showers of flowers since they had finally been freed from their evil rulers, was surprised at the
cold reception he got. He put it down to enforcement by the Chandravanshi royalty.
Shiva, who arrived a week later, was under no such illusions. He had expected far worse
than just a quiet greeting. He expected to be attacked. He expected to be vilified for not
standing up for the Swadweepans, who also believed in the legend of the Neelkanth. He
expected to be hated for choosing the so-called wrong side. But while he had come to suspect
that the Chandravanshis were not quite evil, he was not prepared to classify the Suryavanshis
as the ‘wrong side’ either. In his opinion, the Meluhans were almost without exception honest,
decent, law-abiding people who could be unvaryingly trusted. Shiva was deeply confused about
his karma and his future course of action. He missed Brahaspati’s keen wit and advice.
His thoughts weighing heavy on him, Shiva quickly disembarked from the curtained cart and
turned towards the Chandravanshi palace. For a moment, he was startled by the grandeur of
Dilipa’s abode. But he quickly gathered his wits, reached out for Sati’s hand, and began
climbing the hundred steps towards the main palace platform. Parvateshwar trudged slowly
behind. Shiva glanced briefly beyond Sati, to find Anandmayi ascending the steps quietly. She
had not spoken to Shiva since that terrible encounter when she realised who Shiva was. She
kept climbing with an impassive face, devoid of any expression, her eyes set on her father.
‘Who the hell is that man?’ asked an incredulous Swadweepan carpenter, held back at the
edge of the palace courtyard by Chandravanshi soldiers.
‘Why are our Emperor and the sincere madman waiting for him on the royal platform, and
that too in full imperial regalia?’
‘Sincere madman?’ asked his friend.
‘Oh, haven’t you heard? That is the new nickname for that fool Daksha!’
The friends burst out laughing.
‘Shush!’ hissed an old man, standing next to them. ‘Don’t you young people have any sense?
Ayodhya is being humiliated and you are joking around.’
Meanwhile, Shiva had reached the royal platform. Daksha bent low with a namaste as Shiva
smiled weakly and returned the greeting.
Dilipa, his eyes moist, bent low towards Shiva. He cried in a soft whisper, ‘I am not evil, my
Lord. We are not evil.’
‘What was that?’ asked Daksha, his ears straining to hear Dilipa’s whispered words.
Shiva’s choked throat refused to utter a sound. Not hearing anything from Dilipa either,
Daksha shook his head and whispered, ‘My Lord, perhaps this is an opportune time to
introduce you to the people of Ayodhya. I am sure it will galvanize them into action once they
know that the Neelkanth has come to their rescue.’
Before an anguished Shiva could answer, his caring wife spoke, ‘Father, Shiva is very tired.
It has been a long journey. May he rest for some time?’
‘Yes, of course,’ mumbled Daksha apologetically. Turning towards Shiva, he said, ‘I am
sorry, my Lord. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me. Why don’t you rest today?
We can always introduce you at the court tomorrow.’
Shiva looked up at Dilipa’s angst ridden eyes. Unable to bear the tormented gaze any
longer, Shiva looked beyond the Chandravanshi emperor, towards his courtiers standing at the
back. Only one pair of eyes did not have a look of incomprehension. It was at that moment that
Shiva realised that except for Anandmayi, nobody else in Dilipa’s court knew of his identity. Not
even Dilipa’s son, Bhagirath. Dilipa had not spoken to a soul. Clearly, neither had Daksha.
singke
(singke)
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