An exasperated Parvateshwar interjected. ‘I can’t believe that we are talking like this. We are Meluhans! We are the Suryavanshis! We have created the greatest civilisation ever known to man. And some barbarian with no education, no skills, no merit is going to be our saviour? Just because he has a blue throat?’

‘That is what the legend says Parvateshwar,’ countered Kanakhala.

Daksha interrupted both his ministers. ‘Parvateshwar, I believe in the legend. My people believe in the legend. The Neelkanth has chosen my reign to appear. He will transform all of India to the ideals of Meluha — a land of truth, duty and honour. With his leadership, we can end the Chandravanshi crisis once and for all. All the agonies they inflict upon us will be over — from the terrorist attacks to the shortage of Somras to the killing of the Saraswati.’

‘Then why delay telling him, your Highness?’ asked Kanakhala. ‘The more days we waste, the weaker becomes the resolve of our people. You know there was another terrorist attack just a few days back at a village not far from Hariyupa. As our reaction becomes weak, our enemies become bolder, your Highness. We must tell the Lord quickly and announce his arrival to our people. It will give us the strength to fight our cruel enemies.’

‘I will tell him. But I am trying to be more farsighted than you. So far our empire has only faced the morale-sapping influence of fraudulent Neelkanths. Imagine the consequences if people found out that the true Neelkanth has come but refuses to stand by us. First we must be sure that he is willing to accept his destiny. Only then will we announce him to our people. And I think that the best way to convince him is to share the whole truth with him. Once he sees the unfairness of the attacks we face, he will fight with us to destroy evil. If that takes time, so be it. We have waited for centuries for the Neelkanth. A few more weeks will not destroy us.’

CHAPTER 5

Tribe of Brahma

Shiva was walking in the verdant gardens of the royal guest house. His things were being moved into the royal guest house by Nandi and Kanakhala’s efficient aide. Shiva sat down on a comfortable bench overlooking a bed of red and white roses. The charming cool breeze in the open gardens brought a smile to his face. It was early afternoon and the garden was deserted. Shiva’s thoughts kept going back to the conversation he had had with the Emperor in the morning. Despite Daksha’s controlled reaction, Shiva could understand that his blue throat was of great significance to the Meluhans, even to the Emperor. It meant that the legend of the Neelkanth, whatever it was, was not restricted to some small sect in Kashmir. If the Emperor himself took it so seriously, all of Meluha must need the help of the Neelkanth.

But what the bloody hell do they want help for? They are so much more advanced than us!

His thoughts were distracted by the sounds of a dhol, a percussion instrument and some ghungroos, anklets worn by dancers. Someone seemed to be practising in the garden. A hedge separated the dance pavilion from the rest of the garden. Shiva, himself a passionate dancer, would normally have stepped in to move to the rhythm of the beat, but his mind was preoccupied. Some words floated in from the group that was dancing.

‘No my lady, you must let yourself go,’ said a distinguished male voice. ‘It’s not a chore that you have to do. Enjoy the dance. You are trying too hard to remember all the steps rather than letting the emotion of the dance flow through you.’

Then a lady’s voice interjected. ‘My lady, Guruji is right. You are dancing correcdy, but not enjoying it. The concentration shows on your face. You have to relax a little bit.’

‘Let me get the steps right first. Then I can learn to enjoy them.’

The last voice made Shiva’s hair stand up on end. It was her. It was Sati. He quickly got up and followed the sound of the voices. Coming up from behind the hedge, he saw Sati dancing on a small platform. She had her hands raised rigidly to her sides as she enacted the various movements of the dance. She danced in accordance with the steps first to the left and then to the right. She moved her shapely hips to the side and placed her hands precisely on her waist, to convey the mood of the dance. He was mesmerised once again.

However, he did notice that though Sati was dancing all her steps correctly, the Guruji was right. She was moving in a mechanical manner; the uninhibited surrender that is characteristic of a natural dancer was absent. The varying emotions of bliss and anger of the story being told were missing in her moves. And unlike a proficient dancer, Sati wasn’t using the entire platform. Her steps were small, which kept her movements constricted to the centre.

The dance teacher sat facing her and playing on a dhol to give Sati her beats. Her companion Krittika sat to the right. It was the dance teacher who noticed Shiva first and immediately stood up. Sati and Krittika turned around as well and were clearly astonished to find Shiva standing in front of them. Unlike Sati, Krittika could not control her surprise and blurted out, ‘Shiva?’

Sati, in her characteristic composed and restrained manner, asked sincerely, ‘Is everything alright, Shiva? Do you need my help for something?’

How have you been? I’ve missed you. Don’t you ever smile?

Shiva continued to stare at Sati, the words running through his mind, not on his lips. A smiling Krittika looked at Sati for her reaction. An even more serious Sati repeated, very politely, ‘Can I help you with something, Shiva?’

‘No, no, I don’t need any help,’ replied Shiva as reality seemed to enter his consciousness again. ‘I just happened to be in the area and heard your dancing. I mean your talk. Your dance steps were not so hard that I could hear it. You were dancing very accurately. Actually, technically it was all...’

Krittika interjected. ‘You know a bit about dancing, do you?’

‘Oh, not much. Just a little,’ said Shiva to Krittika with a smile, before turning rapidly back to Sati. ‘My apologies Sati, but Guruji is right. You were being far too methodical. As they say in the land that I come from, the mudras and the kriyas were all technically correct. But the bhav or emotion was missing. And a dance without bhav is like a body without a soul. When the emotions of the dancer participate, she would not even need to remember the steps. The steps come on their own. The bhav is something that you cannot learn. It comes to you if you can create the space in your heart for it.’

Sati listened patiently to Shiva without saying a word. Her eyebrows were raised slightly as the barbarian spoke. How could he know more than a Suryavanshi about dancing? But she reminded herself that he had saved her life. She was duty bound to honour him.

Krittika, however, took offence at this caste-unmarked foreigner pretending that he knew more about dancing than her mistress. She glowered at Shiva. ‘You dare to think that you know more than one of the best dancers in the realm?’

Shiva gathered he may have caused some offence. He turned to Sati in all seriousness. ‘I am terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you in any way. Sometimes I just keep talking without realising what I am saying.’

‘No, no’, replied Sati. ‘You did not insult me. Perhaps you are right. I don’t feel the essence of the dance as much as I should. But I am sure that with Guruji’s guidance, I will pick it up in due time.’

Seizing his chance to impress Sati, Shiva said, ‘If it is alright with you, may I perform the dance? I am sure that I am not as technically correct as you. But perhaps, there may be something in the sentiment that will guide me through the correct steps.’