by Amish
He then got up, pulled back his hood and removed his mask. Sati could see the tattoo of a black fireball with rays streaming out on the bridge of his nose. Swuth reached behind and pulled out a sword from a scabbard tied across his back. Unlike all his other weapons, this sword was marked. It was marked with the name of their God, Aten. Below that had been inscribed the name of the devotee, Swuth. The blade had never been used before. It had but one purpose alone: to taste the blood of the final victim. Thereafter, the sword would never be used again. It would be worshipped by Swuth and his descendants.
Swuth bowed low before Sati, pointed at the black tattoo on the bridge of his nose and repeated an ancient vow.
‘The fire of Aten shall consume you. And the honour of putting out your fire shall purify me.’
Sati didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She continued to stare silently at Swuth.
Swuth went down on one knee. He had to give Sati an honourable death; beheading her was out of the question. He pointed his sword at her heart, holding the hilt with his thumb facing up. He pressed his other hand into the back of the hilt to provide support.
Ready in every way, Swuth stared back at Sati, at a face that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, and whispered, ‘Killing you shall be my life’s honour, My Lady.’
‘NOOOOOOOO!’
A loud scream came wafting in from the distance.
An arrow whizzed past and pierced Swuth’s hand. As his sword dropped to the ground, a surprised Swuth turned to find another arrow flying straight into his shoulder.
‘Run!’ screamed the assassins.
One of them picked up Swuth and started dragging him along.
‘Noooo!’ roared Swuth, struggling against his people, who were bodily carrying him back. Not killing the final victim was one of the greatest sins for the followers of Aten. But his people wouldn’t leave him behind.
Nearly a thousand Meluhans had reached Sati, a desperately distraught Daksha and Veerini in the lead.
‘S-A-T-I-I-I-I-I,’ screamed Daksha, his face twisted in agony.
‘DON’T TOUCH ME!’ bellowed Sati as she collapsed to the ground.
Daksha buckled, crying inconsolably, digging his nails into his face.
‘Sati!’ screamed Veerini as she lifted her daughter into her arms.
‘Maa...’ whispered Sati.
‘Don’t talk. Relax,’ cried Veerini, before frantically looking back. ‘Get the doctors! Now!’
‘Maa...’
‘Be quiet, my child.’
‘Maa, my time has come...’
‘No! No! We’ll save you! We’ll save you!’
‘Maa, listen to me!’ said Sati.
‘My child...’
‘My body will be handed over to Shiva.’
‘Nothing will happen to you,’ sobbed Veerini. The Queen of Meluha turned around once again. ‘Will someone get the doctors?! Now!’
Sati held her mother’s face with surprising strength. ‘Promise me! Only to Shiva!’
‘Sati...’
‘Promise me!’
‘Yes, my child, I promise.’
‘And, both Ganesh and Kartik will light my pyre.’
‘You’re not going to die!’
‘Both Ganesh and Kartik! Promise me!’
‘Yes, yes. I promise.’
Sati slowed her breathing down. She had heard what she needed to. She blocked out the weeping she could hear all around her. She rested her head in her mother’s lap and looked towards the peace conference building. The doors were open. Lord Ram and Lady Sita’s idols were clearly visible. She could feel their kind and welcoming eyes upon her. She would be back with them soon.
A sudden wind picked up, swirling dust particles and leaves lying around her on the ground. Sati gazed at the swirl. The particles appeared to form a figure. She stared hard as Shiva’s image seemed to emerge. She remembered the promise she had made to him; that she would see him when he returned.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
The wind died down just as suddenly. Sati could feel her vision blurring. Blackness appeared to be taking over. Her vision seemed to recede into a slowly reducing circle, with darkness all around it. The wind burst into life once again. The dust particles and leaves rose in an encore and showed Sati the vision she wanted to die with: the love of her life, her Shiva.
I’ll be waiting for you, my love.
Thinking of her Shiva, Sati let her last breath slip quietly out of her body.
Chapter 46
Lament of the Blue Lord
To reach the Meluhan capital as quickly as possible, Shiva had commandeered a merchant ship, which docked at Devagiri a little more than a week later.
‘That must be the ship Sati commandeered,’ said Shiva, pointing towards an anchored empty vessel.
