The Oath of The Vayuputras (2 page)
Shiva! The Mahadev. The God of Gods. Destroyer of Evil. Passionate lover. Fierce warrior. Consummate dancer. Charismatic leader. All-powerful, yet incorruptible. Quick of wit – and of temper.
No foreigner who came to India – be he conqueror, merchant, scholar, ruler, traveller – believed that such a great man could ever have existed in reality. They assumed he must have been a mythical God, a fantasy conjured within the realms of human imagination. And over time, sadly, this belief became our received wisdom.
But what if we are wrong? What if Lord Shiva was not simply a figment of a rich imagination but a person of flesh-and-blood like you and me? A man who rose to become god-like as a result of his karma. That is the premise of the Shiva Trilogy, which attempts to interpret the rich mythological heritage of ancient India, blending fiction with historical fact.
The Immortals of Meluha
was the first book in a trilogy that chronicles the journey of this extraordinary hero. The story was continued in the second book,
The Secret of the Nagas
. And it will all end in the book that you are holding:
The Oath of the Vayuputras
.
This is a fictional series that is a tribute to my God; I found Him after spending many years in the wilderness of atheism. I hope you find your God as well. It doesn’t matter in what form we find Him, so long as we do find Him eventually. Whether He comes to us as Shiva or Vishnu or Shakti Maa or Allah or Jesus Christ or Buddha or any other of His myriad forms, He wants to help us. Let us allow Him to do so.
Yadyatkarma karomi tattadakhilam shambho tavaaraadhanam
My Lord Shambo, My Lord Shiva, every act of mine is a prayer in your honour
I hadn’t imagined I would ever become an author. The life that I live now, a life spent in pursuits like writing, praying, reading, debating and travelling, actually feels surreal at times. There are many who have made this dream possible and I’d like to thank them.
Lord Shiva, my God, for bringing me back to a spiritual life. It is the biggest high possible.
Neel, my son, a rejuvenating elixir, who would regularly come and ask me while I was obsessively writing this book,
‘Dad, aapka ho gaya kya?’
Preeti, my wife; Bhavna, my sister; Himanshu, my brother-in-law; Anish and Ashish, my brothers; Donetta, my sister-in-law. They have worked so closely with me, that many times I feel that it isn’t just my book, but a joint project, which just happens to have my name on it.
The rest of my family: Usha, Vinay, Meeta, Shernaz, Smita, Anuj and Ruta. For always being there for me.
Sharvani Pandit, my editor. She has battled severe health troubles, without asking for any sympathy. And despite the trying times she went through, she helped me fulfil my karma. I’m lucky to have her.
Rashmi Pusalkar, the designer of this book’s cover. She’s been a partner from the first book. In my humble opinion, she’s one of the best book-cover designers in Indian publishing.
Gautam Padmanabhan, Satish Sundaram, Anushree Banerjee, Paul Vinay Kumar, Vipin Vijay, Renuka Chatterjee, Deepthi Talwar, Krishna Kumar Nair and the fantastic team at Westland, my publishers. They have shown commitment and understanding that very few publishers show towards their authors.
Anuj Bahri, my agent, a typically large-hearted, boisterous Punjabi. A man brought to me by fate, to help me achieve my dreams.
Sangram Surve, Shalini Iyer and the team at Think Why Not, the advertising and digital marketing agency for the book. I have worked with many advertising agencies in my career, including some of the biggest multinationals. Think Why Not ranks right up there, amongst the best.
Chandan Kowli, the photographer for the cover. He did a brilliant job as always. Also, Atul Pargaonkar, for fabricating the bow and arrow; Vinay Salunkhe, for the make-up; Ketan Karande, the model; Japheth Bautista, for the concept art for the background; the Little Red Zombies team and Shing Lei Chua for support on 3D elements and scene set-up; Sagar Pusalkar and team for the post processing work on the images; Julien Dubois for coordinating production. I hope you like the cover they have created. I loved it!
Omendu Prakash, Biju Gopal and Swapnil Patil for my photograph that has been printed in this book. Their composition was exceptional; the model, regrettably, left a lot to be desired!
Chandramauli Upadhyay, Shakuntala Upadhyay and Vedshree Upadhyay from Benaras; Santanu Ghoshroy and Shweta Basu Ghoshroy from Singapore. For their hospitality while I wrote this book.
Mohan Vijayan, a friend, whose advice on media matters is something I always treasure.
Rajesh Lalwani and the Blogworks team, a digital agency which works with my publisher, for their strong support in an area I don’t understand too well.
Anuja Choudhary and the Wizspk team, the PR agency of my publisher, for the effective campaigns they’ve implemented.
Dr Ramiyar Karanjia, for his immense help in understanding the philosophies of Zoroastrianism.
And last, but certainly not the least, you the reader. Thank you from the depths of my being for the support you’ve given to the first two books of the Shiva Trilogy. I hope I can give you a sense of completion with this concluding book.
