Shiva frowned and gestured for Bhadra to ease up.
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Bhadra and his backup stood to attention as Shiva passed through the gates. Brushing a few specks of ash from his bare chest, he wiped his hands on his tigerskin skirt and strode rapidly to his village. Shiva took one last drag, then knocked the ash from the chillum and rose quickly from his perch.
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What could possibly be wrong with that? Why shouldn’t we take this deal? It sounds so good! If we move to Meluha, we can escape this pointless violence, maybe even start to live in some comfort. We can beat the Pakratis, but not all the mountain tribes together. Just in case.Īlmost every month we have to fight the Pakratis, just so we can keep our village on the shore of the Holy Lake – but they are growing stronger every year, forming new alliances with new tribes. He had been told he would sleep more comfortably there, but in truth, Shiva wanted him close as a hostage. He took another puff and as the smoke cleared he turned to stare at the hut in the centre of his village, right next to his own, where the foreigner was housed. They would have to work every day for a living, but surely that would be better than fighting every day just to stay alive? He would certainly not be a chief in this new land – but would he really miss that so much? His tribe would have to live by the foreigners’ laws rather than their own. Shiva had been musing on the stranger’s offer, weighing the pros and cons. Meluha offers you a paradise beyond your wildest dreams – and we ask for nothing in return, save that you live in peace, pay your taxes and obey the laws of our land.’ Today the Gunas, your tribesmen, fight for survival in this rough, arid land. It is the richest and most powerful empire in India – perhaps in the whole world – and our government offers immigrants fertile land and resources for farming. Others call it Meluha, but I call it Heaven. The foreigner’s words came flooding back to Shiva: ‘Come to our land, which lies beyond the great mountains.
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They aren’t like the blood-thirsty idiots in our land, always looking for any excuse to fight. They let themselves be disarmed so easily. With the lake behind them and twenty of his own soldiers watching over them, it was impossible for them to mount any surprise attack. He looked left, towards the edge of the lake where the soldiers accompanying the strange foreign visitor were being kept under guard. Any other day, the marijuana would have dulled his troubled mind and allowed him some moments of solace. He brought the chillum made of yak-bone to his lips and inhaled deeply. God bless Bhadra! At least he takes some responsibility. Shiva looked to Bhadra’s side, and his tribesman turned to find his two back-up soldiers were dozing against the fence. The slightly hump-backed Bhadra was alert, guarding the main entrance to the village.
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On a normal day, Shiva would have smiled at this memory from a cheerful past, but today he turned to look back towards his village without the merest hint of joy. Shiva recalled his carefree childhood days, when he had perfected the art of skimming pebbles across the surface of the lake – he still held the record in his tribe for the highest number of bounces: seventeen. On any other day, he would have relished the vista – the sun and the immense lake against the magnificent backdrop of the Himalayas stretching as far as the eye could see.Īs he squatted on a narrow ledge extending out over the lake, the shimmering light reflected off the waters picked out the numerous battle-scars that marked his muscular body. Shiva had seen a few sunrises in his twenty-one years, but sunset – he tried never to miss a sunset. The clouds hovering above Mansarovar had just parted to reveal the setting sun, the brilliant giver of life, drawing another day to a close. 1900 BC, Mansarovar Lake (at the foot of Mount Kailash, Tibet)