Shiva almost choked on a combination of surprise and exasperation.
These people are all mad! Well intentioned, but mad!
‘I have no intentions of becoming a King, Your Highness,’ smiled Shiva. ‘I certainly don’t think of myself as worthy of being called Lord Rudra’s successor. You are a good king and I suggest you continue to serve your people.’
‘But, My Lord...’
‘I have a few requests though, Your Highness,’ interrupted Shiva. He did not want to continue the discussion on his royal antecedents.
‘Anything, My Lord.’
‘Firstly, my wife and I would like our child to be born here. May we impose on your hospitality for this duration?’
‘My Lord, my entire palace is yours. Lady Sati and you can stay here for all time to come.’
Shiva smiled slightly. ‘No, I don’t think we will stay that long. Also, I want to meet the leader of the Brangas in your city.’
‘His name is Divodas, My Lord. I will certainly summon him to your presence. Speaking to anyone else from that unfortunate tribe is useless. Divodas is the only one sensible or capable enough to interact with others. I believe he is out on a trading trip and should be returning by tonight. I’ll ensure that he is called here at the earliest.’
‘Wonderful.’
‘The crowd out there looks like it is slipping out of control, Drapaku,’ pointed Parvateshwar.
Parvateshwar was with Bhagirath, Drapaku and Tratya, the Kashi police chief, upon a raised platform on the Sacred Avenue. It almost seemed like all of Kashi’s 200,000 citizens had descended there to catch a glimpse of the Neelkanth. And the Kashi police appeared woefully ill-trained to manage the crowd. They were polite to a fault, which usually worked with the courteous Kashi citizens. But on an occasion like this, when every person was desperate to jump up front and touch the Lord, the firm hand of the Suryavanshis was called for.
‘I’ll take care of it, General,’ said Drapaku as he bounded off the platform to issue instructions to Nandi waiting at the bottom.
‘But he must not raise his hand,’ said Tratya.
‘He’ll behave as required by the situation, Tratya,’ said Parvateshwar, irritated.
Nandi, on hearing Drapaku’s orders, was off with his platoon. Drapaku, using the hook on his amputated left hand, pulled himself back onto the platform with surprising agility.
‘It’s done, General,’ said Drapaku. ‘That crowd will be pushed back.’
Parvateshwar nodded and turned to look at Shiva and his party. Shiva, holding Sati’s hand, walked slowly with a broad smile, acknowledging almost every single person who screamed out his name. Krittika, Sati’s companion, paced slightly behind Sati while Athithigva, beaming with the commitment of a true devotee, marched silently, with his family and ministers in tow.
‘Chief Tratya,’ shouted a panicked Kashi policeman bounding up the platform.
Tratya looked down. ‘Yes, Kaavas?’
‘A riot is breaking out in the Branga quarter!’
‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
‘They have killed a peacock once again. But this time they were caught red-handed by some of their neighbours, who are swearing retribution for this sin.’
‘I’m not surprised! I don’t know why His Highness insists on keeping those uncivilised dolts in our city. It was only a matter of time before some citizens lost their patience and did something.’
‘What happened?’ asked Parvateshwar.
‘It’s the Brangas. They know that killing peacocks is banned in Kashi as they were Lord Rudra’s favourite amongst the birds. There is a widespread belief that they sacrifice the bird in some bizarre ceremonies in their colony. Now they have been caught red-handed and are going to be taught a lesson.’
‘Why don’t you send some of your men there to break up the riot?’
Tratya looked at Parvateshwar strangely. ‘You won’t understand some things. We accept every community from India in Kashi. All of them live peacefully, making this great city their home. But the Brangas purposely want to infuriate every one of us. This riot is actually a bad path to a good end. Just let it happen.’
Parvateshwar was shocked at the words of the same police chief who had been propagating the virtues of non-violence just a while back. ‘If they have committed a crime, they should be punished by your courts. Your citizens do not have the right to riot and hurt innocent people who may have had nothing to do with the killing of the bird.’
‘It doesn’t matter if some of them were innocent. It’s a small price to pay if it rids the city of the Brangas and their evil ways. I cannot and will not do anything on this.’
