‘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!’