seething inside.
‘My Lord,’ said Kanakhala looking towards Shiva, her hands folded in a namaste. ‘I hope
that at least you understand what I am trying to say. Even Brahaspati would have wanted us to
avoid violence, if possible.’
The last sentence had an effect on Shiva similar to a torrential downpour on a raging fire. He
turned towards Kanakhala and gazed into her eyes, before turning towards Daksha. ‘Your
Highness, perhaps what Kanakhala says is right. Maybe we can send an emissary to
Swadweep to give them an opportunity to repent. If we can avoid the killing of innocents, only
good will come from it. However, I would still suggest that we begin war preparations. We
should be prepared for the possibility that the Chandravanshis may reject our offer.’
‘The Mahadev has spoken,’ said Daksha. ‘I propose that this be the decision of the war
council. All in favour, raise your hands.’
Every hand in the room was raised. The die had been cast. There would be an attempt for
peace. If that didn’t work, the Meluhans would attack.
‘I have failed again, Bhadra,’ cried Shiva. ‘I can’t protect anyone in need.’
Shiva was sitting next to Veerbhadra, in a private section of his palace courtyard. A deeply
worried Sati had invited Veerbhadra to try and bring Shiva out of his mourning. Shiva had
retreated into a shell, not speaking, not crying. She hoped her husband’s childhood friend would
succeed where she had failed.
‘How can you blame yourself, Shiva?’ asked Veerbhadra, handing over the chillum to his
friend. ‘How can this be your fault?’
Shiva picked up the chillum and took a deep drag. The marijuana coursed through his body,
but did not help. The pain was too intense. Shiva snorted in disgust and threw the chillum away.
As tears flooded his eyes, he looked up to the sky and swore, ‘I will avenge you, my brother. If
it is the last thing I do. If I have to spend every moment of the rest of my life. If I have to come
back to this world again and again. I will avenge you!’
Veerbhadra turned towards Sati sitting in the distance, a worried look on his face. Sati got
up and walked towards them. She came up to Shiva and held him tight, resting his tired head
against her bosom, hoping to soothe Shiva’s tortured soul. To Sati’s surprise, Shiva did not
raise his arms to wrap them around her. He just sat motionless. Breathing intermittently.
‘My Lord,’ cried a surprised Vraka, as he stood to attention. So did the other twenty-four
brigadiers, with respect to the Neelkanth who had just been announced into the war room.
Parvateshwar rose slowly. He spoke kindly as he knew the pain Shiva still carried about
Brahaspati’s grisly death. ‘How are you, Shiva?’
‘I am alright, thank you.’
‘We were discussing battle plans.’
‘I know,’ said Shiva. ‘I was wondering if I could join in.’