The Oath of the Vayuputras: Shiva Trilogy 3

Chapter 24

The Age of Violence

The golden orb of a rising sun peeked from the mainland to the right as a strong southerly wind filled their sails, racing them towards the port of Lothal. Shiva, with Sati at his side, stood poised on the foredeck, eyes transfixed northwards, wishing their ship all speed.

‘I wonder how the war has progressed in Swadweep,’ said Sati.

Shiva turned to her with a smile. ‘We do not know if there has been a war at all, Sati. Maybe Ganesh’s tactics have worked.’

‘I hope so.’

Shiva held Sati’s hand. ‘Our sons are warriors. They are doing what they are supposed to. You don’t need to worry about them.’

‘I’m not worried about Ganesh. I know that if he can avoid bloodshed, he will. Not that he’s a coward, but he understands the futility of war. But Kartik... He loves the art of war. I fear he will go out of his way to court danger.’

‘You’re probably right,’ said Shiva. ‘But you cannot change his essential character. And in any case, isn’t that what being a warrior is all about?’

‘But every other warrior goes into battle reluctantly. He fights because he has to. Kartik is not like that. He’s enthused by warfare. It seems that his swadharma is war. That worries me,’ said Sati, expressing her anxieties about what she felt was Kartik’s personal dharma.

Shiva drew Sati into his arms and kissed her on her lips, reassuringly. ‘Everything will be all right.’

Sati smiled and rested her head on Shiva’s chest. ‘I must admit that helped a bit...’

Shiva laughed softly. ‘Let me help you some more then.’

Shiva raised Sati’s face and kissed her again.

‘Ahem!’

Shiva and Sati turned around to find Veerbhadra and Krittika approaching them.

‘This is an open deck,’ said a smiling Veerbhadra, teasing his friend. ‘Find a room!’

Krittika hit Veerbhadra lightly on his stomach, embarrassed. ‘Shut up!’

Shiva smiled. ‘How’re you, Krittika?’

‘Very well, My Lord.’

‘Krittika,’ said Shiva. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? You are my friend’s wife. Call me Shiva.’

Krittika smiled. ‘I’m sorry.’

Shiva rested his hand on Veerbhadra’s shoulder. ‘What did the captain say, Bhadra? How far are we?’

‘At the rate we’re sailing, just a few more days. The winds have been kind.’

‘Hmmm... have you ever been to Lothal or Maika, Krittika?’

Krittika shook her head. ‘It’s difficult for me to get pregnant, Shiva. And that is the only way that an outsider can enter Maika.’

Shiva winced. He had touched a raw nerve. Veerbhadra did not care that Krittika couldn’t conceive, but it still distressed her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Shiva.

‘No, no,’ smiled Krittika. ‘Veerbhadra has convinced me that we are good enough for each other. We don’t need a child to complete us.’

Shiva patted Veerbhadra’s back. ‘Sometimes we barbarians can surprise even ourselves with our good sense.’

Krittika laughed softly. ‘But I have visited the older Lothal.’

‘Older Lothal?’

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ asked Sati. ‘The seaport of Lothal is actually a new city. The older Lothal was a river port on the Saraswati. But when the Saraswati stopped reaching the sea, there was no water around the old city, ending its vibrancy. The locals decided to recreate their hometown next to the sea. The new Lothal is exactly like the old city, except that it’s a sea port.’

‘Interesting,’ said Shiva. ‘So what happened to old Lothal?’

‘It’s practically abandoned, but a few people continue to live there.’

‘So why didn’t they give the new city a different name? Why call it Lothal?’

‘The old citizens were very attached to their city. It was one of the greatest cities of the empire. They didn’t want the name to disappear in the sands of time. They also assumed most people would forget old Lothal.’

Shiva looked towards the sea. ‘New Lothal, here we come!’



The sun had risen high over Bal-Atibal Kund. It was the third hour of the second prahar. The bodies of the fallen Magadhans and Brangas were being removed to a cleared area in the forest where, to the drone of ritual chanting, their mortal remains were being cremated. Considering the massive number of Magadhan dead, this was back-breaking work. But Kartik had been insistent. Valour begot respect, whether in life or in the aftermath of death.

‘Has Surapadman not been found yet?’ asked Bhagirath, his eyes scanning the sands of the kund. Yesterday they were pristine white. Today they were a pale shade of pink, discoloured by massive quantities of blood.

