The Secret of the Nagas (18 page)

Bhagirath smiled at Nandi’s attempt at humour on his elephantine girth.

‘Did you get any names? Who sent them?’

‘I don’t know, My Lord,’ said Bhagirath. ‘They died before I could get any answers.’

Shiva sighed. ‘The dead bodies?’

‘Handed over to the Kashi police,’ said Bhagirath. ‘But I don’t expect that they will be able to gather any leads.’

‘Hmm,’ said Shiva.

‘For the second time, I owe you my life, My Lord.’

‘You owe me nothing,’ said Shiva, before turning towards Nandi. ‘Thank you, my friend. It is you who deserves credit.’

Nandi bowed low. ‘It’s my honour to serve you, My Lord.’

Shiva turned back to Bhagirath. ‘What are you going to tell Anandmayi?’

Bhagirath frowned. ‘Nothing. I don’t want her getting troubled unnecessarily. I am fine. There is no need for anyone to know.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I am sure that father will not even try to investigate this attack. Other nobles will see this as a sign of his tacit acceptance of a more aggressive attack on me rather than difficult-to-organise “accidents”. Letting this news become public will only encourage rival claimants further.’

‘Are there so many nobles after you?’

‘Half the court is related to my father, My Lord. All of them think that they have a right to the throne.’

Shiva breathed deeply. ‘Never stay alone while your father’s here. And you are coming with me on the voyage to Branga, far away from here.’

Bhagirath nodded.

Shiva patted Bhagirath on his shoulder. ‘Make sure that you don’t get yourself killed. You are important to me.’

Bhagirath smiled. ‘I will try to remain alive for you, My Lord!’

Shiva laughed softly. So did Nandi.

‘Your Highness, I don’t think it is wise for you to give away so much Somras powder,’ said Shiva.

Shiva and Daksha were in Shiva’s quarters. It had been a week since Kartik’s birth. Sati and Kartik were sleeping in the next room, with Krittika and a bevy of nurses in close attendance. Shiva was shocked at the large amount of Somras powder Daksha had got with him as a present for Kartik. Daksha wanted Kartik to start taking the Somras from birth, every day, so that he would grow to be a strong, powerful warrior. He had got enough powder to last until Kartik’s eighteenth birthday!

‘My Lord,’ said Daksha, ‘it’s not fair for you to tell a doting grandfather what he can or cannot give his first grandchild.’

‘But My Lord, with the destruction of Mount Mandar, you must be running short on Somras supplies. I don’t think it is right for so much to be given to my son, when your entire country could use the blessings of the Somras.’

‘Let me worry about that, My Lord. Please don’t say no.’

Shiva gave up. ‘How are the plans to rebuild Mount Mandar coming along?’

‘It’s taking too long,’ said Daksha, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Let’s forget about that. This is such a happy event. I have a grandchild. A whole, complete, handsome grandchild who will grow up to be the Emperor of India!’

The citizens of Kashi customarily celebrated the birth of a child with music and dance after exactly seven days of its birth. Shiva decided to honour the traditions of his hosts.

The Neelkanth was sitting on a throne in the dance theatre. Next to him, on the throne meant for the Queen of Kashi, sat Sati, cradling a sleeping Kartik in her arms. Daksha and Dilipa had the seat of honoured guests next to Shiva and Sati. The royal family of Kashi sat beyond them. It was unorthodox for the King of the kingdom to occupy such a low place in the seating protocol. But Athithigva did not mind.

Sati bent towards Shiva and whispered, ‘You danced marvellously. As always!’

‘You noticed?’ teased Shiva.

Earlier in the evening, Shiva had insisted on opening the celebrations with his own performance. The audience could not believe their good fortune at seeing the Neelkanth himself dance. And they applauded his fabulous dancing skills with a five-minute long standing ovation. The dance was one of his best ever. And the audience was moved to raptures. But Shiva had noticed, much to his chagrin, that Sati was distracted during his performance. She had been troubled since the time Shiva had told her of the Somras powder brought by Daksha.

‘Of course, I did,’ smiled Sati. ‘I’m just troubled that father is giving away so much Somras. It’s not right. It is for all of Meluha. Kartik should not get any special treatment just because he is a royal. This is against Lord Ram’s principles.’

‘Then, speak to your father.’

‘I will. At the right time.’

‘Good. For now, however, look at Anandmayi when she dances. She may not be as forgiving as me.’

Sati smiled and rested her head on Shiva’s shoulders as she turned to look at the stage just in time to see Anandmayi walk onto it. She was wearing a shockingly tiny dhoti and a tight blouse, leaving very little to the imagination. Sati raised her eyebrow and looked at Shiva. Shiva was smiling.

