‘But Sati...,’ said Kali, trying to intervene.
‘No arguments, Kali,’ said Sati. ‘Both of you are coming to Kashi. We travel when you are strong enough to do so.’
Kali stared at Sati, at a loss for words.
‘You are my sister. I don’t care what society says. If they accept me, they will accept you. If they reject you, I leave this society too.’
Kali smiled slightly, teary eyed. ‘I was very wrong about you, didi.’
It was the first time Kali had called Sati her elder sister. Sati smiled and embraced Kali.
Chapter 17
The Curse of Honour
It had been ten days since the battle of the Madhumati. The ship carrying the now reconciled enemies — the Suryavanshis and Parshuram’s men — was anchored where the Madhumati broke off from the Branga. They were waiting for their comrades to sail upriver from Brangaridai and join them.
A Branga Pandit had been called aboard to preside over Parvateshwar and Anandmayi’s wedding. Bhagirath desired to conduct the ceremony at Ayodhya with regal pomp and grandeur befitting a princess. But Anandmayi would have none of it. She did not want to take any chances. Parvateshwar had taken his own sweet time to say yes and she wanted to have their relationship iron-tight ‘as soon as humanly possible.’ As Shiva had blessed the couple, all arguments about the hastiness of the ceremony had come to an end.
Shiva was standing at the ship railing, smoking with Veerbhadra.
‘My Lord!’
Shiva turned around.
‘By the Holy Lake! What are you doing, Parshuram?’ asked a horrified Shiva. ‘You should be resting.’
‘I’m bored, My Lord.’
‘But you were up for a long time yesterday for the wedding. Two days of continuous activity will be a bit too much. What does Ayurvati have to say?’
‘I will go back in a little while, My Lord,’ said Parshuram. ‘Let me stand next to you for some time. It soothes me.’
Shiva raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not special. It’s all in your mind.’
‘I disagree, My Lord. But even if what you’re saying is true, I’m sure you will find it in your heart to let me indulge my mind if it doesn’t hurt anyone.’
Shiva burst out laughing. ‘You’re quite good with words for a...’
Shiva suddenly stopped.
‘For a bandit,’ grinned Parshuram.
‘I meant no insult. I apologise.’
‘Why apologise, My Lord? It is the truth. I was a bandit.’
Veerbhadra had become increasingly fascinated with this strange bandit. Intelligent, disturbed and ferociously devoted to Shiva. He spoke up, changing the topic, ‘You were delighted about General Parvateshwar and Princess Anandmayi’s wedding. I found that interesting.’
‘Well, they are completely different,’ said Parshuram. ‘In terms of personality, thought, belief and region. Actually, pretty much everything. They are polar opposites. Extremes of the Chandravanshi and Suryavanshi thought processes. Traditionally, they should be enemies. Yet they found love in each other. I like stories like that. Reminds me of my parents.’
Shiva frowned. He remembered the terrible rumour he had heard about Parshuram beheading his own mother. ‘Your parents?’
‘Yes, My Lord. My father, Jamadagni, was a Brahmin, a scholarly man. My mother, Renuka, was from a Kshatriya clan. Rulers who were vassals of the Brangas.’
‘So how did they get married?’ smiled Shiva.
‘Due to my mother,’ smiled Parshuram. ‘She was a very strong woman. My parents were in love. But it was her strength of character and determination that propelled their love to its logical conclusion.’
Shiva smiled.
‘She worked at his gurukul. That in itself was against the norm in her clan.’
‘How is working in a school a rebellion?’
‘Because in her clan it was prohibited for women to go out and work.’
‘They couldn’t work? Why? I know that some clans have rules that do not allow women on the battlefield. Even the Gunas had that rule. But why against work in general?’
‘Because my mother’s clan was amongst the stupidest on the planet,’ said Parshuram. ‘My mother’s people believed a woman should remain at home. That she shouldn’t meet “strange” men.’
‘What rubbish!’ said Shiva.
‘Absolutely. In any case, like I said, my mother was wilful. And, also her father’s darling. So she convinced him to allow her to work at my father’s gurukul.’
Shiva smiled.
