‘Oh my god!’ said Shiva, empathising with the pain Sati must have felt.

‘But it was worse. On the same day, her husband, who had gone to the Narmada to pray for the safe birth of their child, accidentally drowned. On that cursed day, her life was destroyed.’

Shiva stared at Brahaspati, too stunned to react. ‘She became a widow and was declared a vikarma the same day.’

‘But how can the husband’s death be considered her fault?’ argued Shiva. ‘That is completely ridiculous.’

‘She wasn’t declared a vikarma because of her husband’s death. It was because she gave birth to a stillborn child.’

‘But that could be due to any reason. Maybe there was a mistake that the local doctors committed.’

‘That doesn’t happen in Meluha, Shiva,’ said Brahaspati calmly. ‘Having a stillborn child is probably one of the worst ways for a woman to become a vikarma. Only giving birth to a Naga child would be considered worse. Thank god that didn’t happen. Because then she would have been completely ostracised from society.’

‘This has to be changed. The concept of vikarma is unfair.’

Brahaspati looked at his friend intensely. ‘You might save the vikarma, Shiva. But how do you save a woman who doesn’t want to be saved? She genuinely believes she deserves this punishment.’

‘Why? I’m sure she is not the first Meluhan woman to give birth to a stillborn. There must have been others before her. There will be many more after her.’

‘She was the first royal woman to give birth to a stillborn. Her fate has been a source of embarrassment to the emperor. It raises questions about his ancestry’

‘How would it raise questions about his lineage? Sati is not his birth daughter. She would also have come from Maika, right?’

‘No, my friend. That law was relaxed for families of nobility around two hundred and fifty years back. Apparently in the ‘national interest”, noble families were allowed to keep their birth-children. Some laws can be amended, provided ninety per cent of the Brahmins, Kshatriyas and Vaishyas above a particular chosen-tribe and job status vote for the change. There have been rare instances of such unanimity. This was one of them. Only one man opposed this change.’

‘Who?’

‘Lord Satyadhwaj, the grandfather of Parvateshwar. Their family had vowed not to have any birth children since this law was passed. Parvateshwar honours that promise to this day.’

‘But if the birth law could be changed,’ said Shiva working things out, ‘why couldn’t the law of vikarma?’

‘Because there aren’t enough noble families affected by that law. That is the harsh truth.’

‘But all this goes completely against Lord Ram’s teachings!’

‘Lord Ram’s teachings also say that the concept of the vikarma is correct. Don’t you want to question that?’

Shiva glanced at Brahaspati silently, before looking out over the river.

There is nothing wrong with questioning Lord Ram’s laws, my friend,’ said Brahaspati. ‘There were many times when he himself stood down because of someone else’s rationale. The question is that what are your motives for wanting to change the law? Is it because you genuinely think the law itself is unfair? Or is it because you are attracted to Sati and you want to remove an inconvenient law which stands in your path.’

‘I genuinely think the vikarma law is unfair. I felt that from the moment I found out about it. Even before I knew Sati was a vikarma.’

‘But Sati doesn’t think the law is unfair.’

‘But she is a good woman. She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.’

‘She is not just a good woman. She is one of the finest I have ever met. She is beautiful, honest, straight-forward, brave and intelligent — everything a man could want in a woman. But you are not just any man. You are the Neelkanth.’

Shiva turned around and rested his hands on the craft’s railing. He looked into the distance at the dense forest along the riverbanks as their boat glided across the water. The soothing evening breeze fanned Shiva’s long locks.

‘I’ve told you before, my friend,’ said Brahaspati. ‘Because of that unfortunate blue throat, every decision you take has many ramifications. You have to think many times before you act.’

It was late in the night. The royal convoy had just set sail from the city of Sutgengarh on the Indus. The emotions at Sutgengarh had erupted in the now predictable routine of exuberance at the sight of the Neelkanth. The saviour of their civilisation had finally arrived.

Their saviour, however, was in his own private hell. Sati had maintained her distance from Shiva for the last few weeks. He was torn, experiencing pain and dismay at depths he didn’t think fathomable.

The convoy’s next stop was the famous city of Mohan Jo Daro or the Platform of Mohan. The city, on the mighty Indus, was dedicated to a great philosopher-priest called Lord Mohan, who lived in this region many thousands of years ago. Once he had met with the people of Mohan Jo Daro, Shiva expressed a desire to visit the temple of Lord Mohan. This temple stood outside the main city platform, further down the Indus. The governor of Mohan Jo Daro had offered to take the Lord Neelkanth there in a grand procession. Shiva however insisted on going alone. He felt drawn to the temple. He felt that it would have some solutions for his troubled heart.

The temple itself was simple. Much like Lord Mohan himself. A small non—descript structure announced itself as the birthplace of the sage. The only sign of the temple’s significance was the massive gates in the four cardinal directions of the compound. As instructed by Shiva, Nandi and Veerbhadra, along with their platoon, waited outside.

Shiva, with his comforting cravat back around his neck, walked up the steps feeling tranquil after a long time. He rang the bell at the entrance and sat down against a pillar with his eyes shut in quiet contemplation. Suddenly, an oddly familiar voice asked: ‘How are you, my friend?’

CHAPTER 14

Pandit of Mohan Jo Daro

Shiva opened his eyes to behold a man who was almost a replica of the pandit he had met at the Brahma temple, in what seemed like another life. He sported a similar long flowing white beard and a big white mane. He wore a saffron dhoti and angvastram. The wizened face bore a calm and welcoming smile. If it wasn’t for this pandit’s much taller frame, Shiva could have easily mistaken him for the one he had met at the Brahma temple.

‘How are you, my friend?’ repeated the pandit sitting down.

‘I am alright, Panditji,’ said Shiva, using the Indian term ‘ji’ as a form of respect. He couldn’t follow why, but the intrusion was welcome to him. It almost seemed as though he was drawn to this temple because he was destined to meet the pandit. ‘Do all pandits in Meluha look alike?’

The man smiled warmly. ‘Not all the pandits. Just us.’

‘And who might “;us” be, Panditji?’

‘The next time you meet one of us, we will tell you,’ said the Pandit cryptically. ‘That is a promise.’

‘Why not now?’

‘At this point of time, our identity is not important,’ smiled the Pandit. What is important is that you are disturbed about something. Do you want to talk about it?’