The Oath of The Vayuputras (56 page)
Shiva smiled as he understood who amongst the Vayuputras was helping him. But he was still intrigued by Scheherazade, or whatever her real name was.
‘Why are you helping us?’ asked Shiva.
‘Because I’ve been told to do so.’
‘I don’t believe that. Something else is driving you. Why are you helping us?’
Scheherazade smiled sadly and looked at the carpet. Then she turned towards the balcony, staring into the dark night beyond. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and turned back towards Shiva. ‘Because there was a man whom I had loved once, who had told me that the Somras was turning evil. And I didn’t believe him at the time.’
‘Who is this man?’ asked Gopal.
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ said Scheherazade. ‘He is dead. He was killed, perhaps by those who’d wanted to stop him. Ending the reign of the Somras is my way of apologising...’
Shiva leaned towards her, looked straight into Scheherazade’s eyes and whispered, ‘Tara?’
A stunned Scheherazade pulled back. Nobody had called her by that name in years. Shiva continued to observe her eyes.
‘By the Holy Lake,’ he whispered. ‘It is you.’
Scheherazade did not say anything. Her relationship with Brahaspati had been kept a secret. Many amongst the Parihans believed that the Somras was still a force for Good, and that the former chief scientist of Meluha was deeply biased and misguided about it. Tara would have preferred not having to live in Pariha as Scheherazade. But her presence here had served a purpose for her guru, Lord Bhrigu. Believing Brahaspati was dead, she had found no reason to return to her homeland.
‘But you are Lord Bhrigu’s student,’ said Shiva. ‘Why are you going against him?’
‘I’m not Tara.’
‘I know you are,’ said Shiva. ‘Why are you going against your guru? Do you believe that it was Lord Bhrigu who got Brahaspati killed at Mount Mandar?’
Scheherazade stood up and turned to leave. Shiva rose quickly, stretched out and held her hand. ‘Brahaspati is not dead.’
A dumbstruck Scheherazade stopped dead in her tracks.
‘Brahaspati is alive,’ said Shiva. ‘He is with me.’
Tears poured from Scheherazade’s eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Shiva stepped forward and repeated gently. ‘He is with me. Your Brahaspati is alive.’
Scheherazade kept crying, tears of confused happiness flowing down her cheeks.
Shiva gently held her hand in his own. ‘Tara, you will come back with us when we’re done here. I’ll take you back. I’ll take you back to your Brahaspati.’
Scheherazade collapsed into Shiva’s arms, inconsolable in her tears. She would be Tara once again.
The strategy that Tara had suggested worked like a charm. The Amartya Shpand was genuinely taken by surprise when Gopal entered their audience chamber without Shiva. When he raised the issue of Maharishi Bhrigu’s misuse of the
daivi astras
, they knew that they had been cornered. They had no choice but to grant Gopal an audience with the Mithra. That was the law.
The following day, Shiva and Gopal were led into the official audience hall and residence of the Mithra. It had been built at one end of the city, the last building abutting the Mountain of Mercy. Unlike the rest of Pariha, this structure was incredibly modest. It had a simple base made of stone, which covered the water channel that emerged from the mountain. On it were constructed austere pillars, which supported a wooden roof four metres high. On entry, one immediately stepped into a simple audience hall furnished with basic chairs and sombre carpets. The Mithra’s personal quarters lay farther inside, separated by stone walls and a wooden door. Shiva could sense that this was almost a stone replica of a large ceremonial tent, the wooden tent-poles having been converted to stone pillars and the cloth canopy into a wooden roof. In a way, this was a link to the nomadic past of Lord Rudra’s people, when everybody lived in simple, easily-built tents that could be dismantled and moved at short notice. Like a tribal leader of the old code, the Mithra lived in penurious simplicity while his people lived in luxury. The only indulgence that the Mithra had allowed himself was the beautiful garden that surrounded his abode. It was bountiful in its design, precise in its symmetry and extravagant in its colourful flora.