‘Of course, my mother had her own agenda,’ said Parshuram, ‘She was desperately in love. She needed time to convince my father to give up his vows and marry her.’
‘Give up vows?’
‘My father was a Vasudev Brahmin. And a Vasudev Brahmin cannot marry. Other castes within the Vasudevs can, but not Brahmins.’
‘There are non-Brahmins amongst the Vasudevs?’
‘Of course. But Brahmins steer the community. To ensure that they remain true to the cause of the Vasudevs, they have to give up all earthly attachments like wealth, love and family. Therefore, one of their vows is that of lifelong celibacy.’
Shiva frowned. What is this obsession among the Indians about giving up earthly attachments? How, in the Holy Lake’s name, can that guarantee that you will evolve into a better human being?
‘So,’ continued Parshuram, his eyes crinkling, ‘my mother finally convinced my father to break the rules. He was in love with her, but she gave him the courage to give up his Vasudev vows so he could spend his life with her. Even more, she also convinced her own father to bless their relationship. Like I said, when she wanted something, she made it happen. My parents got married and had five sons. I was the youngest.’
Shiva looked at Parshuram. ‘You are really proud of your mother, aren’t you?’
‘Oh yes. She was quite a woman!’
‘Then why did you...’
Shiva stopped talking. I shouldn’t have said that.
Parshuram became serious. ‘Why did I... behead her?’
‘You don’t have to speak about it. I cannot even imagine the pain.’
Parshuram took a deep breath, sliding down to sit on the deck. Shiva sat on his haunches, touching Parshuram on his shoulder. Veerbhadra stood, staring directly into Parshuram’s pain-ridden eyes.
‘You don’t need to say anything, Parshuram,’ said Shiva.
Parshuram closed his eyes, right hand over his heart. He chanted repeatedly, bowing to Lord Rudra in his prayer. ‘Om Rudraiy namah. Om Rudraiy namah.’
Shiva watched the Brahmin warrior quietly.
‘I have never spoken about it with anyone, My Lord,’ said Parshuram. ‘It was the trigger that set my life on the path it has taken.’
Shiva reached out and touched Parshuram’s shoulder again.
‘But I must tell you. If there is one person who can heal me, it is you. I had just completed my studies. And like my father, I too wanted to be a Vasudev. He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want any of his sons to become Vasudevs. He had been expelled from their tribe when he had chosen to marry my mother. He didn’t want any of us to suffer his fate in the future.’
Veerbhadra sat down as well, all ears for Parshuram’s story.
‘But I had my mother’s doggedness in me. Unlike my brothers, I was determined. I thought I would enter the tribe of Vasudevs as a Kshatriya, as this way, I wouldn’t be bound by their detachment vows. I trained as a warrior. My father sent a letter to Ujjain, the Vasudev capital, to a few elders who still sympathised with him and requested them to consider my application. When the day finally arrived, I departed to the closest Vasudev temple for my examination.’
What did this have to do with his mother?
‘What I didn’t know when I left was that my grandfather had died. He was the only one holding back my mother’s barbarian horde of a family. The moment his influence was gone, they decided to do what they had always wanted to do. Honour kill.’
‘Honour kill?’
Parshuram looked at Shiva. ‘When the people in the clan believe a woman in their community has insulted the honour of her family, the clan has the right to kill that woman and everyone else with her to avenge their loss of face.’
Shiva just stared, stunned.
What honour can there be in this barbarism?
‘The men of my mother’s family, her own brothers and uncles, attacked my father’s gurukul.’
Parshuram stopped talking. A long-held back tear escaped from his eyes.
‘They...’ Parshuram held his breath and then found the strength to continue. ‘They killed my brothers, all my father’s students. They tied my mother to a tree and forced her to watch as they tortured my father for an entire day, doing unspeakable horrors. Then, they beheaded him.’
Veerbhadra squirmed, unable to comprehend such insanity, such evil.
‘But they didn’t kill my mother. They told her that they wanted her to live, to relive that day again and again. That she had to serve as an example to the other women so that they would never dare bring dishonour to their families. I returned to find my father’s gurukul destroyed. My mother was sitting outside our house, holding my father’s severed head in her lap. She looked like her soul had been burnt alive. Her eyes wide, blank. A shadow of the woman she had been, broken and brutalised.’
