The Oath of The Vayuputras (67 page)
Could she be the final kill?
The cult of Aten had a belief that every assassin would one day meet a victim so magnificent, so worthy, that it would be impossible for the man to kill ever again. His duty would then be to give his victim an honourable death and give up his profession to spend the rest of his life worshipping that last victim.
As Sati’s arm flopped to her side after another vain attempt to reach her sword, Swuth shook his head.
It can’t be a woman. This cannot be the moment. The final kill cannot be a woman!
Swuth turned around and screamed at his people. ‘Move out, you filthy cockroaches! We’re leaving!’
The man standing next to Swuth didn’t obey his order. He continued to stare beyond Swuth, stupefied by the awe-inspiring sight.
Swuth whirled around, stunned. Sati was up on one knee. She was breathing rapidly, forcing some strength into her debilitated body. She had dug her sword into the ground and her right hand was on its hilt as she tried to use the leverage to push herself up. She failed, took quick breaths, fired more energy into her body, and tried once more. She failed again. Then she stopped suddenly. She felt eyes boring into her. She looked up and locked eyes with Swuth.
Swuth stared at Sati, dumbstruck. She was completely soaked in her own blood, there were cavernous wounds all over her body, and her hands were shivering with the tremendous pain she was in. Her soul must know that death was just minutes away. And yet, her eyes did not exhibit even the slightest hint of fear. She stared directly at Swuth with only one expression. An expression of pure, raw, unadulterated defiance.
Tears sprang into Swuth’s eyes as his heart felt immeasurably heavy. His mind grasped his heart’s message instantly. This indeed was his final kill. He would never, ever, kill again.
Swuth knew what he had to do. He drew both his curved swords, held them high by the hilt and thrust them in a downward motion. In a flash, the swords were buried in the ground. For the last time, he looked at both the half-buried, bloodied swords that had served him so well. He would never use them again. He went down on one knee, pulled his shoulders back to give himself leverage and then slammed the hilts with his palms in an outward motion, snapping both blades in two.
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.
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, Pandit
ji
?’ 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 Parvateshwar.
‘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!’