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 was 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.

It was then that Parvateshwar heard the noise. Even in the commotion of the numerous Brangas howling in pain, the horrifying din could not be missed. It sounded like hundreds of babies were howling desperately, as if their lives depended on it.

Parvateshwar had heard rumours of ghastly ritual sacrifices that the Brangas committed. Fearing the worst, he ran towards the room where the sound emanated from. The General broke open the door with one kick. He was sickened by what he saw.

The limp body of the decapitated peacock was held at a corner of the room, its blood being drained into a vessel. Around it were many women, each holding a baby writhing in pain. Some babies had blood on their mouths. A horror-struck Parvateshwar dropped his club and reached for his sword. There was a sudden blur to his left. Before he could react, he felt a sharp pain on his head. The world went black.

Bhagirath screamed, drawing his sword, as did the Suryavanshis. He was about to run his sword through the man who had clubbed Parvateshwar when a woman screamed: ‘PLEASE DON’T!’

Bhagirath stopped. The woman was very obviously pregnant.

The Branga man was about to raise his club again. The woman screamed once more. ‘NO!’

To Bhagirath’s surprise, the man obeyed.

The other Branga women at the back were carrying on with their sickening ritual.

‘Stop!’ screamed Bhagirath.

The pregnant Branga woman fell at Bhagirath’s feet. ‘No, brave Prince. Don’t stop us. I beg you.’

‘High priestess, what are you doing?’ asked the Branga man. ‘Don’t humiliate yourself!’

Bhagirath looked at the scene once again, and this was when the real inference dawned on him. He was stunned. The only children crying were the ones who did not have blood on their mouths. Their limbs were twisted in painful agony, as if a hideous force was squeezing their tiny bodies. The moment some of the peacock blood was poured into a baby’s mouth, the child quietened down.

Bhagirath whispered in shock. ‘What the hell...’

‘Please,’ pleaded the Branga high priestess. ‘We need it for our babies. They will die without it. I beg you. Let us save them.’

Bhagirath stood silent. Bewildered.

‘Your Highness,’ said Veerbhadra. ‘The General.’

Bhagirath immediately bent down to check on Parvateshwar. His heart was beating, but the pulse was weak.

‘Suryavanshis, we need to carry the General to an ayuralay. Quickly! We don’t have much time!’

Bearing their leader along, the Suryavanshis rushed out. Parvateshwar had to be taken to a hospital.

Ayurvati came out of the operating room. Chandravanshi doctors simply did not have the knowledge to deal with Parvateshwar’s injury. Ayurvati had been sent urgent summons.

Shiva and Sati immediately rose. Sati’s heart sank on seeing the dejected look on Ayurvati’s face.

‘How soon will he be all right, Ayurvati?’ asked Shiva.

Ayurvati took a deep breath. ‘My Lord, the club hit the General at a most unfortunate spot, right on his temple. He is suffering severe internal haemorrhaging. The blood loss could be fatal.’

Shiva bit his lip.

‘I...,’ said Ayurvati.

‘If anyone can save him, it is you Ayurvati,’ said Shiva.

‘There is nothing in the medical manuals for such a severe injury, My Lord. We could do brain surgery, but that cannot be performed while the patient is unconscious. In the surgery, we apply local pain relievers to allow the conscious patient to guide us with his actions. Taking this risk while Parvateshwar is unconscious could prove more dangerous than the injury itself.’

Sati’s eyes were welling up.