the guest house garden.
‘My Lord, what happened?’ asked Nandi, trying to keep pace with Shiva. ‘Did you get the
shudhikaran done or not?’
‘Go to the guest house Nandi,’ said Shiva walking rapidly away. ‘I will see you there.’
Shiva waited for the larger part of an hour. But it was in vain, for Sati did not make an
appearance. He sat on the bench by himself, cursing the moment when that terrible thought had
entered his mind.
How could I have even thought that Sati would find my touch polluting? I am such a bloody
idiot!
He replayed moments of that fateful encounter in his mind and analysed every facet of it.
‘If something happened to you, I would never be able to forgive myself.’
What did she mean by saying that? Does she have feelings for me? Or is she just an
honourable woman who can’t bear to be the cause of someone else’s misfortune? And why
should she think of herself as inferior? This entire concept of the vikarma is so damned
ridiculous!
Realising that she wasn’t going to come, Shiva got up. He kicked the bench hard, getting a
painful reminder that his once numb toe had got its sensation back. Cursing out loud, he started
walking back to the guest house. Walking past the stage, he noticed that there was something
lying on the dance floor. He went closer and bent down to pick it up. It was her bead bracelet.
He had seen it on her right hand. The string did not seem broken.
Had she purposely dropped it here?
He smelt it. It had the fragrance of the holy lake on a sun-kissed evening. He brought it
delicately to his lips and kissed it gently. Smiling, he dropped the bracelet into the pouch tied
around his waist. He would come back from Mount Mandar and meet her. He had to meet her.
He would pursue her to the end of the world if required. He would fight the entire human race to
have her. His journey in this life was incomplete without her. His heart knew it. His soul knew it.
‘How much further is it, Madam Prime Minister?’ asked Nandi, behaving like an excited child.
A visit to the mythical Mount Mandar, the hub where the drink of the gods was
manufactured, was a rare honour for any Meluhan. For most Suryavanshis, Mount Mandar was
the soul of their empire, for as long as it was safe, so was the Somras.
‘It’s only been an hour since we left Devagiri, Captain,’ said Kanakhala smiling. ‘It’s a day’s
journey to Mount Mandar.’
‘Actually because of the blinds on the carriage windows, I can’t see anything outside. And I
can’t tell how much time has gone by since I can’t see the Sun either. That’s why I was asking’
‘The prahar lamp is right behind you, Captain. The blinds are down for your own protection.’
Shiva smiled at Kanakhala. He could understand that the blinds were not for their protection,
but for the safety of Mount Mandar. To keep its location secret. Very few people knew of its