Shiva and Gopal were left alone in the audience hall, and the doors were shut. Within a few moments, the Mithra entered.
Shiva and Gopal immediately stood up. They greeted the Mithra with the ancient Parihan salute: the left hand was placed on the heart, fist open, as a mark of admiration. The right arm was held rigidly to the side of the body, bent upwards at the elbow. The open palm of the right hand faced outwards, as a form of greeting. The Mithra smiled genially and folded his hands together into the traditional Indian Namaste.
Shiva grinned, but remained silent, waiting for the Mithra to speak.
The Mithra was a tall, fair-skinned man, dressed in a simple brown cloak. A white hat covered his long brownish hair, with tiny beads wrapped around separated strands of his beard, much like all Parihans. Though the sack-like cloak made it difficult to judge, his body seemed strong and muscular. Of interest to Shiva were his delicate hands with long, slender fingers; like those of a surgeon rather than a warrior. But Shiva was most intrigued by the Mithra’s nose: sharp and long. It reminded him of his beloved mother.
The Mithra walked up to Shiva and held the Neelkanth by his shoulders. ‘What a delight it is to finally see you.’
Shiva noted that the Mithra didn’t even cursorily glance at his blue neck, something most people could not resist. The Mithra’s attention was focused on Shiva’s eyes.
And then the Mithra said something even more intriguing. ‘You have your father’s eyes. And your mother’s nose.’
He knew my father? And my mother?!
Before Shiva could react, the Mithra gently touched Shiva’s back, as he smiled at Gopal. ‘Come, let’s sit.’
As soon as they had seated themselves, the Mithra turned towards the Neelkanth, ‘I can see the questions that are running through your mind. How do I know your father and mother? Who am I? What was my name before I became the Mithra?’
Shiva smiled. ‘This eye-reading business is very dangerous. It doesn’t allow one to have any secrets.’
‘Sometimes, it’s important that there be no secrets,’ said the Mithra, ‘especially when such big decisions are being taken. How else can we be sure that we have taken the right step?’
‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to. The questions running in my mind are not important to our mission.’
‘You’re right. You have been trained well. These questions may trouble your mind, but they are not important. But then, can we really carry out our mission with troubled minds?’
‘A troubled mind makes one lose sight of the mission,’ admitted Shiva.
‘And the world cannot afford to have you lose sight of your mission, great Neelkanth. You are too important for us. So let me answer your personal questions first.’
Shiva noticed that the Mithra had called him the Neelkanth, something which no Parihan had, until now.
‘My name is not important,’ said the Mithra. ‘I don’t hold that name anymore. My only identity is my title: the Mithra.’
Shiva nodded politely.
‘Now, how do I know your mother? Simple. I grew up with her. She was my sister.’
Shiva’s eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘You are my uncle?’
Mithra nodded. ‘I was your uncle before I became the Mithra.’
‘Why have I not met you before?’
‘It’s complicated. But suffice it to say that your father’s brother, Lord Manobhu, and I were good friends. I held him in deep regard. We’d decided to seal our friendship with a marriage between our two families. My sister went to live with Lord Manobhu’s brother in Tibet, after their wedding. And you were born from that union.’
‘But my uncle had rebellious ideas...’ said Shiva, trying to guess why the Mithra had been forced to keep his distance from their family.
The Mithra shook his head. ‘Manobhu didn’t have rebellious ideas. He had inspiring ideas. But an inspiration before its time appears like a rebellion.’
‘So you were not forced by the Vayuputras to stay away from my family?’
‘Oh I was forced all right. But not by the Vayuputras.’
Shiva smiled. ‘Uncle Manobhu could be stubborn at times.’
The Mithra smiled.
‘When did you know that I was your long-lost relative?’ asked Shiva. ‘Did you have spies following me?’
‘I recognised you the moment I heard your name.’
‘Didn’t you know my name?’
‘No, Manobhu refused to tell me. Now I understand why. It was a clue he’d left for me. If you emerged at all, I would recognise you by your name.’
‘How so?’ asked Shiva, intrigued.