Before the Beginning
Blood dribbled into the water, creating unhurried ripples which expanded slowly to the edges of the cistern. Shiva bent over the container as he watched the rippling water distort his reflection. He dipped his hands in the water and splashed some on his face, washing off the blood and gore. Recently appointed Chief of the Gunas, he was in a mountain village far from the comforts of the Mansarovar Lake. It had taken his tribe three weeks to get there despite the punishing pace he had set. The cold was bone-chilling, but Shiva didn’t even notice. Not because of the heat that emanated from the Pakrati huts that were being gutted by gigantic flames, but because of the fire that burnt within.
Shiva wiped his eyes and stared at his reflection in the water. Raw fury gripped him. Yakhya, the Pakrati chieftain, had escaped. Shiva controlled his breathing, still recovering from the exhaustion of combat.
He thought he saw his uncle, Manobhu’s bloodied body in the water. Shiva reached out below the surface of the water with his hand. ‘Uncle!’
The mirage vanished. Shiva squeezed his eyes shut.
The macabre moment when he had found his uncle’s body replayed in his mind. Manobhu had gone to discuss a peace treaty with Yakhya, hoping the Pakratis and Gunas would end their incessant warmongering. When he hadn’t returned at the appointed time, Shiva had sent out a search party. Manobhu’s mutilated body, along with those of his bodyguards, had been found next to a goat trail on the way to the Pakrati village.
A message had been written in blood; on a rock next to where Manobhu had breathed his last.
‘Shiva. Forgive them. Forget them. Your only true enemy is Evil.’
All that his uncle wanted was peace and this is how they had repaid him.
‘Where’s Yakhya?’ Bhadra’s scream broke Shiva’s chain of thoughts.
Shiva turned. The entire Pakrati village was up in flames. Some thirty dead bodies lay strewn across the clearing; brutally hacked by the enraged Gunas seeking vengeance for their former chief’s death. Five Pakrati men knelt on the ground, tied together, a continuous rope binding their wrists and feet. Both ends of the rope had been hammered into the ground. The fierce Bhadra, bloodied sword in hand, led the twenty Guna guards. It was impossible for the Pakratis to escape.
At a distance, another contingent of Guna warriors guarded the shackled Pakrati women and children; unharmed thus far. The Gunas never killed or even hurt women and children. Never.
‘Where is Yakhya?’ repeated Bhadra, pointing his sword menacingly at a Pakrati.
‘We don’t know,’ the Pakrati answered. ‘I swear we don’t know.’
Bhadra dug his sword point into the man’s chest, drawing blood. ‘Answer and you shall have mercy. All we want is Yakhya. He will pay for killing Manobhu.’
‘We didn’t kill Manobhu. I swear on all the mountain gods, we didn’t kill him.’
Bhadra kicked the Pakrati hard. ‘Don’t lie to me, you stinking arsehole of a yak!’
Shiva turned away as his eyes scanned the forests beyond the clearing. He closed his eyes. He could still hear his uncle Manobhu’s words echo in his ears.
‘Anger is your enemy. Control it! Control it!’
Shiva took deep breaths as he tried to slow down his furiously pounding heart.
‘If you kill us, Yakhya will come back and kill all of you,’ screamed a Pakrati at the end of the rope line. ‘You will never know peace! We shall have the final vengeance!’
‘Shut up, Kayna,’ shouted another Pakrati, before turning to Bhadra. ‘Release us. We had nothing to do with it.’
But the Pakrati seemed to have come unhinged. ‘Shiva!’ shouted Kayna.
Shiva turned.
‘You should be ashamed to call Manobhu your uncle,’ roared Kayna.
‘Shut up, Kayna!’ screamed all the other Pakratis.
But Kayna was beyond caring. His intense loathing for the Gunas had made him abandon his instinct for self-preservation. ‘That coward!’ he spat. ‘Manobhu bleated like a goat as we shoved his intestines and his peace treaty down his throat!’
Shiva’s eyes widened, as the rage bubbling under the surface broke through. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he drew his sword and charged. Without breaking a step, he swung viciously as he neared the Pakratis, beheading Kayna in one mighty blow. The severed head smashed into the Pakrati beside him, before ricocheting off to the distance.
‘Shiva!’ screamed Bhadra.
They needed the Pakratis alive if they were to find Yakhya. But Bhadra was too disciplined a tribesman to state the obvious. Besides, at that moment, Shiva didn’t care. He swirled smoothly, swinging his sword again and again, decapitating the next Pakrati and the next. It was only a matter of moments before five beheaded Pakrati bodies lay in the mud, their hearts still pumping blood out of their gaping necks, making it pool around the bodies, almost as though they lay in a lake of blood.
Shiva breathed heavily, as he stared at the dead, his uncle’s voice ringing loudly in his head.
‘Anger is your enemy. Control it! Control it!’
