CHAPTER 25

Island of the Individual

It was another three weeks before Shiva’s entourage reached Ayodhya, the capital of the
Swadweepans. They had travelled along a decrepit, long-winding road to the Ganga, and then
sailed eastward to the point where the mighty, yet capricious, river passionately welcomed the
waters of the Sarayu. Then they had cruised north, up the Sarayu, to the city of Lord Ram’s
birth. It was a long circuitous route, but the quickest possible considering the terrible road
conditions in Swadweep, the island of the individual.
The excitement in the hearts of the Meluhan soldiers was beyond compare. They had only
heard legends about Lord Ram’s city. None had ever seen it. Ayodhya, literally the
impregnable city, was the land first blessed by Lord Ram’s sacred feet. They expected a
gleaming city beyond compare, even if it had been devastated by the Chandravanshi presence.
They expected the city to be an oasis of order and harmony even if all the surrounding land had
been rendered chaotic by the Chandravanshis. They were disappointed.
Ayodhya was nothing like Devagiri. At first glance, it promised much. The outer walls were
thick and looked astonishingly powerful. Unlike the sober grey Meluhan walls, the exterior of
Ayodhya had been extravagantly painted with every colour in god’s universe. Each alternate
brick, however, was painted in pristine white, the royal colour of the Chandravanshis. Numerous
banners, tinted in pink and blue, had been festooned down the city towers. The banners weren’t
put up for a special occasion, but were permanent fixtures, adorning the city.
The empire road curved suddenly along the fort wall to the main entrance, so as to prevent
elephants and battering rams from getting a straight run to the mighty doors. At the top of the
main gates, a wonderfully ornate, horizontal crescent moon had been sculpted into the walls.
Below it was the Chandravanshi motto. ‘Shringar. Saundarya. Swatantrata.’ Passion. Beauty.
Freedom.
It was only when one entered the city that it delivered a blow to the precision and order
loving Meluhans. Krittika described the city’s organisation best as ‘functioning pandemonium’.
Unlike all Meluhan cities, Ayodhya was not built on a platform — so it was obvious that if the
Sarayu river ever flooded in the manner that the temperamental Indus did, the city would be
inundated. The numerous city walls, built in seven concentric circles, were surprisingly thick and
strong. However, it didn’t take a general’s strategic eye to see that the concentric walls had not
been planned by a military mastermind. They were in fact added in a haphazard manner, one
by one, after the city had burst its seams and extended beyond the previous perimeter. That is
why there were many weak points along each wall, which an enemy laying siege could easily
exploit. Perhaps that’s why the Chandravanshis preferred to take wars outside to a far away
battleground rather than defend their city.
The infrastructure was a sorry indictment of the Chandravanshi penchant for debate as an