The two bedrooms had comfortable soft beds with silk linen. Bowls of fruit had been thoughtfully placed on low tables next to the beds. Even clothes had been specially ordered and placed in cupboards for the two guests, including traditional Parihan cloaks.

Shiva looked at Gopal with a twinkle in his eye and chortled, ‘I think these miserable quarters will have to suffice!’

Gopal joined in mirthfully.

Chapter 37

Unexpected Help

After a sumptuous dinner, Gopal and Shiva were back in their chambers, welcoming the opportunity for relaxation and inactivity. The fountain in the room having drawn his attention, Shiva quipped, ‘Panditji, where do they get the water from?’

‘For this fountain?’ asked Gopal.

‘For all the fountains, ponds and channels that we have seen. Quite frankly, building this city and these gardens would have required a prodigious amount of water. This is a desert land with almost no natural rivers. I was told that they don’t even have regular rains. So where does this water come from?’

‘They owe it to the brilliance of their engineers.’

‘How so?’

‘There are massive natural springs and aquifers to the north of Pariha.’

‘That is water within the rocks and the ground, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘But springs can never be as bountiful.’

‘True, but scarcity engenders ingenuity. When you don’t have enough water, you learn to use it judiciously. All the fountain and canal water that you see in the city is recycled waste water.’

Shiva, who had dipped his hand into the fountain water, immediately recoiled.

Gopal laughed softly. ‘Don’t worry, my friend. That water has been treated and completely cleaned. It’s even safe to drink.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

Gopal smiled as Shiva judiciously wiped his hands with a sanitised napkin.

‘How far away are these springs and aquifers?’

‘The ones that supply this city are a good fifty to hundred kilometres away,’ answered Gopal.

Shiva whistled softly. ‘That’s a long distance. How do they get the water here in such large quantities? I haven’t seen any canals.’

‘Oh, they have canals. But you can’t see them as they are underground.’

‘They’ve built underground canals?’ asked Shiva, stunned.

‘They’re not as broad as the canals we have back home. But they serve the purpose. They built canals that are the size of underground drains, which begin at the aquifers and springs.’

‘But a hundred kilometres is a long way to transport water. How do they do that? Do they have underground pumps powered by animals?’

‘No. They use one of the most powerful forces of nature to do the job.’

‘What?’

‘Gravity. They built underground channels with gentle gradients that slope over a hundred kilometres. The water naturally flows down due to the force of gravity.’

‘Brilliant. But building something like this would require precision engineering skills of a high order.’

‘You’re right. The angle of the descent would have to be absolutely exact over very long distances. If the gradient is even slightly higher than required, the water would begin to erode the bottom of the channel, destroying it over time.’

‘And if the slope is a little too gentle, the water would simply stop flowing.’

‘Exactly,’ said Gopal. ‘You can imagine the flawless design and execution required, in implementing a project such as this.’

‘But when did they...’

Shiva was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He immediately lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. ‘Panditji, were you expecting someone?’

Gopal shook his head. ‘No. And, where is our guard? Isn’t he supposed to announce visitors?’

Shiva pulled out his sword, indicating to Gopal that he should follow him, as he tiptoed to the door. The safest place for him was behind Shiva. The Vasudev chief was a Brahmin and not a warrior. Shiva waited near the door. The soft knock was heard again.

Shiva turned and whispered to Gopal. ‘As soon as I pull the intruder in, shut the door and lock it.’

Shiva held his sword to the side, pulled the door open and in one smooth motion, yanked the intruder into the room, pushing the Parihan to the ground. Gopal, moving just as rapidly, shut the door and bolted it.

‘I’m a friend!’ spoke a feminine voice, her hands raised in surrender.

Shiva and Gopal stared at the woman on the ground, her face covered with a veil.

She slowly got up, keeping her eyes fixed on Shiva’s sword. ‘You don’t need that. Parihans do not kill their guests. It is one of Lord Rudra’s laws.’

Shiva refused to lower his blade. ‘Reveal yourself,’ he commanded.

The woman removed her veil. ‘You’ve seen me earlier, great Neelkanth.’

Shiva recognised the intruder immediately. It was the dark-haired mystery woman he had seen in the lobby while he’d been talking to Bahmandokht.

Shiva smiled. ‘I was wondering when I would see you next.’

‘I’ve come to help,’ said the woman, still unable to tear her eyes away from the sword. ‘So I’ll repeat that you really don’t need that. We Parihans will never break Lord Rudra’s laws.’

Shiva sheathed his sword. ‘What makes you think we need your help?’

‘For the same reason that you don’t need your sword here: we Vayuputras never break Lord Rudra’s laws. I am here to help you get what you came for...’

Shiva and Gopal joined the lady, having made her comfortable on the soft cushions.

‘What is your name?’ asked Shiva. ‘Why do you want to help us?’

‘My name is Scheherazade.’

Scheherazade was a name that harked back to ancient Parihan roots; a person who gives freedom to cities.

Shiva narrowed his eyes. ‘That is a lie. You are not from this land. What is your real name?’

‘I am a Parihan. This is my name.’

‘How can we trust you if you don’t even tell us your real name?’

‘My name has nothing to do with your mission. What the Amartya Shpand, the Vayuputra Council, think of your mission is what truly matters.’

‘And you can tell us what they think?’ asked Gopal.

‘That’s why I am here. I can tell you what you need to do to fulfil your mission.’

The Mithra was a ceremonial title for the chief of the Vayuputra tribe. It literally translated as ‘friend’; for he was the deepest friend of the Vayuputra God, the Ahura Mazda.

Ahura Mazda was a formless God, much like the Hindu concept of Parmatma. And Mithra was his representative on earth. Lord Rudra had mandated that the ancient title of Mithra be used for the Chief Vayuputra. Once a man became the Mithra, all his earlier identities were erased, including his old name. He even dissociated himself completely from his former family. Everyone was to know him thereafter as Mithra.

Mithra was in the antechamber of his office, when he heard a soft noise from the veranda. The nascent moon cast a faint light, impairing vision, but Mithra knew who it was as he walked over.

He heard a soft, feminine voice call out in a whisper, ‘Great Mithra, I have sent her to them.’