Immortals of Meluha (45 page)

‘I am sure the answer would be the same, my Lord. By the fourth prahar today, Emperor Dilipa will be standing in front of us, in chains, waiting for justice to be done.’

‘Careful, your Highness,’ said Shiva with a smile. ‘Let us not tempt fate. We still have to win the war!’

‘We will face no problems. We have the Neelkanfh with us. We just need to attack. Victory is guaranteed.’

‘I think a litde bit more than a blue throat will be required to beat the Chandravanshis, your Highness,’ said Shiva, his smile even broader. ‘We shouldn’t underestimate our enemy.’

‘I don’t underestimate them, my Lord. But I will not make the mistake of underestimating you either.’

Shiva gave up. He had learned some time back that it was impossible to win a debate against Daksha’s unquestioning conviction.

‘Perhaps I should leave, your Highness,’ said Parvateshwar. The time has come. With your permission.’

‘Of course, Parvateshwar.
Vijayibhavl
,’ said Daksha. Turning towards Shiva, Daksha continued, ‘My Lord, they have built a viewing platform for us on the hill at the back.’

‘Viewing platform?’ asked Shiva, perplexed.

‘Yes. Why don’t we watch the battle from there? You would also be in a better position to direct the battle from there.’

Shiva narrowed his eyes in surprise. ‘Your Highness, my position is with the soldiers. On the battlefield.’

Parvateshwar stopped in his tracks. Startled and delighted at having been proved wrong.

‘My Lord, this is a job for butchers, not the Neelkanfh,’ said a concerned Daksha. ‘You don’t need to sully your hands with Chandravanshi blood. Parvateshwar will arrest that Naga and throw him at your feet. You can extract such a terrible retribution from him that his entire tribe would dread your justice for aeons.’

‘This is not about
my
revenge, your Highness. It is about the vengeance of Meluha. It would be petty of me to think that an entire war is being fought just for me. This is a war between good and evil. A batde in which one has to choose a side. And fight. There are no bystanders in a
dharmayudh
— it is
a holy war.’

Parvateshwar watched Shiva intently, his eyes blazing with admiration. These were Lord Ram’s words.
There are no bystanders in a dharmayudh.

‘My Lord, we can’t afford to risk your life,’ pleaded Daksha. You are too important. I am sure that we can win this war without taking that gamble. Your presence has inspired us. There are many who are willing to shed their blood for you.’

‘If they are willing to shed their blood for me, then I must be willing to shed my blood for them.’

Parvateshwar’s heart was swamped by the greatest joy an accomplished Suryavanshi could feel. The joy of finally finding a man worth following. The joy of finding a man worth being inspired by. The joy of finding a man, deserving of being spoken of in the same breath, as Lord Ram himself.

A worried Daksha came closer to Shiva. He realised that if he had to stop the Neelkanth from this foolhardiness, he would have to speak his mind. He whispered softly, ‘My Lord, you are my daughter’s husband. If something happened to you, she would be bereaved twice in one life. I can’t let that happen to her.’

‘Nothing will happen,’ whispered Shiva. ‘And Sati would die a thousand deaths if she saw her husband stay away from a
dharmayudh.
She would lose respect for me. If she weren’t pregnant, she would have been fighting alongside me, shoulder to shoulder. You know that.’

Daksha stared at Shiva, broken, troubled and apprehensive.

Shiva smiled warmly. ‘Nothing will happen, your Highness.’

‘And what if it does?’

‘Then it should be remembered that it happened for a good cause. Sati would be proud of me.’

Daksha continued to stare at Shiva, his face a portrait of agonised distress.

‘Forgive me, your Highness, but I must go,’ said Shiva with a formal namaste, turning to leave.

Parvateshwar followed distracted, as if commanded by a higher force. As Shiva walked briskly out of the tent towards his horse, he heard Parvateshwar’s booming voice. ‘My Lord!’

Shiva continued walking.

‘My Lord,’ bellowed Parvateshwar again, more insistent.

Shiva stopped abruptly. He turned, a surprised frown on his face. ‘I am sorry Parvateshwar. I thought you were calling out to his Highness.’

