The voice that Shiva had not recognised, the one that had ordered the Kashi Vasudev, spoke. You don’t need to be grateful, Lord Neelkanth. It is our duty, and honour, to be of any assistance to you. Jai Guru Vishwamitra. Jai Guru Vashisht.

Shiva was at the window. From the height of the palace walls, he could see the congested city and beyond that the wide Sacred Avenue. On its edge, close to the Brahma Ghat stood the mighty Vishwanath temple. Shiva was staring at it, his hands clasped together in prayer.

Lord Rudra, take care of my child. Please. Let nothing go wrong.

He turned around as he heard a soft cough.

The most important people in India were waiting with bated breath for news of Sati and Shiva’s child. Daksha was fidgeting nervously, deeply afraid.

He is truly concerned about Sati. Whatever else he may or may not be, he is a devoted father.

An impassive Veerini was holding Daksha’s hand. Emperor Dilipa sat quietly, watching his children, Bhagirath and Anandmayi, who were in an animated, but soft conversation.

Dilipa kept staring at Bhagirath...

Parvateshwar, who had recovered completely from his injuries in the past three months, stood strong at a corner of the chamber. King Athithigva paced up and down the room, upset that his own doctors had not been given the honour to deliver the Neelkanth’s first-born. But Shiva was not about to take chances. Only Ayurvati would do.

Shiva turned around. He saw Nandi standing near the wall and gestured with his eyes.

‘Yes, My Lord?’ asked Nandi, coming up to Shiva.

‘I feel so helpless, Nandi. I’m nervous.’

‘Give me a moment, My Lord.’

Nandi rushed out of the chamber. He was back with Veerbhadra.

Both friends went up to the window.

‘This one is good!’ said Veerbhadra.

‘Really?’ asked Shiva.

Veerbhadra lit the chillum and gave it to Shiva, who took a deep puff.

‘Hmmm...,’ whispered Shiva.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m still nervous!’

Veerbhadra started laughing. ‘What do you hope it will be?’

‘A girl.’

‘A girl? Sure? A girl can’t be a warrior.’

‘What nonsense! Look at Sati.’

Veerbhadra nodded. ‘Fair point. And the name?’

‘Krittika.’

‘Krittika! You don’t have to do this for me my friend.’

‘I’m not doing it for you, you fool!’ said Shiva. ‘If I wanted to do that, I would name my daughter Bhadra! I am doing it for Krittika and Sati. Krittika has been a rock of support in my wife’s life. I want to celebrate that.’

Veerbhadra smiled. ‘She is a good woman, isn’t she?’

‘That she is. You have done well.’

‘Hey, she hasn’t done so badly either. I’m not that terrible a husband!’

‘Actually, she could have done better!’

Bhadra playfully slapped Shiva on his wrist, as both friends shared a quiet laugh. Shiva handed the chillum back to Veerbhadra.

Suddenly, the door to the inner chamber opened. Ayurvati rushed out to Shiva. ‘It’s a boy, My Lord! A strong, handsome, powerful boy!’

Shiva picked up Ayurvati in his arms and swung her around, laughing heartily. ‘A boy will also do!’

Setting an embarrassed Ayurvati back on the ground, Shiva rushed into the inner chamber. Ayurvati stopped everyone else from entering. Sati was on the bed. Two nurses were hovering close by. Krittika was sitting on a chair next to Sati, holding her hand. The most beautiful baby that Shiva had ever seen was next to Sati. He had been wrapped tight in a small white cloth and was sleeping soundly.

Sati smiled softly. ‘It’s a boy. Looks like I won, darling!’

‘That’s true,’ whispered Shiva, scared of touching his son. ‘But I haven’t lost anything!’

Sati laughed, but immediately quietened down. The stitches hurt. ‘What do we call him? We certainly cannot call him Krittika.’

‘Yes, that is out of the question,’ smiled Sati’s handmaiden. ‘Krittika is a woman’s name.’

‘But I still want him named after you, Krittika,’ said Shiva.

‘I agree,’ said Sati. ‘But what can that name be?’

Shiva thought for a moment. ‘I know! We’ll call him Kartik.’

Chapter 8

The Mating Dance

Daksha rushed into the room as soon as he was allowed, followed closely by Veerini.

‘Father,’ whispered Sati. ‘Your first grandchild...’

Daksha didn’t answer. He gently picked up Kartik and much to Sati’s irritation, unfastened the white cloth that had bound the baby tightly, letting it fall back to the bed. Daksha held up Kartik, turning him around, admiring every aspect of his grandson. Tears were flowing furiously down the eyes of the Emperor of India. ‘He’s beautiful. He’s just so beautiful.’

Startled, Kartik woke up and immediately began crying. It was the loud, lusty cry of a strong baby! Sati reached out for her son. Daksha, however, handed the baby over to a beaming Veerini. To Sati’s surprise, Kartik immediately calmed down in Veerini’s arms. The Queen placed Kartik on the white cloth and swaddled him again. Then she placed him in Sati’s arms, his tiny head resting on her shoulders. Kartik gurgled and went back to sleep.

Daksha’s tears had seemed to develop a life of their own. He embraced Shiva tightly. ‘I’m the happiest man in all of history, My Lord! The happiest ever!’

Shiva patted the Emperor lightly on his back, smiling slightly. ‘I know, Your Highness.’

Daksha stepped back and wiped his eyes. ‘Everything is all right. You, Lord Neelkanth, have purified all that went wrong with my family. Everything is all right once again.’

Veerini stared at Daksha, her eyes narrowed, her breathing ragged. She gritted her teeth, but kept her silence.

Bhagirath was walking back from the riverbank after checking on the progress of the ships being built by Divodas’ men. As it was late, he had sent his bodyguards home. After all, this was Kashi, the city where everyone sought refuge. The city of peace.

The streets were deathly quiet. So silent that he clearly heard a soft crunch behind him.

The Prince of Ayodhya continued walking, appearing nonchalant. His hand on the hilt of his blade, ears focussed. The soft tread was gaining ground. A sword was drawn softly. Bhagirath spun around suddenly, drew his knife and flung it, piercing his assailant through his stomach. The blow was enough to paralyse his attacker. He would be in excruciating pain, but not dead.

Through the corner of his eye, Bhagirath saw another movement. He reached for his other knife. But the new threat crashed against a wall, a short sword buried in his chest. Dead.

Bhagirath turned to see Nandi to the left. ‘Anyone else?’ he whispered.

Nandi shook his head.

Bhagirath rushed to the first assailant. Shaking him from the shoulders, Bhagirath asked, ‘Who sent you?’

The assassin remained mute.

Bhagirath twisted the knife in the man’s stomach.

‘Who?’

The man’s mouth suddenly started frothing. The rat had eaten his poison. He died within seconds.

‘Dammit!’ said a frustrated Bhagirath.

Nandi looked at the Prince of Ayodhya, alert for any new threat, sword drawn.