Shiva.
Every person turned towards the Neelkanth, shocked by his words. Turning to Sati, Shiva
continued, ‘Citizens of Karachapa, I have seen the Princess fight. She can defeat anyone. Even
the gods.’
Sati stared at Shiva, shocked.
‘I accept the challenge,’ growled Tarak.
Sati nodded at Tarak, climbed on her white steed and turned to leave. At the edge of the
square, she pulled up her horse and turned to take one more look at Shiva. She smiled at him,
turned and rode away.
It was the beginning of the third prahar as Shiva and Brahaspati stole quietly into the local
varjish graha, the exercise hall, to observe Tarak exercising with two partners. The day’s
yagna had been a disaster. With everyone petrified that the princess would die the next day, no
one was inclined to participate in the ceremony. However, as the yagna had been called, it had
to be conducted or the gods would be offended. The congregation went through the motions
and the yagna was called to a close.
Tarak’s famed fearsome blows on his hapless partners filled Brahaspati’s soul with dread
and he came to an immediate decision. ‘I’ll assassinate him tonight. She will not die tomorrow’
Shiva turned in stunned disbelief to the chief scientist. ‘Brahaspati? What are you saying?’
‘Sati is too noble to meet a fate such as this. I am willing to sacrifice my life and reputation
for her.’
‘But you are a Brahmin. You are not supposed to kill.’
‘I’ll do it for you,’ whispered Brahaspati, emotions clouding his judgement. You will not lose
her, my friend.’
Shiva came close to Brahaspati and hugged him. ‘Don’t corrupt your soul, my friend. I am
not worth such a big sacrifice.’
Brahaspati clung to Shiva.
Stepping back, Shiva whispered, ‘In any case, your sacrifice is not required. For as sure as
the sun rises in the east, Sati will defeat Tarak tomorrow.’
A few hours into the third prahar, Sati returned to the guest house. She did not go up to her
room, but summoned Nandi and Veerbhadra to the central courtyard, drew her sword and
began her practise with them.
A little later Parvateshwar walked in, looking broken. His expression clearly conveyed his
fear that this might be the last time he would talk to Sati. She stopped practising, sheathed her
sword and folded her hands into a respectful namaste. ‘Pitratulya,’ she whispered.
Parvateshwar came close to Sati, his face distraught. She could not be sure but it seemed
as though he had been crying. She had never seen even a hint of a tear in his confident eyes.
‘My child,’ mumbled Parvateshwar.