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 were 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.