‘It means she’s still in Devagiri,’ said Ganesh. ‘Bhoomidevi, be praised.’
Kali clenched her fist. ‘If they’ve imprisoned her and hope to negotiate, I will personally destroy everything that moves in this city.’
‘Let’s not assume the worst, Kali,’ said Shiva. ‘We all know that whatever may be his faults, the Emperor will not harm Sati.’
‘I agree,’ said Kartik.
‘And don’t forget, Queen Kali,’ said Gopal, ‘We have the fearsome Pashupatiastra. Nobody can stand up to it. Nobody. The mere threat of this terrifying weapon would be enough to achieve our purpose.’
Their conversation came to a stop with the sound of the gangplank crashing on the deck.
‘Where is everyone?’ asked Shiva, frowning as he stepped onto the gangplank.
‘How can the port be left abandoned?’ asked a surprised Ayurvati, who had never seen something like this in all the years that she had lived in Meluha.
‘Let’s go,’ said Shiva, unease trickling down his spine.
The entire brigade marched out in step with the Neelkanth. As Shiva’s men stepped out of the port area their eyes fell on the large peace conference building. Inexplicably, a colony of tents had been set up outside the building.
‘This area has been thoroughly cleaned recently,’ said Gopal. ‘Even the grass has been dug out.’
‘Of course, it would be,’ said Shiva, quietening his fears. ‘They would need a pure area for the conference.’
A phalanx of Brahmins was conducting a puja next to the closed door of the peace conference hall.
‘What are they praying for, Panditji?’ asked Shiva.
‘They’re praying for peace,’ said Gopal.
Shiva found nothing amiss in that.
‘But... They’re praying for peace for the souls,’ said a surprised Gopal. ‘The souls of the dead...’
Shiva instinctively reached to his side and pulled out his sword. His entire brigade did the same.
As they approached the colony, Parvateshwar and Anandmayi stepped out from one of the tents. Behind them was a short man in a simple white dhoti and angvastram, his head shaved clean except for a traditional tuft of hair at the crown signifying his Brahmin lineage, and sporting a long, flowing white beard.
‘Lord Bhrigu,’ whispered Gopal, immediately folding his hands together in a Namaste.
‘Namaste, great Vasudev,’ said Bhrigu politely, walking up to Gopal.
Shiva held his breath as he stared at his real adversary. A man he was meeting for the first time.
‘Great Neelkanth,’ said Bhrigu.
‘Great Maharishi,’ returned Shiva, his grip over his sword tightening.
Bhrigu opened his mouth to say something, hesitated and then looked at Parvateshwar, who had now walked up to stand next to him. Parvateshwar and Anandmayi bent low in respect to their living God. As Parvateshwar rose, Shiva got his first close look at his friend-turned-foe’s face. He was stunned. The Meluhan general’s eyes were red and swollen, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
‘Isn’t the Emperor allowing you into the city?’ asked Shiva.
‘We have chosen not to enter, My Lord,’ said Pa
rvateshwar.
‘Why?’
‘We don’t recognise him as our Emperor anymore.’
‘Is it because you don’t agree with what the conference is trying to achieve? Is that why you are waiting here for us, with your Brahmins chanting death hymns?’
Parvateshwar could not speak.
‘If you want a battle, Parvateshwar, you shall have it,’ announced Shiva.
‘The battle is over, My Lord.’
‘The entire war is over, great Neelkanth,’ added Bhrigu.
Shiva frowned, astonished. He turned towards Gopal.
‘Has Princess Sati managed to convince the Emperor?’ asked Gopal. ‘We want nothing but the end of the Somras. So long as Meluha agrees to those terms, the Neelkanth is happy to declare peace.’
‘My Lord,’ said Parvateshwar as he touched Shiva’s elbow, his eyes brimming with tears. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where?’
Parvateshwar glanced at Shiva briefly, and then looked at the ground again. ‘Please come.’
Shiva sheathed his sword in its scabbard and followed Parvateshwar as he walked towards the peace conference building. He in turn was followed by the others: Bhrigu, Kali, Ganesh, Kartik, Gopal, Veerbhadra, Krittika, Ayurvati, Brahaspati and Tara. Anandmayi remained outside her tent. She couldn’t bear to see what was about to happen.
