‘You are too modest, your Highness.’
Smiling politely, Daksha asked, ‘May I introduce my most important aides?’ Without waiting for an answer, he pointed to the woman on his left, ‘This is my prime minister, Kanakhala. She takes care of all administrative, revenue and protocol matters.’
Kanakhala did a formal namaste to Shiva. Her head was shaved except for a tuft of smooth hair at the back which had been tied in a knot. She had a string called the janau tied across from her left shoulder down to the right side of her torso. She looked young like most Meluhans, but was a little overweight as was clearly evident from the excess flesh she bore between the white blouse and dhoti. She had a dark and incredibly smooth complexion and like all her countrymen, wore jewellery that was restrained and conservative. Shiva noticed that the second amulet on Kanakhala’s arm showed a pigeon. Not a very high chosen-tribe amongst the Brahmins. Shiva bent low and did a formal Namaste in reply.
Pointing to his right, Daksha said, ‘And this is my chief of the armed forces, General Parvateshwar. He looks after the army, navy, special forces, police etc’
Parvateshwar looked like a man that Shiva would think twice about taking on in a battle. He was taller than Shiva and had an immensely muscular physique that dominated the space around him. His curly and long hair had been combed fastidiously and fell neady from under his crown. His smooth, swarthy skin was marked by the proud signs of long years in battle. His body was hairless, in a rare departure from the normally hirsute Kshatriya men who took body hair to be a sign of machismo. Probably to make up for this deficiency, Parvateshwar maintained a thick and long moustache which curled upwards at the edges. His eyes reflected his uncompromisingly strong and righteous character. The second amulet on his arm showed Parvateshwar as a tiger, a very high chosen-tribe amongst the Kshatriyas. He nodded curdy at Shiva. No Namaste. No elaborate bow of his proud head. Shiva, however, smiled warmly and greeted Parvateshwar with a formal Namaste.
‘Please wait outside, Captain,’ advised Parvateshwar, looking at Nandi.
Before Nandi could respond, Shiva cut in. ‘My apologies. But is it alright if Nandi stays here with me? He has been my constant companion since I left my homeland and has become a dear and trusted friend.’
‘Of course he may,’ replied Daksha.
‘Your Highness, it is not appropriate for a Captain to be witness to this discussion,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘In any case, his service rules clearly state that he can only escort a guest into the emperor’s presence and not stay there while a matter of state is discussed.’
‘Oh relax Parvateshwar. You take your service rules too seriously sometimes.’ Turning to Shiva, Daksha continued, ‘If it is alright with you, may we see your neck now?’
Nandi slid behind Shiva to untie the cravat. Seeing the beads darned on the cravat to convey the impression that the throat was covered for religious reasons, Daksha smiled and whispered, ‘Good idea.’
As Nandi pulled Shiva’s cravat off, Daksha and Kanakhala came close to inspect Shiva’s throat in greater detail. Parvateshwar did not step forward but strained his neck slightly to get a better look. Daksha and Kanakhala seemed clearly stunned by what they saw.
The emperor felt the throat and whispered in awe, ‘The colour comes from the inside. It is not a dye. It is true and genuine.’
Daksha and Kanakhala glanced at each other, tears glistening in their astounded eyes. Kanakhala folded her hands into a namaste and began mumbling a chant under her breath. Daksha looked up at Shiva’s face, trying desperately to suppress the ecstasy that coursed through his insides. With a controlled smile, the Emperor of Meluha said, 1 hope we have not done anything to cause you any discomfort since your arrival in Meluha.’
Despite Daksha’s controlled reaction, Shiva could guess that both the emperor and his prime minister were taken aback by his blue throat.
Just how important is this bloody blue throat for the Meluhans?
‘Umm, none at all your Highness,’ replied Shiva as he tied the cravat back around his neck. ‘In fact, my tribe and I have been delighted by the hospitality that we have received here.’
‘I’m glad for that,’ smiled Daksha, bowing his head politely. ‘You may want to rest a litde bit and we could talk in more detail tomorrow. Would you like to shift your residence to the royal citadel? It is rumoured that the quarters here are a litde more comfortable.’
