parvateshwar glanced at Bhagirath and then turned back to the wooden planks. Slowly but surely, his worst fears were coming true.

He turned to look at the hundred Suryavanshi soldiers who stood at a respectable distance, as they had been instructed. He was relieved. It was best if they did not see what had been revealed. The rivets on the planks were clearly Meluhan.

‘I hope Lord Ram has mercy on your soul, Emperor Daksha,’ he shook his head and sighed.

Bhagirath turned towards Parvateshwar, frowning. ‘What happened?’

Parvateshwar looked at Bhagirath, anger writ large on his face. ‘Meluha has been let down. Its fair name has been tarnished forever; tarnished by the one sworn to protect it.’

Bhagirath kept quiet.

‘These ships were sent by Emperor Daksha,’ Parvateshwar said softly.

Bhagirath moved closer, his eyes showing disbelief. ‘What? Why do you say that?’

‘These rivets are clearly Meluhan. These ships were built in my land.’

Bhagirath narrowed his eyes. He had noticed something completely different and was stunned by the general’s statement. ‘Parvateshwar, look at the wood. Look at the casing around the edges.’

Parvateshwar frowned. He did not recognise the casing.

‘It improves water-proofing in the joints,’ said Bhagirath.

Parvateshwar looked at his brother-in-law, curious.

‘This technology is from Ayodhya.’

‘Lord Ram, be merciful!’

‘Yes! It looks like Emperor Daksha and my weakling father have formed an alliance against the Neelkanth.’



Bhrigu, Daksha and Dilipa were in the Meluhan emperor’s private chambers in Devagiri. Dilipa and Bhrigu had arrived the previous day.

‘Do you think they have succeeded in their mission, My Lord?’ asked Dilipa.

Daksha seemed remote and disinterested. He felt the intense pain of separation from his beloved daughter Sati. The terrible event at Kashi, more than a year ago, still haunted him. He’d lost his child and with it, all the love he ever felt in his heart.

A few months ago Bhrigu had hatched a plan to assassinate the Neelkanth, along with his entire convoy, en route to Panchavati. They had sent five ships up the Godavari River to first attack Shiva’s convoy, and then move on to destroy Panchavati as well. There were to be no survivors who would bear witness to what actually took place. Attacking an unprepared enemy was not unethical. In one fell swoop, all those inimical to them would be destroyed. But it was possible only if Daksha and Dilipa joined hands, as they together had the means as well as the technology.

The people of India would be told that the ghastly Nagas had lured the simple and trusting Neelkanth to their city and assassinated him. Knowing the significance of simplicity in propaganda, Bhrigu had come up with a new title for Shiva: Bholenath, the simple one, the one who is easily misled. Laying the blame on the treachery of the Nagas and the simplicity of the Neelkanth would mean that Daksha and Dilipa would be spared the backlash. And the hatred for the Nagas would be strengthened manifold.

Bhrigu glanced at Daksha briefly and then turned his attention back to Dilipa. The Saptrishi Uttradhikari seemed to place his trust on Dilipa more than the Meluhan now. ‘They should have succeeded. We’ll soon receive reports from the commander.’

Dilipa’s face twitched. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. ‘I hope it is never revealed that we did this. The wrath of my people would be terrible. Killing the Neelkanth with this subterfuge...’

Bhrigu interrupted Dilipa, his voice calm. ‘He was not the Neelkanth. He was an imposter. The Vayuputra council did not create him. It did not even recognise him.’

Dilipa frowned. He had always heard rumours but had never really been sure as to whether the Vayuputras, the legendary tribe left behind by the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra, actually existed.

‘Then how did his throat turn blue?’ asked Dilipa.

Bhrigu looked at Daksha and shook his head in exasperation. ‘I don’t know. It is a mystery. I knew the Vayuputra council had obviously not created a Neelkanth, for they are still debating whether Evil has risen. Therefore, I did not object to the Emperor of Meluha persisting with his search for the Neelkanth. I knew there was no possibility of a Neelkanth actually being discovered.’

Dilipa looked stunned.

‘Imagine my surprise,’ continued Bhrigu, ‘when this endeavour actually led them to an apparent Neelkanth. But a blue throat did not mean that he was capable of being the saviour. He had not been trained. He had not been educated for his task. He had not been appointed for it by the Vayuputra council. But Emperor Daksha felt he could control this simple tribal from Tibet and achieve his ambitions for Meluha. I made a mistake in trusting His Highness.’

Dilipa looked at Daksha, who did not respond to the barb. The Swadweepan emperor turned back towards the great sage. ‘In any case, Evil will be destroyed when the Nagas are destroyed.’

Bhrigu frowned. ‘Who said the Nagas are evil?’

Dilipa looked at Bhrigu, nonplussed. ‘Then, what are you saying, My Lord? That the Nagas can be our allies?’

Bhrigu smiled. ‘The distance between Evil and Good is a vast expanse in which many can exist without being either, Your Highness.’

Dilipa nodded politely, not quite understanding Bhrigu’s intellectual abstractions. Wisely though, he kept his counsel.

‘But the Nagas are on the wrong side,’ continued Bhrigu. ‘Do you know why?’

Dilipa shook his head, thoroughly confused.

‘Because they are against the great Good. They are against the finest invention of Lord Brahma; the one that is the source of our country’s greatness. This invention must be protected at all costs.’

Dilipa nodded in affirmation. Once again, he didn’t understand Bhrigu’s words. But he knew better than to argue with the formidable maharishi. He needed the medicines that Bhrigu provided. They kept him healthy and alive.

‘We will continue to fight for India,’ said Bhrigu. ‘I will not let anyone destroy the Good that is at the heart of our land’s greatness.’