The Brahmins continued their drone of Sanskrit shlokas as Parvateshwar came up to the building’s entrance. The general took a deep breath and pushed the large doors open. As Shiva walked in he was stunned by what he saw.
Twenty beds had been laid out in the massive hall. Each bed was occupied by an injured soldier, being tended to by a Brahmin doctor. On the first bed lay one of Shiva’s most ardent devotees, the one who had found him in Tibet.
‘Nandi!’ screamed Shiva, racing to the bed in a few giant strides.
Shiva went down on his knees and touched Nandi’s face. He was unconscious. Both his arms had been severed; the left one close to his wrist and the right close to the elbow. There were numerous tiny scars all over his body, perhaps the result of small projectiles. His face was pockmarked with wounds. The bed had been especially designed to keep a part of Nandi’s back untouched. He’d probably suffered a serious injury on his back as well. Shiva could see that the wounds were healing, but it was equally obvious that the injuries were grave and his body would take a long time to recover.
‘The wounds have been left open so they can be aired, great Neelkanth,’ said the Brahmin doctor, avoiding his eyes. ‘We will put in a fresh dressing soon. Major Nandi will heal completely. As will all the other soldiers here.’
Shiva continued to stare at Nandi, gently touching his face, anger rising within him. He got up suddenly, drew his sword out and pointed it straight at Parvateshwar.
‘I should murder the Emperor for this!’ growled Shiva.
Parvateshwar stood paralysed, staring at the ground.
‘If the Emperor thinks he can force my hand by doing this and capturing Sati,’ said Shiva, ‘he is living in a fool’s paradise.’
‘Once didi knows we are here,’ hissed Kali to Parvateshwar, ‘she will escape. And believe me, our wrath will then be terrible. Tell that goat who rules your Empire to release my sister. NOW!’
But Parvateshwar remained still, silent. Then he started shaking imperceptibly.
‘General?’ said Gopal, trying to sound reasonable. ‘There doesn’t have to be any violence. Just let the Princess go.’
Bhrigu attempted to speak to Gopal, but was unable to find the strength to say what he had to.
‘Lord Bhrigu,’ said Gopal, keeping his voice low but stern. ‘We have the Pashupatiastra. We will not hesitate to use it if our demands are not met. Release Princess Sati at once. Destroy the Somras factory in Devagiri. Do it now and we shall leave.’
Bhrigu seemed stunned by the news of the Pashupatiastra. He turned briefly towards Parvateshwar. But the general had failed to even register the risk from the terrible daivi astra. He was crying now, his whole body shaking with misery. He cried for the loss of the woman he had loved like the daughter he’d never had.
‘Parvateshwar,’ snarled Shiva, moving his sword even closer. ‘Don’t test my patience. Where is Sati?’
Parvateshwar finally looked at Shiva as tears streamed down his face.
Shiva stared at him, a horrific foreboding entering his heart. The space between his brows began to throb frantically.
‘My Lord,’ sobbed Parvateshwar. ‘I’m so sorry...’
Shiva’s sword slipped from his weakened grip as an excruciatingly painful thought entered his mind.
With terror-struck eyes, Shiva stepped towards the general. ‘Parvateshwar, where is she?’
‘My Lord... I did not reach in time...’
Shiva pulled Parvateshwar by his angvastram and grabbed his neck hard. ‘PARVATESHWAR! WHERE IS SATI?’
But Parvateshwar could not speak. He continued to cry helplessly.
Shiva noticed that Bhrigu had glanced for one brief moment at a direction behind him. He let go of Parvateshwar and spun around instantly. He saw a large wooden door at the far end of the hall.
‘S-A-T-I-I-I-I,’ screamed Shiva as he ran towards the room.
The Brahmin doctors immediately stepped out of the raging Shiva’s path.
‘SATI!’
Shiva banged on the door. It was locked. He stepped back, gave himself room, and rammed his shoulder into the door. It yielded an inch before the strong lock snapped it back into place.
In that instant, through the crack, Shiva saw a tower made of massive blocks of ice, before the door slammed back. His brow was burning now, a pain impossible for most mortals to tolerate.
One of the Meluhans went running for the keys to the room.
‘SATI!’ cried Shiva and slammed into the door again, splinters sticking into his shoulder, drawing blood.