‘Not as yet,’ said Kartik. ‘Initially I thought he was fighting on the southern front. We were unable to find him there so I assumed he would be here.’

Maatali, the Vaishali king, had proved his naval acumen by destroying the rearguard of the Magadhan fleet. Having heard of Kartik’s valour and ferocity, he now viewed him with newfound respect. Gone were the last traces of indulgence for the son of the Neelkanth.

‘How far is my brother’s fleet, King Maatali?’ asked Kartik.

‘I’ve sent some of my rowboats upriver. It is clogged with the debris of the Magadhan ships. Our boats are trying to clear up the mess, but it will take time. And Lord Ganesh is moving carefully so the ships don’t sustain any damage. So he will take some time to get here.’

Kartik nodded.

‘But he has been informed about your great victory, Lord Kartik,’ said Maatali. ‘He is very proud of you.’

Kartik frowned. ‘It’s not my victory, Your Highness. It’s our victory. And it would not have been possible without my elder brother, who destroyed the northern end of the Magadhan navy.’

‘That he did,’ said Maatali.

‘My Lord!’ hailed Divodas, crossing over from the dense forest to the sands of the Bal-Atibal Kund. Still weak from injuries and bandaged across his shoulder, he was being assisted by five men as they together dragged something with ropes.

It took Kartik a moment to recognise what they were dragging. ‘Divodas! Treat him with respect!’

Divodas stopped at once. Kartik ran towards them, followed by Bhagirath and Maatali. The corpse they had been dragging was that of a tall, well-built, swarthy man. His clothes and armour were soaked dark with blood, and his body was covered with wounds, some dried and black, others still fresh, red and wet. His skull had been split open near his temple, showing how he had died. His injuries were too numerous to be counted, clearly indicating the valour of this combatant. All the wounds were in the front, not one on the back. It had been an honourable death.

‘Surapadman...’ whispered Bhagirath.

‘He was on the southern front, My Lord,’ said Divodas.

Kartik pulled out his knife, bent down to cut the ropes tied around Surapadman’s shoulders, and then gently lowered the fallen prince back onto the ground. He noticed Surapadman’s right hand, still tightly gripping his sword. He touched the sword, its blade caked with dried blood. Divodas tried to pry open Surapadman’s fingers.

‘Stop,’ commanded Kartik. ‘Surapadman will carry his sword into the other world.’

Divodas immediately withdrew his hand and fell back.

Surapadman’s mouth was half open. The ancient Vedic hymns on death claim that the soul leaves the body along with the last breath. Therefore, the mouth is open at the point of death. But there is a superstition that the mouth should be closed quickly after death, lest an evil spirit enters the soulless body.

Kartik closed Surapadman’s mouth gently.

‘Find the chief Brahmin,’ said Kartik. ‘Prepare Surapadman’s body. He shall be cremated like the prince that he was.’

Divodas nodded.

Kartik turned to Bhagirath. ‘We shall wait till my brother returns. Surapadman will then be cremated with full state honours.’



Ganesh stood at the ramparts of the Magadhan fort, watching the great Sarayu merge into the mighty Ganga. The setting sun had tinged the waters a brilliant orange. King Mahendra and the citizens of Magadh, stunned by the complete annihilation of their army and the death of their Prince Surapadman, had surrendered meekly when Ganesh’s forces had entered the city. He did not expect any rebellion, since there were practically no soldiers left in Magadh. Ganesh planned to leave a small force of ten thousand soldiers to man the fort and blockade any Ayodhya ships. He would sail out with his other soldiers to meet with his father’s army in Meluha. They were to leave the next day.

The war in Swadweep had worked perfectly for Ganesh. He was now able to block the movements of the Ayodhyan army with far less soldiers than would have been required if he was besieging Ayodhya itself.

‘What are you thinking, dada?’ asked Kartik.

Ganesh smiled at his brother as he pointed at the confluence. ‘Look at the sangam, where the Sarayu meets the Ganga.’

Even before he turned his gaze, Kartik could hear the swirling waters of the sangam. What he saw was a young, impetuous Sarayu crashing into the mature, tranquil Ganga, jostling for space within her banks. Though she sometimes relented, the Ganga would often push aside the waters of the Sarayu with surprising ease, creating eddies and currents in its wake. This jostling continued till Ganga, the eternal mother, eventually drew the ebullient tributary into her bosom till they could be distinguished no more in the calm flow.