‘That is a very kind offer, your Highness.’
Daksha turned to Nandi and asked, ‘Captain, what did you say your name was?’
‘My name is Nandi, your Highness.’
‘You too are welcome to stay here. Make sure that you take good care of our honoured guest. Kanakhala, please make all the arrangements.’
‘Yes, your Highness.’
Kanakhala called in one of her aides, who escorted Shiva and Nandi out of the royal office.
As Shiva exited the room, Daksha went down on his haunches with great ceremony and touched his head to the ground on which Shiva had just stood. He mumbled a prayer sofdy and stood up again to look at Kanakhala with tears in his eyes. Kanakhala’s eyes, however, betrayed impatience and a touch of anger.
‘I didn’t understand, your Highness,’ glared Kanakhala. ‘The blue mark was genuine. Why did you not tell him?’
‘What did you expect me to do?’ cried a surprised Daksha. ‘This is his second day in Devagiri. You want me to just accost him and tell him that he is the Neelkanth, our saviour? That he has been sent to solve all our problems?’
‘Well, if he has a blue throat, then he is the Neelkanth, isn’t he? And if he is the Neelkanth, then he is our saviour. He has to accept his destiny.’
An exasperated Parvateshwar interjected. ‘I can’t believe that we are talking like this. We are Meluhans! We are the Suryavanshis! We have created the greatest civilisation ever known to man. And some barbarian with no education, no skills, no merit is going to be our saviour? Just because he has a blue throat?’
‘That is what the legend says Parvateshwar,’ countered Kanakhala.
Daksha interrupted both his ministers. ‘Parvateshwar, I believe in the legend. My people believe in the legend. The Neelkanth has chosen my reign to appear. He will transform all of India to the ideals of Meluha — a land of truth, duty and honour. With his leadership, we can end the Chandravanshi crisis once and for all. All the agonies they inflict upon us will be over — from the terrorist attacks to the shortage of Somras to the killing of the Saraswati.’
‘Then why delay telling him, your Highness?’ asked Kanakhala. ‘The more days we waste, the weaker becomes the resolve of our people. You know there was another terrorist attack just a few days back at a village not far from Hariyupa. As our reaction becomes weak, our enemies become bolder, your Highness. We must tell the Lord quickly and announce his arrival to our people. It will give us the strength to fight our cruel enemies.’
‘I will tell him. But I am trying to be more farsighted than you. So far our empire has only faced the morale-sapping influence of fraudulent Neelkanths. Imagine the consequences if people found out that the true Neelkanth has come but refuses to stand by us. First we must be sure that he is willing to accept his destiny. Only then will we announce him to our people. And I think that the best way to convince him is to share the whole truth with him. Once he sees the unfairness of the attacks we face, he will fight with us to destroy evil. If that takes time, so be it. We have waited for centuries for the Neelkanth. A few more weeks will not destroy us.’
CHAPTER 5
Tribe of Brahma
Shiva was walking in the verdant gardens of the royal guest house. His things were being moved into the royal guest house by Nandi and Kanakhala’s efficient aide. Shiva sat down on a comfortable bench overlooking a bed of red and white roses. The charming cool breeze in the open gardens brought a smile to his face. It was early afternoon and the garden was deserted. Shiva’s thoughts kept going back to the conversation he had had with the Emperor in the m
orning. Despite Daksha’s controlled reaction, Shiva could understand that his blue throat was of great significance to the Meluhans, even to the Emperor. It meant that the legend of the Neelkanth, whatever it was, was not restricted to some small sect in Kashmir. If the Emperor himself took it so seriously, all of Meluha must need the help of the Neelkanth.
But what the bloody hell do they want help for? They are so much more advanced than us!
His thoughts were distracted by the sounds of a dhol, a percussion instrument and some ghungroos, anklets worn by dancers. Someone seemed to be practising in the garden. A hedge separated the dance pavilion from the rest of the garden. Shiva, himself a passionate dancer, would normally have stepped in to move to the rhythm of the beat, but his mind was preoccupied. Some words floated in from the group that was dancing.
