But... but father said my son was stillborn.

She continued to stare.

I was lied to.

Sati held her breath. She stared at her twin sister. An exact replica of her. A visible proof of the relationship. She turned to Ganesh.

‘My son is alive?’

Ganesh looked up, tears still rolling down his eyes.

‘My son is alive,’ whispered Sati, tears spilling from her eyes.

Sati stumbled towards the kneeling Ganesh. She went down on her knees, holding his face. ‘My son is alive...’

She cradled his head. ‘I didn’t know, my child. I swear. I didn’t know.’

Ganesh didn’t raise his arms.

‘My child,’ whispered Sati, pulling Ganesh’s head down, kissing his forehead, holding him tight. ‘I’ll never let you go. Never.’

Ganesh’s tears broke out in a stronger flood. He wrapped his arms around his mother and whispered that most magical of words. ‘Maa...’

Sati started crying again. ‘My son. My son.’

Ganesh cried like the sheltered little child he had always wanted to be. He was safe. Safe at last. Safe in his loving mother’s arms.

Parshuram was biding time.

The water holds of the Branga ship had been destroyed when it grounded. The Suryavanshis had no choice but to drink the Madhumati water. Divodas had insisted the water be boiled first. But Parshuram knew that people drinking Madhumati water for the first time would be knocked out for a few hours if they didn’t have the antidote beforehand.

He waited patiently for the water to take effect. He had a task to carry out.

As the camp slept, Parshuram set to work. He found the weak link in his chain and banged it lightly with a stone till it broke. His lieutenant next to him expected to be set free. But Parshuram hammered the chain back into the stake.

‘Nobody escapes. Is that clear? Anyone who dares to will be hunted down by me.’

The lieutenant frowned, thoroughly confused, but did not dare question his fearsome chieftain. Parshuram turned towards the kitchen area of the beach. His battleaxe gleamed in the moonlight. He knew what he had to do.

It had to be done. He had no choice.

Chapter 16

Opposites Attract

The fire was raging.

Shiva had never seen flames so high near the Mansarovar Lake. The howling winds, the open space, the might of the Gunas, his tribe, simply didn’t allow any fire to last too long.

He looked around. His village was deserted. Not a soul in sight. The flames were licking at the walls of his hamlet.

He turned towards the lake. ‘Holy Lake, where are my people? Have the Pakratis taken them hostage?’

‘S-H-I-V-A! HELP ME!’

Shiva turned around to find a bloodied Brahaspati racing out of the village gates, through the massive inferno. He was being followed by a giant hooded figure, his sword drawn, his gait menacing in its extreme control.

Shiva pulled Brahaspati behind him, drew his sword and waited for the hooded Naga to come closer. When within shouting distance, Shiva screamed, ‘You will never get him. Not as long as I live!’

The Naga’s mask seemed to develop a life of its own. It smirked. ‘I’ve already got him.’

Shiva spun around. There were three massive snakes behind him. One was dragging Brahaspati’s limp body away, punctured by numerous massive bites. The other two stood guard, spewing fire from their mouths, preventing Shiva from moving closer. Shiva watched in helpless rage as they dragged Brahaspati towards the Naga. A furious Shiva turned towards the Naga.

‘Lord Rudra be merciful!’ whispered Shiva.

A severely bleeding Drapaku was kneeling next to the Naga. Defeated, forlorn, waiting to be killed.

Next to Drapaku, down on her knees was a woman. Streaks of blood ran down her arms. Her billowing hair covered her downcast face. And then the wind cleared. She looked up.

It was her. The woman he couldn’t save. The woman he hadn’t saved. The woman he hadn’t even attempted to save. ‘HELP! PLEASE HELP ME!’

‘Don’t you dare!’ screamed Shiva, pointing menacingly at the Naga.

The Naga calmly raised his sword and without a second’s hesitation, beheaded the woman.

Shiva woke up in cold sweat, his brow burning again. He looked around the darkness of his small tent, hearing the soft sounds of the Madhumati lapping the shores. He looked at his hand, the serpent Aum bracelet was in it. He cursed out loud, threw the bracelet onto the ground and lay back on the bed. His head felt heavy. Very heavy.

The Madhumati flowed quietly that night. Parshuram looked up. The moonlight gave just enough visibility for him to do his task.

He checked the temperature on the flat griddle heating up on the small fire. Scalding. It had to be. The flesh would have to be seared shut quickly. Otherwise the bleeding would not stop. He went back to sharpening the axe.

He tested the sharpness of the blade once again. Razor sharp. It would afford a clean strike. He looked back. There was nobody there.

He threw away his cloak and took a deep breath.

‘Lord Rudra, give me strength.’

He curled up his left hand. The sinning hand that had dared to murder the Neelkanth’s favourite. He held the outcrop of a tree stump. Held it tight. Giving himself purchase to pull his shoulder back.

The trunk had been used earlier to behead many of his enemies. The blood of those unfortunate victims had left deep red marks on the wood. Now his blood would mix with theirs.

He reached out with his right hand and picked up the battleaxe, raising it high.

Parshuram looked up one last time and took a deep breath. ‘Forgive me, My Lord.’

The battleaxe hummed through the air as it swung down sharply. It sliced through perfectly, cutting the hand clean.

‘How in the name of the holy lake did he escape?’ shouted Shiva. ‘What were you doing?’

Parvateshwar and Bhagirath were looking down. The Lord had justifiable reasons to be angry. They were in his tent. It was the last hour of the first prahar. The sun had just risen. And with that had come to light Parshuram’s disappearance.

Shiva was distracted by commotion outside. He rushed out to find Divodas and a few other soldiers pointing their sword at Parshuram. He was staggering towards Shiva, staring at him. Nobody else.

Shiva held his left hand out, telling his men to let Parshuram through. For some reason, he didn’t feel the need to reach for his sword. Parshuram had his cloak wrapped tightly around himself. Bhagirath stepped up to check Parshuram for weapons. But Shiva called out loudly. ‘It’s alright, Bhagirath. Let him come.’

Parshuram stumbled towards Shiva, obviously weak, eyes drooping. There was a massive blood stain on his cloak. Shiva narrowed his eyes.

Parshuram collapsed on his knees in front of Shiva.

‘Where had you gone?’

Parshuram looked up, his eyes melancholic. ‘I... penance... My Lord...’

Shiva frowned.

The bandit dropped his cloak and with his right hand, placed his severed left one at Shiva’s feet. ‘This hand... sinned... My Lord. Forgive me...’

Shiva gasped in horror.

Parshuram collapsed. Unconscious.

Ayurvati had tended to Parshuram’s wound. She had cauterised it once again in order to prevent any chance of infection. Juice of neem leaves had been rubbed into the open flesh. A dressing of neem leaves had been created and wound tight around the severed arm.