‘If you won’t do anything, I will,’ warned Parvateshwar.
Tratya looked at Parvateshwar in exasperation and turned back to look at the Neelkanth’s entourage. Parvateshwar stared hard at Tratya. It took only a moment for him to make up his mind.
‘Drapaku, you have the command,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Make sure the crowd breaks as soon as the Lord is in the Vishwanath temple. Prince Bhagirath, will you accompany me? I would need some help as I don’t know Chandravanshi customs.’
‘It will be my honour, General,’ said Bhagirath.
‘This is not your job,’ said Tratya, raising his voice for the first time in the day. ‘You have no right to interfere in our internal affairs.’
‘He has every right,’ interjected Bhagirath, with the arrogance that only a royal can possess. ‘Have you forgotten Lord Ram’s words? Standing by and doing nothing while a sin is committed is as bad as committing the sin yourself. You should be thanking the General for doing your job.’
Parvateshwar and Bhagirath quickly stepped down from the platform along with Kaavas, ordered Veerbhadra to follow them with a hundred men and rushed towards the Branga quarters.
‘This is tough and tricky,’ said Bhagirath.
They were in front of the Branga quarters. The legendary hoards of gold brought in by the refugees from the East had transformed this particularly congested part of the city into spacious residences. Brangas lived in a lavishly designed and intricately carved multi-storey building, the tallest in all of Kashi, save for the Vishwanath temple and the royal palaces. The building was surrounded on all sides by a large garden, strangely enough both lusciously landscaped and conservatively symmetrical, much like the one at the Narsimha temple in Magadh. A board at its entrance proudly proclaimed the loyalty of its residents: ‘May Lord Rudra bless the most divine land of Branga.’
The city’s congestion and confusion began immediately at the border of the fenced garden. Narrow paths led out into what were suburbs dominated by immigrants from Ayodhya, Magadh, Prayag and other parts of the Chandravanshi confederacy. A little known fact was that even some Meluhans, tired of the regimented life in their homeland and fearful of giving up their birth children at Maika, had found refuge in Kashi. They tolerated the chaos of the Chandravanshi ways for the pleasure of watching their children grow.
‘I’m sure it’s not just anger at their customs,’ said Veerbhadra, taking in the stark difference in the lifestyles of the common folk of Kashi and the Brangas, ‘Resentment about their wealth must also drive the hatred towards the Brangas.’
Bhagirath nodded before turning towards Parvateshwar, who was evaluating the situation. ‘What do you think, General?’
From a perspective of defence, the location was a disaster. The Brangas were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They were surrounded on all four sides by a hostile population living in densely-populated areas along congested streets leading to the Branga quarters. Escape was out of the question. They would be easily mobbed in the narrow lanes. The garden gave them some measure of protection. Any mob attacking the Brangas would be exposed in that area for at least a minute till they reached the building itself.
The Brangas, perhaps always fearful of their status in Kashi, had stocked the roof of their building with a huge horde of rocks. Thrown from that height, the rocks wer
e like missiles, capable of causing serious injury, possibly even death if it hit the right spot.
The Kashi mob, meanwhile, was releasing dogs, which the Brangas considered unclean, into the closed compound. They knew the Brangas would respond with stones to chase the animals back. Parvateshwar realised that in this battle of attrition, it was a matter of time before the Branga rocks ran out and they were susceptible to a full frontal attack. Outnumbered at more than a hundred to one, despite the fact that their enemies were armed with such laughable weapons as kitchen knives and washing clubs, the Brangas had little chance of survival.
‘It doesn’t look good for the Brangas,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Can we reason with the Kashi mob?’
‘I already tried, General,’ said Bhagirath. ‘They will not listen. They believe the Brangas can buy out the courts with their gold.’
‘It’s probably true,’ mumbled the Kashi Captain Kaavas, quietly revealing his own leanings.
Bhagirath turned towards Kaavas, who immediately recoiled with fear, for Bhagirath’s reputation was legendary in Kashi.
‘You don’t agree with the mob, do you?’ asked Bhagirath.
