minimal since most of the mountain’s residents were in Devagiri for the Neelkanth’s marriage.
The list was going to be sent to the great sanyasis in Kashmir, whose powers over the spiritual
force were considered second to none. If the sanyasis could be cajoled into reciting prayers for
these departed souls, it was hoped that their grisly death in this birth would not mar their
subsequent births.
‘It could have also been the Somras, general,’ said Panini, one of Brahaspati’s assistant
chief scientists, offering another plausible cause.
Shiva looked up suddenly on hearing Panini’s words.
‘The Somras did this! How?’ asked a disbelieving Sati.
‘The Somras is very unstable during its manufacturing process,’ continued Panini. ‘It is kept
stable by using copious quantities of the Saraswati waters. One of our main projects was to
determine whether we could stabilise the Somras using less water. Much lesser than at
present.’
Shiva remembered Brahaspati talking about this. He leaned over to listen intendly to Panini.
‘It was one of the dream projects of...’ Panini found it hard to complete the statement. The
thought that Brahaspati, the greatest scientist of his generation, the father-figure to all the
learned men at Mount Mandar, was gone, was too much for Panini to bear. He was too choked
to release the intense pain he felt inside. He stopped talking, shut his eyes and hoped the
terrible moment would pass. Regaining a semblance of control over himself, he continued, ‘It
was one of Brahaspatiji’s dream projects. He had come back to organise the experiment that
was to begin today. He didn’t want us to miss the last day of the celebrations. So he came
alone.’
Parvateshwar was numb. ‘You mean this could have been an accident.’
‘Yes,’ replied Panini. ‘We all knew the experiment was risky. Maybe that is why Brahaspatiji
decided to begin without us.’
The entire room was stunned into silence by this unexpected information. Panini retreated
into his private hell. Parvateshwar continued to gaze into the distance, shocked by the turn of
events. Sad stared at Shiva, holding his hand, deeply worried about how her husband was
taking the death of his friend. And that it may all have been just a senseless mishap!
It was late into the first hour of the fourth prahar. It had been decided that the brigade would
set up camp at the bottom of the ruined mountain. They would leave the next day, only after all
the ceremonies for the departed had been completed. Two riders had been dispatched to
Devagiri with the news about Mandar. Parvateshwar and Sati sat at the edge of the mountain
peak, whispering to each other. The drone of Brahmin scientists reciting Sanskrit shlokas at the
bottom of the mountain floated up to create an ethereal atmosphere of pathos. Nandi and
Veerbhadra stood at attention, a polite distance from Parvateshwar and Sati, looking at their
Lord.
Shiva was walking around the ruins of the Mandar buildings, lost in thought. It was tearing
him apart that he hadn’t even seen any recognisable part of Brahaspati. Everybody in Mandar
had been destroyed beyond recognition. He desperately searched for some sign of his friend.
Something he could keep with himself. Something he could cling on to. Something to soothe his