‘No, my Lord,’ said Parvateshwar, reaching up to Shiva. ‘It was you I called.’

His frown deeper, Shiva asked, ‘What is the matter, brave General?’

Parvateshwar came to a halt in rigid military attention. He kept a polite distance from Shiva. He could not stand on the hallowed ground that cradled the Mahadev. As if in a daze, Parvateshwar slowly curled his fist and brought it up to his chest. And then, completing the formal Meluhan salute, he bowed low. Lower than he had ever bowed before a living man. As low as he bowed before Lord Ram’s idol during his regular morning pujas. Shiva continued to stare at Parvateshwar, his face an odd mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Shiva respected Parvateshwar too much to be comfortable with such open idolisation from him.

Rising, but with his head still bent, Parvateshwar whispered, ‘I will be honoured to shed my blood with you, my Lord.’ Raising his head, he repeated, ‘Honoured.’

Shiva smiled and touched Parvateshwar’s arm. ‘Well, if our plans are good my friend, hopefully we won’t have to shed too much of it!’

CHAPTER 23

Dharmayudh, the Holy War

The Suryavanshis were arranged like a bow. Strong, yet flexible. The recently raised tortoise regiments had been placed at the centre. The light infantry formed the flanks, while the cavalry, in turn, bordered them. The chariots had been abandoned due to the unseasonal rain the previous night. They couldn’t risk the wheels getting stuck in the slush. The newly reared archer regiments remained stationed at the back. Skilfully designed back rests had been fabricated for them, which allowed the archers to lie and guide their feet with an ingenious system of gears. The bows could be stretched across their feet and the strings drawn back up to their chins, releasing powerfully built arrows, almost the size of small spears. As they were at the back of the Suryavanshi infantry, their presence was hidden from the Chandravanshis.

The Chandravanshis had placed their army as per their strength in a standard offensive formation. Their massive infantry was in squads of five thousand. There were fifty such, comprising a full legion in a straight line. They stretched as far as the eye could see. There were three more such legions behind the first one, ready to finish off the job. This formation allowed a direct assault onto a numerically inferior enemy, giving the offence tremendous strength and solidity, but also making it rigid. The squads left spaces in between them, to allow the cavalry to charge through if required. Seeing the Suryavanshi formation, the Chandravanshi cavalry from the rear had been moved to the flanks. This would enable a quicker charge at the flanks of the Suryavanshi formation and disrupt enemy lines. The Chandravanshi general clearly had a copy of the ancient war manuals and was playing it religiously, page by page. It would have been a perfect move against an enemy who also followed standard tactics. Unfortunately, he was up against a Tibetan tribal chief whose innovations had transformed the Suryavanshi attack.

As Shiva rode towards the hillock at the edge of the main battlefield, the Brahmins picked up the tempo of their shlokas while the war drums pumped the energy to a higher level. Despite being outnumbered on a vast scale, the Suryavanshis did not exhibit even the slightest hint of nervousness. They had buried their fear deep.

The war cries of the clan-gods of the various brigades rent the air.

‘Indra dev Id jail’

‘Agni dev ki jail’

‘Jai Shakti devi Id!’

‘Varun dev ki jai!’

‘Jai Pawan dev Id!’

But these cries were forgotten in an instant as the soldiers saw a magnificent white steed canter in over the hillock carrying a handsome, muscular figure. A thunderous roar pierced the sky, loud enough to force the gods out of their cloud palaces to peer at the events unfolding below. The Neelkanth raised his hand in acknowledgment. Following him was General Parvateshwar, accompanied by Nandi and Veerbhadra.

Vraka was off his horse in a flash as Shiva approached him. Parvateshwar dismounted equally rapidly and was next to Vraka before Shiva could reach him.

‘The Lord will lead the right flank, Brigadier,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘I hope that is alright’

‘It will be my honour to fight under his command, my Lord,’ said a beaming Vraka. He immediately pulled out his Field Commander baton from the grip on his side, went down on one knee and raised his hand high, to handover the charge to Shiva.

‘You people have to stop doing this,’ said Shiva laughing. ‘You embarrass me!’