‘It’s the right costume for this dance,’ said Shiva.

Sati nodded and turned towards the stage again. Shiva sidled a glance at Parvateshwar and smiled. The General’s face was an impenetrable mask. His Suryavanshi training had kicked in, but the man’s clenched jaw and tick near his brow betrayed that he was far from unmoved.

Anandmayi bent low to touch the stage with her forehead, seeking blessings and inspiration for her performance. The Chandravanshis in the front row leaned forward to get a better view of the ample cleavage that was revealed. If it had been any other dancer, the audience would probably have been whistling by now. But this was the Princess of Swadweep. So, they just kept ogling silently at her.

Then another dancer walked onstage: Uttanka. The progeny of a famed Magadhan brigadier, Uttanka’s military career was cut short by an injury which left him with a severe hump on his right shoulder. Like most people frustrated with their lot in life, he too had sought refuge in Kashi, where he discovered the beauty of dance. But the same injury which had stumped his military career held back his dancing career as well. His shoulder movements were restricted, keeping him from becoming a truly great performer. There were whispers that Anandmayi, a true Chandravanshi whose heart automatically reached out towards the weak, had felt pity for Uttanka and hence had agreed to partner him.

But there was also a feeling that this sympathy was misplaced. Uttanka would probably be humiliated on stage. They were expected to perform a complex dance which encaptured the enticement of the legendary sage Vishwamitra by the celestial nymph Menaka. Would Uttanka be equal to the task?

Anandmayi, unmindful of such speculation, bowed towards Uttanka. He bowed back. Then, they stepped close to each other. Far closer than the standard position for commencing this dance. Probably a necessary adjustment as Uttanka’s arm could not extend very far. Shiva turned once again towards Parvateshwar. He had narrowed his eyes a bit and seemed to be holding his breath.

Is he jealous?

The Princess of Ayodhya had choreographed their dance well, having changed the ancient rules of this particular act, in order to suit Uttanka’s restricted arm movements. But the changes also ensured that the two of them danced very close to each other throughout the performance, creating an air of intense sensuality. The audience first watched in shock, their jaws open. How could a former soldier be allowed to hold Princess Anandmayi so close? But then they were pulled in by the sheer quality of the act. Nobody had seen the dance of Vishwamitra and Menaka in such a blatantly passionate form before.

As the piece ended, the audience stood up, applauding wildly and whistling. It had been a truly remarkable performance. Anandmayi bowed low and then pointed at Uttanka, graciously giving the credit to the physically-challenged former soldier. Uttanka beamed at the appreciation he received, finding meaning in his life, perhaps for the first time.

Parvateshwar was the only one present who wasn’t clapping.

Next day, Parvateshwar was sparring with Purvaka within the temporary military training grounds that had been constructed in the Kashi royal palace. The former brigadier was rediscovering his seemingly lost fearsome powers. Despite the lack of sight, Purvaka could sense Parvateshwar’s actions with his keen hearing and was responding brilliantly, dodging when necessary, jabbing when possible.

Parvateshwar was delighted.

Calling a halt, Parvateshwar turned towards Drapaku and nodded. He then turned towards Purvaka and executed the formal Meluhan salute, with a slight bow of his head. Purvaka too beat his chest with his fist and bent low, far lower than Parvateshwar had bowed. He respected Parvateshwar’s legendary prowess.

‘It will be my honour to include you in the Suryavanshi brigade travelling with the Neelkanth, Brigadier Purvaka,’ said Parvateshwar.

Purvaka smiled. This was the first time he had been called Brigadier in decades. ‘The honour is all mine, General. And thank you for not shafting me into the Chandravanshi brigade. I don’t think I could tolerate their inefficiency!’

Bhagirath, standing at one end of the room, could not stop himself from laughing. ‘We’ll see who works harder for the Neelkanth, Purvaka! Don’t forget, you are in Chandravanshi territory now. Battles are fought differently here.’

Purvaka did not respond. His training forbade him from talking back to a royal. He nodded.

Just then, Anandmayi entered the room. Bhagirath smiled and glanced at Parvateshwar, before looking back at her. She was in a bright, harlequin-green blouse and short dhoti, a colour so loud that only a woman of Anandmayi’s beauty and chutzpah could have carried it off. He suspected that Anandmayi’s need to gain Parvatshwar’s attention was making her become more brazen by the day. He had never seen his sister quite this way and wasn’t sure whether to have a chat with her or to draw Parvateshwar out and ask him about his intentions.