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.

Waving to her brother, Anandmayi marched straight up to Parvateshwar, Uttanka at her heels. She came uncomfortably close to Parvateshwar, forcing him to step back. ‘How is my favourite Meluhan General doing?’ she asked, arching her brows after giving him the once over.

‘We don’t have different kingdoms within Meluha, Your Highness. We have only one army,’ said Parvateshwar.

Anandmayi frowned.

‘It means that there is no need to play favourites since there is only one Meluhan General.’

‘I agree. There is only one Parvateshwar...’

Parvateshwar turned red. Drapaku grimaced with distaste.

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Princess?’ Parvateshwar wanted to quickly find a way to end this conversation.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ smiled Anandmayi, pointing towards Uttanka. ‘This young man here is a refugee from Magadh. His name is Uttanka. He always wanted to be a warrior. But a riding accident left him with an injured shoulder. The idiotic, apparently merit-obsessed, Prince Surapadman dismissed him. Like most unhappy souls, he found his way to Kashi. I’m sure you saw him dance yesterday. He dances brilliantly. I want you to include him in the Neelkanth’s brigade.’

‘As a dancer?’ asked a flabbergasted Parvateshwar.

‘Do you like being deliberately stupid or is this just an act?’

Parvateshwar frowned.

‘Obviously not as a dancer,’ shrugged an exasperated Anandmayi. ‘As a soldier.’

Parvateshwar turned towards Uttanka. Feet spread. Arms close to his side weapons. Ready for battle. Uttanka had obviously been trained well. Then Parvateshwar’s eyes settled on Uttanka’s shoulders. The hump caused by the injury restricted his right arm’s movements. ‘You will not be able to battle a taller man.’

‘I will die before retreating, My Lord,’ said Uttanka.

‘I have no use for soldiers who die,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘I need soldiers who will kill and live. Why don’t you stick to dancing?’

‘Are you saying that dancers cannot be warriors?’ butted in Anandmayi.

Parvateshwar glared. The Neelkanth was a celebrated dancer and a fearsome warrior. He turned around, picked up two wooden swords and shields, throwing one pair to Uttanka. He held up his sword, adjusted his shield and gestured to the Magadhan to get into position.

‘You’re going to fight him?’ asked a shocked Anandmayi. She knew Uttanka would be no match for Parvateshwar. ‘What is wrong with you? Why can’t he just come along...’

Anandmayi stopped as Bhagirath touched her arm. He pulled her back. Purvaka and Drapaku too stepped back.

‘You still have a choice, soldier,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Walk away.’

‘I’d rather be carried out, My Lord,’ said Uttanka.

Parvateshwar narrowed his eyes. He liked the man’s spirit. But he had to test his ability now. For spirit without ability usually led to a gruesome death on the battlefield.

Parvateshwar moved slowly, waiting for Uttanka to charge. But the man kept still. Parvateshwar realised that the Magadhan was being defensive. Uttanka’s shoulder injury prevented a high arm assault that would be required to attack a taller man like Parvateshwar.