Parshuram stopped talking and turned to look at the river. This was the first time he was talking about his mother since that terrible day. ‘She looked at me as though I was a stranger. And then she said words that would haunt me forever. She said: “Your father died because of me. It is my sin. I want to die like him.”’
Shiva’s mouth fell open in shock, his heart going out to the unfortunate Brahmin.
‘At first I didn’t understand. And then she commanded: “Behead me!” I didn’t know what to do. I hesitated. Then she said once again: “I am your mother. I am ordering you. Behead me.”’
Shiva pressed Parshuram’s shoulder.
‘I had no choice. My mother was catatonic. Without my father’s love, she was nothing but an empty shell. As I picked up my axe to carry out her order, she looked straight into my eyes: “Avenge your father. He was the finest man that God ever created. Avenge him. Kill every single one of them! Every single one!”’
Parshuram fell silent. Shiva and Veerbhadra were too stunned to react. The only sounds were those of the somnolent waves of the Madhumati breaking gently against the ship.
‘I did as she said. I beheaded her,’ said Parshuram, taking a deep breath and wiping his tears. Then his eyes lit in remembered anger as he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘And then I hunted down every single one of those bastards. I beheaded every single one of them. Every single one. The Vasudevs expelled me. I had killed people without the permission of their tribe, they said. Without a fair trial, they said. I had committed a wrong, they said. Did I, My Lord?’
Shiva looked straight into Parshuram’s eyes, his heart heavy. He could feel the Brahmin’s intense pain. He knew that Lord Ram would have probably acted as the Vasudevs had. The great Suryavanshi would have wanted the criminals to be punished but only after a fair trial. However, he also knew that if anyone had dared to do this to his own family, he would have burnt down their entire world. ‘No. You didn’t do anything wrong. What you did was in accordance with justice.’
Parshuram sighed as a dam burst.
What I did was just.
Shiva held Parshuram’s shoulder. Parshuram covered his eyes with his hand, sniffing. At long last he shook his head slightly and looked up. ‘The Branga king sent bands of Kshatriyas to arrest me. To apparently bring me to justice for annihilating his most important vassals. Twenty–one times they sent brigades to catch me. And twenty–one times I beat them. Finally they stopped.’
‘But how did you fight the Brangas alone?’ asked Veerbhadra.
‘I wasn’t alone. Some angels knew of the injustice I had suffered. They brought me to this haven, introduced me to the few unfortunate, ostracised brigands who lived here. I could build my own army. They gave me medicines so that I could survive despite the unclean waters here and food till I had established my people in the forests. They gave me weapons to fight the Brangas. And all this without any expectations from me. The battles with Brangaridai were also brought to an end because they finally threatened the Branga king. And King Chandraketu could not refuse them. They are the best people amongst us all. Angels who fight for the oppressed.’
Shiva frowned. ‘Who?’
‘The Nagas,’ replied Parshuram.
‘What?!’
‘Yes, My Lord. That is why you are looking for them, right? If you want to find Evil, you must make the Good your ally, right?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘They never kill innocents. They fight for justice, despite the injustices they endure. They help the oppressed whenever and wherever they can. They truly are the best amongst us all.’
Shiva stared hard at Parshuram, not saying a word. Completely staggered.
‘You are looking for their secret, aren’t you?’ asked Parshuram.
‘What secret?’
‘I don’t know. But I have heard that the secret of the Nagas has a deep connection to Evil. Isn’t that why you are searching for them?’
Shiva didn’t answer. He was looking into the horizon, deep in thought.
It had been two weeks since the battle with the liger’s pride. All the injured soldiers were well on the path to recovery. But Ganesh’s wounded leg had still not completely healed.
Sati had been supervising the building of some defences at the Icchawar village perimeter as a precaution against future animal attacks. She returned to the camp to see Kali changing the dressing on Ganesh’s wound.
Both Kali and Ganesh, perhaps encouraged by Sati’s complete acceptance of their appearance, had not worn their masks for the last two weeks. The Chandravanshi soldiers, however, still averted their eyes in dread when they saw them.