Kaavas’ face glowered, ‘I detest the Brangas. They are dirty scoundrels who break every law, even as they throw their gold around.’ Having said his piece, Kaavas seemed to calm down. He looked down and whispered. ‘But is this the way they should be treated? Would Lord Rudra have done this? No, Your Highness.’
‘Then find us a solution.’
Pointing to the angry Kashi citizens surrounding them, Kaavas said, ‘This horde will not back off till the Brangas are punished in some form, Prince Bhagirath. How can we ensure that, while keeping the Brangas alive and safe? I don’t know.’
‘What if the Suryavanshis attack them?’ asked Parvateshwar, shocked at the effective but borderline ethical solution that had entered his mind.
Bhagirath smiled immediately, for he could suspect where Parvateshwar was going. ‘We’ll use the batons of the Kashi police, not our weapons. We’ll only injure, not kill.’
‘Exactly,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘The mob will get its justice and back off. The Brangas will be injured, but alive. I know this is not entirely right. But sometimes, the only way to prevent a grave wrong is to commit a small wrong. I will have to take full responsibility for this and answer to the Parmatma.’
Bhagirath smiled softly. Some Chandravanshi ways were entering Parvateshwar’s psyche. It had not escaped his notice that his elder sister had been lavishing attention on the Meluhan General.
Parvateshwar turned to Kaavas. ‘I will need a hundred batons.’
Bhagirath shot off with Kaavas towards the Sacred Avenue. They were back in no time. Parvateshwar had meanwhile spoken to the leaders of the Kashi mob, promising them justice if they dropped their weapons. They waited patiently for the Suryavanshis to deliver.
Parvateshwar gathered the Suryavanshis in front of him. ‘Meluhans, do not use your swords. Use the batons. Limit the blows to their limbs, avoid their heads. Keep your shield rigidly in the tortoise formation. Rocks from that height can kill.’
The Suryavanshis stared at their General.
‘This is the only way the Brangas can be saved,’ continued Parvateshwar.
The Meluhans moved quickly into battle formation, with Parvateshwar, Bhagirath and Veerbhadra in the lead. Kaavas, who was unfamiliar with such tactics, was placed in the middle, where it was safest. As the soldiers marched into the Branga garden, there was a hailstorm of stones. Their shields kept them safe as they strode slowly but surely towards the building entrance.
The entrance itself was, naturally, narrower than the garden path. The tortoise formation would have to be broken here. Parvateshwar ordered a double file charge into the building, shields held left-right to prevent attacks from the sides. He had assumed the rocks could not be used within the building. A grave miscalculation.
‘What a statue,’ whispered Sati, shuddering slightly at the awe-inspiring sight of Lord Rudra.
Shiva and Sati had just entered the massive Vishwanath temple.
The temple, built a little distance away from the Brahma Ghat, was an imposing structure. It wasn’t just the gargantuan height of one hundred metres, but also the overwhelming simplicity of the edifice that inspired wonder. An open garden, built in the symmetrical style of Lord Rudra’s native land, provided the entry from the Sacred Avenue to the temple. The red sandstone structure, almost the colour of blood, was startlingly sober. The giant platform, almost twenty metres in height, which soared from the farthest point of the garden, had absolutely no carvings or embellishments, unlike any other temple Shiva had seen so far. A hundred steps had been carved into the platform. Devotees, who reached atop the platform, would be stunned by the main temple spire, again of red sandstone, which soared an improbable eighty metres. Just like the platform, the main temple also had no carvings. There were a hundred square pillars to hold up the spire. Unlike other temples, the sanctum sanctorum was in the centre and not at the far end. Within the sanctum was the statue that drew devotees from across the land: The formidable Lord Rudra.
Legend had it that Lord Rudra mostly worked alone. He had no known friends whose stories could be immortalised in frescoes on the temple walls. There was no favourite devotee whose statue could be placed at his feet. The only partner Lord Rudra had, the only one he listened to, was Lady Mohini. Hence Krittika found it odd that her legendary beauty had not been rendered into an idol.
‘How come Lady Mohini’s statue is not here?’ whispered Krittika to an aide of Athithigva.
