Shiva turned his face away. He believed in his heart that the vikarma system was unfair.

‘Are you concerned about all the vikarma, O Neelkanth?’ asked the Pandit. ‘Or just one in particular?’

‘What is the Lord doing in there?’ asked Nandi. ‘He is taking too long.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Veerbhadra. ‘All I know is that if Shiva says he needs to do something, I accept it.’

‘Why do you call the Lord by his name?’

‘Because that is his name!’

Nandi smiled at the simple answer and turned to look at the temple.

‘Tell me Captain,’ said Veerbhadra coming close to Nandi. ‘Is Krittika spoken for?’

‘Spoken for?’

‘I mean,’ continued Veerbhadra. ‘Is she off limits?’

‘Off limits?’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Veerbhadra turning beet red. ‘She is a widow,’ said Nandi. ‘Her husband died fifteen years back.’

‘Oh, that’s terrible!’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Nandi, as he smiled at Veerbhadra. ‘But to answer your question, she is “not spoken for” right now.’

‘My Lady, may I say something?’ asked Krittika.

Sati turned from the guest-room window to look at Krittika with a surprised frown. ‘Have I ever stopped you from speaking your mind? A true Suryavanshi always speaks her mind.’

‘Well,’ said Krittika. ‘Sometimes, it may not be that harmful to lose control of yourself.’

Sati frowned even more.

Krittika spoke quickly, before her courage deserted her. ‘Forget about him being the Neelkanth, my Lady. Just as a man, I think he is the finest I have seen. He is intelligent and brave, funny and kind, and worships the ground you walk on. Is that really so bad?’

Sati glared at Krittika; she didn’t know if she was more upset at Krittika for what she was saying or at herself for having feelings which were apparently so evident.

Krittika continued, ‘Maybe, just maybe, breaking the rules can lead to happiness.’

‘I am a Suryavanshi,’ said Sati, her voice dropping. ‘Rules are all that I live by. What have I got to do with happiness? Don’t ever dare to speak to me about this again!’

‘Yes, there is this particular vikarma,’ admitted Shiva. ‘But that is not why I think the vikarma law is unfair.’

‘I know that,’ said the Pandit. ‘But I also know that what troubles you right now is your relationship with that one in particular. You don’t want her to think that you would change the law, however justified, just to get her. Because if Sati believes that, she will never come to you.’

‘How do you know her name?’ asked Shiva, flabbergasted.

‘We know many things, my friend.’

‘My entire life is meaningless without her.’

‘I know,’ smiled the Pandit. ‘Perhaps I can help you.’

Shiva frowned. This was unexpected.

‘You want her to reciprocate your love. But how can she when you don’t even understand her?’

‘I think I understand her. I love her.’

‘Yes, you do love her. But you don’t understand her. You don’t know what she wants.’

Shiva kept quiet. He knew the Pandit was right. He was thoroughly confused about Sati.

‘You can hazard a guess towards what she wants,’ continued the Pandit, ‘with the help of the theory of transactions.’

What?’ asked a flummoxed Shiva.

‘It makes up the fabric of society.’

‘Excuse me, but what does this have to do with Sati?’

‘Indulge me for a little while, Neelkanth,’ said the Pandit. You know the cloth that you wear is created when cotton threads are woven together, right?’

‘Yes,’ answered Shiva.

‘Similarly, transactions are threads that when woven together make up a society, its culture. Or in the case of a person, weaves together their character.’

Shiva nodded.

‘If you want to know the strength of a cloth, you inspect the quality of its weave. If you want to understand a person’s character, look closely at their interpersonal behaviour or their transactions.’

‘Alright,’ said Shiva slowly, absorbing the Pandit’s words. ‘But transactions are...’

‘I’ll explain,’ interrupted the Pandit. Transactions are interactions between two individuals. It could be trading goods, like a Shudra farmer offering grain for money from a Vaishya. But it could also be beyond material concerns, like a Kshatriya offering protection to a society in return for power.’

Shiva nodded in agreement. ‘Transactions are about give and take.’

‘Exactly. So going by this logic, if you want something from someone, you have to give that person something they want.’

‘So what do you think she wants?’ asked Shiva.

‘Try and understand Sati’s transactions. What do you think she wants?’

‘I don’t know. She is very confusing’

‘No, she isn’t. There is a pattern. Think. She is probably the most eminent vikarma in history. She has the power to rebel if she wants to. She certainly has the spirit since she never backs off from a fight. But she does not rebel against the vikarma law. Neither does she fade into the background like most vikarmas and live her life in anonymity. She follows the commandments, and yet, she does not whine and complain to others. However unfairly life treats her, she conducts herself with dignity. Why?’

‘Because she is a righteous person?’

‘That she is, no doubt. But that is not the reason. Remember, in a transaction, you give something because you want something in return. She is accepting an unfair law without trying to make anyone feel guilty about it. And most importantly, she continues to use her talents to contribute to the good of society whenever she can. What do you think a person who is giving all this in her transactions with society wants in return?’

‘Respect,’ answered Shiva.

‘Exactly!’ beamed the Pandit. ‘And what do you think you do when you try to protect such a person?’ ‘Disrespect her.’

‘Absolutely! I know it comes naturally to you to want to protect any good person who appears in need. But control that feeling in relation to Sati. Respect her. And she will feel irresistibly drawn towards you. She gets many things from the people who love her. What she doesn’t get is what she craves the most — respect.’

Shiva looked at the Pandit with a grateful smile. He had found his answer.

Respect.

After two weeks, the Neelkanth’s convoy reached the city of Karachapa at the confluence of the Indus into the Western Sea. It was a glittering city which had long grown beyond the one platform it was built on. The Dwitiya or second platform, had been erected fifty years ago on an even grander scale than the first. The Dwitiya platform was where the Karachapa elite lived. The Governor, a diminutive Vaishya called Jhooleshwar, had heard of and followed the new tradition of receiving the Neelkanth outside the city.

Karachapa, with its hundred thousand citizens, was at its heart a frontier trading city. Therefore it was an act of foresight by Lord Brahmanayak, Emperor Daksha’s father, to have appointed a Vaishya as its governor over a hundred years ago. Jhooleshwar had ruled the city extraordinarily well, gilding its fate in gold and was considered its wisest and most efficient governor ever. Karachapa had long overtaken Lothal on the eastern part of the empire to become Meluha’s premier city of commerce. While foreigners such as Mesopotamians and Egyptians were allowed into this liberal city, they were not allowed to travel further into Meluha without express royal permission.