It was late in the morning the next day when Shiva and Nandi entered the private royal office
to find Daksha, Parvateshwar and Kanakhala waiting for him. A surprised Shiva said, ‘I am
sorry your Highness. I thought we were to meet four hours into the second prahar. I hope I
haven’t kept you waiting.’
Daksha, who had stood up with a formal namaste, bowed low and said, ‘No, my Lord. You
don’t need to apologise. We came in early so that we wouldn’t keep you waiting. It was our
honour to wait for you.’
Parvateshwar rolled his eyes at the extreme subservience that his emperor, the ruler of the
greatest civilisation ever established, showed towards this barbarian. Shiva, controlling his
extreme surprise at being referred to as the ‘Lord’ by the emperor, bowed low towards Daksha
with a namaste and sat down.
‘My Lord, before I start off my monologue about the legend of the Neelkanth, do you have
any questions that you would like to ask?’ enquired Daksha.
The most obvious question came to Shiva’s mind first.
Why in the holy lake’s name is my blessed blue throat so important?
But his instincts told him that though this appeared to be the most obvious question, it could
not be answered unless he understood more about the society of Meluha itself.
‘It may sound like an unusual question your Highness,’ said Shiva. ‘But may I ask what your
age is?’
Daksha looked in surprise at Kanakhala. Then turning back towards Shiva with an awed
smile, he said, ‘You are exceptionally intelligent my Lord. You have asked the most pertinent
question first.’ Crinkling his face into a conspiratorial grin, Daksha continued, ‘Last month I
turned one hundred and eighty four.’
Shiva was stunned. Daksha did not look a day older than thirty years. In fact nobody in
Meluha looked old. Except for the Pandit that Shiva had met at the Brahma temple.
So Nandi is more than a hundred years old.
‘How can this be, your Highness?’ asked a flabbergasted Shiva. ‘What sorcery makes this
possible?’
‘There is no sorcery at all my Lord,’ explained Daksha. ‘What makes this possible is the
brilliance of our scientists who make a potion called the Somras, the drink, of the gods. Taking
the Somras at defined times not only postpones our death considerably, but it also allows us to
live our entire Eves as if we are in the prime of our youth — mentally and physically’
‘But what is the Somras? Where does it come from? Who invented it?’
‘So many questions my Lord,’ smiled Daksha. ‘But I will try my best to answer them one by
one. The Somras was invented many thousands of years ago by one of the greatest Indian
scientists that ever lived. His name was Lord Brahma.’
‘I think there is a temple dedicated to him that I visited on the way to Devagiri. At a place
named Meru?’
‘Yes my Lord. That is where he is said to have lived and worked. Lord Brahma was a
prolific inventor. But he never took any of the benefits of his inventions for himself. He was
always interested in ensuring that his inventions were used for the good of mankind. He realised
early on that a potion as powerful as the Somras could be misused by evil men. So he
singke
(singke)
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