‘Almost nobody, even from amongst the Vayuputras, knows that Lord Rudra’s mother had had a special and personal name for him: Shiva.’
‘What?!’
‘Yes. Lord Rudra’s name means “the one who roars”. He was named so because when he was born, he cried so loudly that he drove the midwife away!’
‘I have heard that story,’ said Shiva. ‘But I have not heard the one about Lord Rudra’s mother calling him Shiva...’
‘It’s a secret that only a few Vayuputras are aware of. Legend holds that Lord Rudra was actually still-born.’
‘What?’ asked a genuinely surprised Gopal.
‘Yes,’ said the Mithra. ‘The midwife and Lord Rudra’s mother tried very hard to revive him. Finally, the midwife tried something very unorthodox. She tried to breast-feed the still-born Lord Rudra. Much to his mother’s surprise, the baby actually started breathing and, as history recalls, roared loudly.’
‘By the Holy Lake,’ whispered Shiva. ‘What a fascinating story.’
‘Yes, it is. The midwife walked away soon thereafter, and was never heard of again. Lord Rudra’s mother, who was an immigrant and a believer in the Mother Goddess Shakti, was convinced that the midwife had been sent by the Goddess to save her son. She believed her son was born as
a body without life
, a
shava
, whom Goddess Shakti had infused with life; therefore, she felt the Goddess had converted a
Shava
to
Shiva
, or
the auspicious one
. So she started calling her son Shiva, in honour of the Mother Goddess and in acknowledgement of the state in which her son was born.’
An enthralled Shiva listened in rapt attention to the Mithra.
‘So,’ said the Mithra, ‘the moment I heard your name, I knew that Manobhu had left a clue for me about you being the one he had trained.’
‘So you knew that Lord Manobhu was planning this?’
The Mithra smiled. ‘Your uncle and I made the medicine together.’
‘You mean the medicine that is responsible for my throat turning blue?’
‘Yes.’
‘But didn’t that have to be given to me at a specific time in my life?’
‘I’m assuming that is what Manobhu did, for here you are.’
‘But Lord Mithra, this is not the way the system was supposed to work, as an unfolding series of implausible coincidences. There are so many things that could have gone wrong. To begin with, I may not have been trained well. Or the medicine may not have been given to me at the right time. I may never have been invited to Meluha. And worst of all, I may not have stumbled upon the Somras as the true Evil.’
‘You’re right. This is not the way our
Vayuputra
system was designed to work. But Manobhu and I had faith that this is the way the
universe’s
system is supposed to work. And it did, didn’t it?’
‘But is it right to leave such significant outcomes to a roll of the universe’s dice?’
‘You make it sound as if it was all left to dumb luck. We didn’t leave it only to chance, Shiva. The Vayuputras were sure the Somras had not turned evil. Manobhu and I felt otherwise. Had Manobhu been alive, he would have guided you through this period, but in spite of his untimely death, Good prevailed. Manobhu always said let us allow the universe to make the decision, and it did. We decided to set in motion a chain of events, which would work out only if the universe willed it so. Frankly, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t stop him. I just didn’t think his plan would succeed. I did help him in making the medicine, though. And when I saw the plan coming to fruition, I knew that it was my duty to do whatever I could to help.’
‘But what if I had failed? What if I hadn’t identified the Somras as Evil? Then Evil would have won, right?’
‘Sometimes, the universe decides that Evil is supposed to win. Perhaps a race or species becomes so harmful that it’s better to allow Evil to triumph and destroy that species. It has happened before. But this is not one of those times.’
Shiva was clearly overwhelmed by the number of things that could have gone wrong.
‘You are still troubled by something...’ said the Mithra.
‘I’ve talked to Pandit
ji
as well, about this,’ said Shiva, pointing to Gopal. ‘So much of what I have achieved in my mission can be attributed to pure luck; just a random turn of the universe.’
The Mithra bent forward towards Shiva and whispered, ‘One makes one’s own luck, but you have to give the universe the opportunity to help you.’