Kali had just finished applying the neem bandage. She patted Ganesh on his head and rose to walk towards the fire at one corner of the clearing. Sati saw the gesture and smiled. She turned to instruct Kaavas to carry on with his work and walked up to Kali.
‘How is his wound?’
‘It’ll take another week, didi. The healing process has slowed down since last week.’
Sati grimaced, unhappy. ‘The poor child lost a lot of blood and flesh.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Kali. ‘He is very strong. He will recover.’
Sati smiled. Kali threw the bandage into the fire. The paste on the bandage, having drawn out much of the infection, burned a deep blue.
Sati looked up at Kali, took a deep breath and asked what had been troubling her since they had met. ‘Why?’
Kali frowned.
‘You are good people. I’ve seen the way you treat Ganesh and your men. You are tough, but fair. Then why did you do all those terrible things?’
Kali held her breath. She looked up at the sky and shook her head. ‘Think again, didi. We have not done anything wrong.’
‘Kali, you and Ganesh may not have personally done anything wrong. But your people committed grave crimes. They killed innocents.’
‘My people work according to my orders, didi. If you want to blame them, then you cannot absolve me. Think once again. No innocents were killed in our attacks.’
‘I’m sorry Kali, but that is not true. You attacked non-combatants. I have been thinking for some time. I agree that the Nagas are treated unfairly. The way Meluha treats Naga babies is unjust. But that doesn’t mean every Meluhan, even if he personally hasn’t done anything to hurt you, is your enemy.’
‘Didi, you think we would attack people just because they were a part of a system which humiliated and wounded us? That is wrong. We never attacked anyone who hasn’t directly harmed us.’
‘You did. Your people attacked temples. They attacked innocents. They killed vul
nerable Brahmins.’
‘No. In every attack, we would let all the people except the temple Brahmins leave. Everyone. No innocents were killed. Ever.’
‘But you did kill temple Brahmins. They’re not warriors. They’re innocent.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they directly hurt our people.’
‘What? How? What wrong did the temple Brahmins do to you?’
‘I’ll tell you.’
Shiva’s caravan of ships was anchored at Vaishali, a pretty city on the Ganga river and an immediate neighbour of Branga. It had been three weeks since Shiva had allied with Parshuram. Vaishali had a massive Vishnu temple dedicated to the legendary fish god, Lord Matsya. Shiva was deeply disturbed by what Parshuram had said about the Nagas. He wanted to speak with a Vasudev, one who was other than the ostracised Vasudev Brahmin-Kshatriya on board. Time and space had dimmed his anger towards the tribe.
The temple was very close to the city’s harbour. A massive crowd, including the King, had been waiting to receive him, but Shiva had requested that he be allowed to meet them later. He headed straight for the Matsya temple. It was a little taller than seventy metres, comfortably above the minimum height needed for the Vasudevs to transmit radio waves.
The temple was on the banks of the Ganga. Usually temples would have had most of the space outside dedicated to landscaped gardens or grand enclosures. This temple was different. The land outside was dominated by intricate water bodies. Water from the Ganga had been routed into a system of elaborate canals around the main temple. And these canals made some of the most ethereal designs that Shiva had ever seen. It formed a map of ancient India at a time when sea-levels were a lot lower. It told the story of Lord Manu and how he had led his band of followers out of his devastated homeland, the Sangamtamil. Despite his urgency to meet the Vasudevs, Shiva held back, enthralled by the breathtaking designs. At long last, he tore his eyes away and walked up the steps to the main temple. Crowds hung outside, waiting quietly in accordance with their Neelkanth’s request.
Shiva looked at the sanctum sanctorum at the far corner of the temple. It was far bigger than in any other temple he had seen so far. Probably to accommodate the enormous statue of its reigning God. On a raised platform lay Lord Matsya, a giant fish, who had helped bring Manu and his band of refugees from Sangamtamil to safety. Manu, the founder of the Vedic civilisation, had made it clear in his guidelines to his descendants that Lord Matsya must always be respected and worshipped as the first Lord Vishnu. If any of them were alive, it was due to the benefaction of the great Lord Matsya.