‘No my lady, you must let yourself go,’ said a distinguished male voice. ‘It’s not a chore that you have to do. Enjoy the dance. You are trying too hard to remember all the steps rather than letting the emotion of the dance flow through you.’
Then a lady’s voice interjected. ‘My lady, Guruji is right. You are dancing correcdy, but not enjoying it. The concentration shows on your face. You have to relax a little bit.’
‘Let me get the steps right first. Then I can learn to enjoy them.’
The last voice made Shiva’s hair stand up on end. It was her. It was Sati. He quickly got up and followed the sound of the voices. Coming up from behind the hedge, he saw Sati dancing on a small platform. She had her hands raised rigidly to her sides as she enacted the various movements of the dance. She danced in accordance with the steps first to the left and then to the right. She moved her shapely hips to the side and placed her hands precisely on her waist, to convey the mood of the dance. He was mesmerised once again.
However, he did notice that though Sati was dancing all her steps correctly, the Guruji was right. She was moving in a mechanical manner; the uninhibited surrender that is characteristic of a natural dancer was absent. The varying emotions of bliss and anger of the story being told were missing in her moves. And unlike a proficient dancer, Sati wasn’t using the entire platform. Her steps were small, which kept her movements constricted to the centre.
The dance teacher sat facing her and playing on a dhol to give Sati her beats. Her companion Krittika sat to the right. It was the dance teacher who noticed Shiva first and immediately stood up. Sati and Krittika turned around as well and were clearly astonished to find Shiva standing in front of them. Unlike Sati, Krittika could not control her surprise and blurted out, ‘Shiva?’
Sati, in her characteristic composed and restrained manner, asked sincerely, ‘Is everything alright, Shiva? Do you need my help for something?’
How have you been? I’ve missed you. Don’t you ever smile?
Shiva continued to stare at Sati, the words running through his mind, not on his lips. A smiling Krittika looked at Sati for her reaction. An even more serious Sati repeated, very politely, ‘Can I help you with something, Shiva?’
‘No, no, I don’t need any help,’ replied Shiva as reality seemed to enter his consciousness again. ‘I just happened to be in the area and heard your dancing. I mean your talk. Your dance steps were not so hard that I could hear it. You were dancing very accurately. Actually, technically it was all...’
Krittika interjected. ‘You know a bit about dancing, do you?’
‘Oh, not much. Just a little,’ said Shiva to Krittika with a smile, before turning rapidly back to Sati. ‘My apologies Sati, but Guruji is right. You were being far too methodical. As they say in the land that I come from, the mudras and the kriyas were all technically correct. But the bhav or emotion was missing. And a dance without bhav is like a body without a soul. When the emotions of the dancer participate, she would not even need to remember the steps. The steps come on their own. The bhav is something that you cannot learn. It comes to you if you can create the space in your heart for it.’
Sati listened patiently to Shiva without saying a word. Her eyebrows were raised slightly as the barbarian spoke. How could he know more than a Suryavanshi about dancing? But she reminded herself that he had saved her life. She was duty bound to honour him.
Krittika, however, took offence at this caste-unmarked foreigner pretending that he knew more about dancing than her mistress. She glowered at Shiva. ‘You dare to think that you know more than one of the best dancers in the realm?’
Shiva gathered he may have caused some offence. He turned to Sati in all seriousness. ‘I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you in any way. Sometimes I just keep talking without realising what I am saying.’
‘No, no’, replied Sati. ‘You did not insult me. Perhaps you are right. I don’t feel the essence of the dance as much as I should. But I am sure that with Guruji’s guidance, I will pick it up in due time.’
Seizing his chance to impress Sati, Shiva said, ‘If it is alright with you, may I perform the dance? I am sure that I am not as technically correct as you. But perhaps, there may be something in the sentiment that will guide me through the correct steps.’
That was wellput! She can’t say no!
Sati looked surprised. This was unexpected. ‘Umm, okay,’ she managed to say.