‘You know the stories of the Lord well,’ replied the aide. ‘Come.’
She led Krittika to the other side of the sanctum. To her surprise, Krittika discovered that the sanctum had another entrance from the back. Through that entrance a devotee would see an idol of Lady Mohini, rumoured to be the most gorgeous woman of all time, sitting on a throne. Her beautiful eyes were in an enchanting half stare. But Krittika noticed that in her hand, surreptitiously hidden at first view, was a knife. Mohini, ever capricious and deadly. Krittika smiled. It seemed fitting that the idols of Lady Mohini and Lord Rudra were back to back. They shared a complex relationship; partners but with vastly different outlooks.
Krittika bowed low to Lady Mohini. While some refused to honour her as Vishnu, Krittika was amongst the majority which believed that Lady Mohini deserved the title of the Propagator of Good.
On the other side of the sanctum, Shiva was staring at Lord Rudra’s idol. The Lord was an imposing and impossibly muscled man. His hirsute chest sported a pendant. Upon closer examination, Shiva realised the pendant was a tiger claw. The Lord’s shield had been laid at the side of his throne and while the sword too rested along the seat, the Lord’s hand was close to the hilt. Clearly, the sculptor wanted to signify that while the most ferocious warrior in history had renounced violence, his weapons lay close at hand, ready to be used on anyone who dared to break his laws. The sculptor had faithfully recreated the proud battle scars that must have adorned Lord Rudra’s body. One of the scars ran across his face from his right temple to his left cheek. The Lord also sported a long beard and moustache, many strands of which had been painstakingly curled with beads rolled into them.
‘I have never seen anyone in India wear beads in their beard,’ said Shiva to Athithigva.
‘This is the way of the Lord’s native people in Pariha, My Lord.’
‘Pariha?’
‘Yes, My Lord. The land of fairies. It lies beyond the western borders of India, beyond the Himalayas, our great mountains.’
Shiva turned back to the Lord’s idol. The strongest feeling he had in the temple was fear. Was it wrong to feel like this about a God? Wasn’t it always supposed to be love? Respect? Awe? Why fear?
Because sometimes, nothing clarifies and focuses the mind except fear. Lord Rudra needed to inspire fear to achieve his goals.
Shiva heard the voice in his head. It appeared to come from a distance, but it w
as unquestionably clear. He knew it was a Vasudev Pandit.
Where are you, Panditji?
Hidden from view, Lord Neelkanth. There are too many people around.
I need to talk to you.
All in good time, my friend. But if you can hear me, can’t you hear the desperate call of your most principled follower?
Most principled follower?
The voice had gone silent. Shiva turned around, concerned.
Chapter 6
Even a Mountain Can Fall
‘Take cover!’ shouted Parvateshwar.
Bhagirath and he had entered the Branga building to be greeted by a volley of stones.
The building had a huge atrium at the entrance, with a sky light. It was a brilliant design that allowed natural sunlight and fresh air to come in unhindered. There was a cleverly constructed retractable ceiling to cover the atrium during the rains. At present, however, the atrium was like a valley of death for the Suryavanshis, surrounded as it was on all sides by balconies from where the Brangas rained stones upon them.
A sharp missile hit Parvateshwar on his left shoulder. He felt his collar bone snap. A furious Parvateshwar drew his baton high and bellowed, ‘Har Har Mahadev!’
‘Har Har Mahadev!’ yelled the Suryavanshis.
They were gods! Mere stones wouldn’t stop them. The Suryavanshis charged up the stairs, clubbing all who came in their path, including women. But even in their fury, they were mindful of Parvateshwar’s instructions: No strikes on the head. They injured the Brangas, but killed none.
The Brangas started falling back, faced with the relentless and disciplined Suryavanshi attack. Soon the Suryavanshis were charging up the building to the top. Parvateshwar found it strange that there appeared to be no leader. The Brangas were just a random mob, which was fighting heroically, but in a disastrously incompetent manner. By the time the Suryavanshis reached the top, practically all the Brangas were on the floor, writhing in agony. Injured, but alive.