Pulling Vraka up on his feet, Shiva embraced him tightly. ‘I am your friend, not your Lord.’

A stardled Vraka stepped back, his soul unable to handle the gush of positive energy flowing in. He mumbled, ‘Yes, my Lord.’

Shaking his head softly, Shiva smiled. He gently took the baton from Vraka’s extended hand and raised it high, for the entire Suryavanshi army to see. An ear-splitting cry ripped through the ranks.

‘Mahadev! Mahadev! Mahadev!’

Shiva vaulted onto his horse in one smooth arc. Holding the baton high, he rode up and down the line. The Suryavanshi roar got louder and louder.

‘Mahadev!’

‘Mahadev!’

‘Mahadev!’

‘Suryavanshis!’ bellowed Shiva, raising his hand. ‘Meluhans! Hear me!’

The army quietened down to hear their living god.

‘Who is a Mahadev?’ roared Shiva.

They listened in rapt attention, hanging on his every word.

‘Does he sit on a sad height and look on idly while ordinary men do what should be
his
job? No!’

Some soldiers were praying inaudibly.

‘Does he just lazily bestow his blessings while others fight for the good? Does he stand by nonchalantly and count the dead while the living sacrifice themselves to destroy evil? No!’

There was pin-drop silence as the Suryavanshis absorbed their Neelkanth’s message.

‘A man
becomes
a Mahadev only when he fights for good. A Mahadev is not born from his mother’s womb. He is forged in the heat of battle, when he wages a war to destroy evil!’

The army stood hushed, feeling a flood of positive energy.

‘I am a Mahadev!’ bellowed Shiva.

A resounding roar arose from the Suryavanshis. They were led by the
Mahadev.
The
God of Gods.
The Chandravanshis did not stand a chance.

‘But I am not the only one!’

A shocked silence descended on the Suryavanshis. What did the Mahadev mean? He is not the only one? Do the Chandravanshis have a god too?

‘I am not the only one! For I see a hundred thousand Mahadevs in front of me! I see a hundred thousand men willing to fight on the side of good! I see a hundred thousand men willing to battle evil! I see a hundred thousand men capable of destroying evil!’

The stunned Suryavanshis gaped at their Neelkanth as the import of his words permeated their minds. They dared not ask the question: Are we gods?

Shiva had the answer:
‘Har Ek Hal Mahadev!’

The Meluhans stood astounded.
Every single one a Mahadev?

‘Har Har Mahadev?
’ bellowed Shiva.

The Meluhans roared.
All of us are Mahadevs!

Pure primal energy coursed through the veins of each Suryavanshi. They were gods! It didn’t matter that the Chandravanshis outnumbered them ten to one. They were gods! Even if the evil Chandravanshis outnumbered them a hundred to one, victory was assured. They were gods!

‘Har Har Mahadev!’ cried the Suryavanshi army.

‘Har Har Mahadev!’ yelled Shiva. ‘All of us are gods! Gods on a mission!’

Drawing his sword, he pulled the reins of his horse. Rising on its hind legs with a ferocious neigh, the horse pirouetted smartly to face the Chandravanshis. Shiva pointed his sword at his enemies. ‘On a mission to destroy evil!’

The Suryavanshis bellowed after their Lord. Har Har Mahadev!

The cry rent the air. Har Har Mahadev!

Victory would not be denied. Har Har Mahadev!

The long spell of evil would end today. Har Har Mahadev!

As the army roared like the gods that they were, Shiva rode on towards a beaming Parvateshwar who was flanked by Nandi, Veerbhadra and Vraka.

‘Nice speech,’ grinned Veerbhadra.

Shiva winked at him. He then turned his horse towards Parvateshwar. ‘General, I think it’s time we start our own rainfall.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ nodded Parvateshwar. Turning his horse around, he gave the orders to his flag bearer. ‘The archers.’

The flag bearer raised the coded flag. It was red with a vicious black lightening darned on it. The message was repeated by flag bearers across the lines. The Suryavanshi infantry immediately hunched down on its knees. Shiva, Parvateshwar, Vraka, Nandi and Veerbhadra dismounted rapidly, pulling their horses down to their knees. And the arrows flew in a deadly shower.