A delighted Shiva immediately moved to the centre of the stage. He took off the angvastram covering his upper body and tossed it aside. Krittika’s quick anger at the perceived insult to her mistress was forgotten quickly as she sighed at Shiva’s rippling physique. Sati, though, began to wonder how Shiva would bend such a muscular body into the contortions that were required for this style of dancing. Flexibility was usually sacrificed by a human body at the altar of strength.
Playing lightly on his dhol, the Guruji asked Shiva, ‘Tell me the beat that you are comfortable with, young man.’
Shiva folded his hands into a namaste, bent low and said, ‘Guruji, could you just give me a minute please? I need to prepare for the dance.’
Dancing was something Shiva knew as well as warfare. Facing east, he closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. Then he bent down on his knees and reverentially touched the ground with his head. Standing up, he turned his right foot outwards. Then he raised his left leg off the floor in a graceful arching movement till the foot was above knee height, as he bent his right knee slightly to balance himself. His left foot pointed in a direction exactly between the bearing of his right foot and his face. Only a calm breeze broke the almost deathly silence that enveloped the audience. The Guruji, Sati and Krittika looked in amazement at Shiva. They did not understand what he was doing but could feel the energy that Shiva’s stance was emanating.
Shiva raised both his arms in an elegant circular movement to the sides to bring them in line with his shoulder. His right hand was moulded into a position like it was holding an imaginary dumru, a small, handheld percussion instrument. His left hand was open with its palm facing upward, almost like it was receiving some divine energy. He held this pose for some time; as his glowing face showed that Shiva was withdrawing into his own world. Then his right hand moved effortlessly forward, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Its palm was now open and facing the audience. Somehow, the posture seemed to convey a feeling of protection to a very surprised Sati. His left arm then moved slowly from its shoulder height position to come in front of him with the palm facing down. The left arm stopped moving when the hand was pointing almost directiy at the left foot. Shiva held this pose for some time. And then began the dance.
Sati stared in wonder at Shiva. He was performing the same steps as her. Yet it looked like a completely different dance. His hands moved effortlessly as his body moved almost magically.
How could a body this muscular also be so flexible? The Guruji tried helplessly to get his dhol to give Shiva the beats. But clearly that wasn’t necessary. For it was Shiva’s feet which were leading the beat for the dhol!
The dance conveyed the various emotions of a woman. At the beginning it conveyed her feelings of
joy and lust as she cavorted with her husband. Then it conveyed her fury and pain on the wrongful death of her mate. Even with Shiva’s rough masculine body, he managed to convey the tender yet strong emotions of a grieving woman.
Shiva’s eyes were open. But the audience realised that he was oblivious to them. Shiva was in his own world. He did not dance for the audience. He did not dance for appreciation. He did not dance for the music. He danced only for himself. Rather, it almost seemed like his dance was guided by a celestial force. Sati realised that Shiva was right. He had opened himself and the dance had come to him.
After what seemed like an eternity the dance came to an end, with Shiva firmly shutting his eyes. He held the final pose for a long time as the glow slowly left him. It was almost like he was returning to this world. Shiva gradually opened his eyes to find Sati, Krittika and the Guruji gaping at him in complete awe.
The Guruji was the first to find his voice. ‘Who are you?’
‘I am Shiva.’
‘No, no. Not the body. I meant who are you?’
Shiva crooked his eyes together in a frown and repeated, ‘I am Shiva.’
‘Guruji, may I ask a question?’ asked Sati.
‘Of course you may.’
Turning to Shiva, Sati asked, ‘What was that you did before the dance? Was it some kind of preparatory step?’
‘Yes. It’s called the Natarajpose. The pose of the Lord of dance!
‘The Nataraj pose? What does it do?’
‘It aligned my energy to the universal energy so that the dance emerges on its own.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Well, it’s like this: amongst our people, we believe that everything in the world is a carrier of shakti or energy. The plants, animals, objects, our bodies, everything carries and transmits energy. But the biggest carrier of energy that we are physically in touch with is Mother Earth herself — the ground that we walk on.’
‘What does that have to do with your dance?’