The door held strong.
Shiva stepped back and kicked hard. It finally fell open with a thundering crash.
The breath was sucked out of the Neelkanth.
At the centre of the room, within the tower of ice, lay the mutilated body of the finest person he had ever known. His Sati.
‘SATIIIII!’
The Neelkanth stormed into the room. His brow felt like something had exploded within. Fire was consuming the area between his eyes.
He banged his fists repeatedly against the large ice block covering Sati’s body, desperately trying to push it away. Blood burst forth from Shiva’s shattered knuckles as he pounded against the immovable block. He kept hammering against the ice, breaking bits of it, trying to shove it away, trying to reach his Sati. His blood started seeping into the frozen water.
‘SATIII!’
Some Meluhans came running in from the other side of the room, sinking hooks into the block of ice covering Sati. They pulled hard. The block gave way and started sliding back. Shiva continued to hit hard, desperately pushing against it.
The block was barely half-way out when Shiva leapt onto the tower. A small depression had been carved in the ice, like a tomb. Within that icy coffin lay Sati’s body, her hands folded across her chest.
Shiva jumped into the tomb and pulled her body up, holding it tight in his arms. She was frozen stiff, her skin dulled to a greyish blue. There was a deep cut across her face, and her left eye had been gouged out. Her left hand had been partially sliced off. There were two gaping holes in her abdomen. Frozen blood, which had seeped out of her multiple injuries, lay congealed all across her mutilated body. Shiva pulled Sati close as he looked up, crying desperately, screaming incoherently, his heart inundated, his soul shattered.
‘SATIIII!’
It was a wail that would haunt the world for millennia.
Chapter 47
A Mother’s Message
The setting sun infused the sky with a profusion of colours, casting a dull glow on the peace conference building. Parvateshwar’s camp had been cleared out. A raging Kartik had t
hreatened to kill every single man present. Not wanting to further excite the justified fury of the Neelkanth’s son, Bhrigu had ordered the retreat of Parvateshwar, Anandmayi and their men into Devagiri, a city they had refused to enter thus far.
Gopal was outside the peace conference building, in the temporary camp that had been set up for Shiva’s brigade. The Vasudev chief was in discussion with the brigade commander on the best course of action. Everyone wanted vengeance, but attacking Devagiri with just one brigade was unwise. Though the main Meluhan army and its allies were waylaid in faraway Mohan Jo Daro by its citizens, Devagiri still had enough troops to defend itself. The defensive features of the capital, moreover, could not be scaled with an offensive force as small as the one under Shiva’s command. Some of them suggested using the Pashupatiastra. Gopal immediately rejected it. There was no question of using the weapon. Both Shiva and he had given their word.
Ayurvati had busied herself in the outer room of the peace conference building, supervising the recovery of Sati’s injured bodyguards. As she attended to the medical infusions being administered to a patient, her eyes strayed towards the locked door of the inner room. Sati’s dead body lay there, with her family mourning quietly behind closed doors. Ayurvati wiped a tear and got back to work. Keeping herself busy was the only way in which she could cope with her grief.
The inner room, where Sati’s body had been kept temporarily, had been built by the Meluhans to fulfil the princess’ last wish of preserving her body till Shiva arrived. Tiny holes had been drilled high in the inner chamber walls with many huge blacksmith’s bellows fitted into them to push in air regularly. A massive wooden circular gear had been constructed outside the peace conference building with twenty bulls harnessed to it. The non-stop circular movement of the beasts made the gear move constantly. This in turn powered the steady squeezing and releasing of the blacksmith bellows, through a system of smaller gears and pulleys, thus pushing in air regularly into the inner room that stored Sati’s body. A screen of jute, cotton and a special cooling material had been hung in front of the bellows. Through a system of pipes and capillaries, water dripped down the screen in a constant stream. The air pushed through the bellows would pass through this screen, and cool down rapidly before flowing into the room. The integrity of the ice tower had been maintained with this classic Meluhan technology, but now the ice within the heart of the tower had begun to gradually melt due to the heat emanating from Shiva’s body and his rapid breathing. This had caused Sati’s corpse to thaw slowly, making her frozen blood melt. A pale, colourless fluid oozed out, appearing almost to weep from her wounds ever so gently.