‘There is always unity at the end,’ said Ganesh, ‘and it brings a new tranquillity. But the meeting of two worlds causes a lot of temporary chaos.’

Kartik smiled, bemused.

‘This could not have been avoided,’ said Ganesh. ‘But the stricken visage of King Mahendra was heartbreaking. Every single house in Magadh has lost a son or a daughter in the Battle of Bal-Atibal.’

‘But King Mahendra was the one who had forced Prince Surapadman to attack. He can only blame himself,’ said Kartik. ‘I’ve heard reports that Prince Surapadman had really wanted to remain neutral.’

‘That may be true, Kartik. But that still doesn’t take away from the fact that we have killed half the adult population of Magadh.’

‘We had no choice, dada,’ said Kartik.

‘I know that,’ said Ganesh, turning back to look at the sangam of the Ganga and the Sarayu. ‘The rivers fight with each other with the only currency that they know: water. We humans fight with the only currency that we know in this age: violence.’

‘But how else does one establish one’s standpoint, dada?’ asked Kartik. ‘There are times when reason does not work, and peaceful efforts prove inadequate. Violence is ultimately the last resort. This is the way it has always been. The world will, perhaps, never be any different.’

Ganesh shook his head. ‘It will be, one day. We live in the age of the Kshatriya. That’s why we think that the only currency to bring about change is violence.’

‘Age of the Kshatriya? I’ve never heard of that.’

‘You would have heard of the four yugs, cyclical eras that time traverses repeatedly through a never-ending loop: the Sat yug, Treta yug, Dwapar yug and Kali yug.’

‘Yes.’

‘Within each of these yugs there are smaller cycles dominated by different caste-professions. There is the age of the Brahmin, of the Kshatriya, of the Vaishya and of the Shudra.’

‘Age of the Brahmin, dada? I haven’t heard of that either.’

‘Sure you have. All of us have been told stories of the Prajapati; of a time of magic.’

Kartik smiled. ‘Of course! Knowledge seems like magic to the ignorant.’

‘Yes. The main currency of the age of the Brahmin was knowledge. And in our age, it is violence. Some philosophers believe that after our epoch will be the age of the Vaishya.’

‘And the people in that age will not use violence to establish their writ?’

‘Violence will never die, Kartik. Neither will knowledge. But they will not be the determining factors, since it will be an age dominated by the way of the Vaishya, which is profit. They will use money.’

‘I can’t imagine a world like that, dada.’

‘It will come. I pray that it doesn’t take too long. Not that I’m afraid of violence, but it leaves too many grieving hearts in its wake.’

‘Dada, even if I do believe that such a time will come, are you saying that money will cause less devastation than violence? Will there not be winners and losers even then? Will sadness disappear?’

Ganesh raised his eyebrows, surprised. He smiled and patted his brother on his back. ‘You are right. There will always be winners and losers. For that is the way of the world.’

Kartik put his arm around his brother’s waist as Ganesh put his around Kartik’s shoulders. ‘But that still doesn’t take away from the grief of knowing that we have caused suffering to others.’



‘This may sound strange to you,’ said Shiva, reclining in the comfort of the Lothal governor’s residence. ‘But I feel as if I’ve come home. Meluha is where my journey began.’

Just as Kali had expected, the Lothal governor, Chenardhwaj, had broken ranks with the Meluhan nobility and opened the doors of his city for Shiva’s army, pledging loyalty to the Neelkanth.

‘And this is where it’ll end,’ said Sati. ‘Then we can all go and live in Kailash.’

Shiva smiled. ‘Kailash is not as idyllic as you imagine. It’s a difficult, barren land.’

‘But you will be there. That’ll make it heaven for me.’

Shiva laughed, bent forward and kissed his wife lovingly, holding her close.

‘But first, we need to deal with those who defend the evil Somras,’ said Sati.

‘That has already begun with the defeat of the Magadhans.’

‘Hmmm... that’s true, we can easily blockade the Ayodhyan navy, now that Magadh is firmly in our control. When will Ganesh and Kartik leave for Meluha?’

‘They have left already.’

‘And when do we leave for Mrittikavati?’

‘In a few days.’

Sati had learnt to recognise the resolute expression Shiva now wore and couldn’t help feeling a twinge of anxiety for her homeland. ‘For their own sake, I hope they surrender.’

‘I hope so too.’