Immortals of Meluha Read Free

know the invitation of the foreigners,’ continued Shiva, pointing to Nandi and the Meluhans. ‘They fought shoulder-to-shoulder with us today. They have earned my trust. I want to go with them to Meluha. But this cannot be my decision alone.’
    ‘You are our chief, Shiva,’ said Bhadra. ‘Your decision is our decision. That is the tradition.’
    ‘Not this time,’ said Shiva holding out his hand. ‘This will change our lives completely. I believe the change will be for the better. Anything will be better than the pointlessness of the violence we face daily. I have told you what I want to do. But the choice to go or not is yours. Let the Gunas speak. This time, I follow you.’
    The Gunas were clear on their tradition. But the respect for Shiva was not just based on convention, but also on his character. He had led the Gunas to their greatest military victories through his genius and sheer personal bravery.
    They spoke in one voice. ‘Your decision is our decision.’

    It had been five days since Shiva had uprooted his tribe. The caravan had camped in a nook at the base of one of the great valleys dotting the route to Meluha. Shiva had organized the camp in three concentric circles. The yaks had been tied around the outermost circle, to act as an alarm in case of any intruders. The men were stationed in the intermediate ring to fight if there was a battle. And the women and children were in the innermost circle, just around the fire. Expendable first, defenders second and the most vulnerable at the inside.
    Shiva was prepared for the worst. He believed that there would be an ambush. It was only a matter of time.
    The Pakratis should have been delighted to have access to the prime lands, as well as free occupation of the lake front. But Shiva knew that Yakhya, the Pakrati chief, would not allow them to leave peacefully. Yakhya would like nothing better than to become a legend by claiming that he had defeated Shiva’s Gunas and won the land for the Pakratis. It was precisely this weird tribal logic that Shiva detested. In an atmosphere like this, there was never any hope for peace.
    Shiva relished the call of battle, revelled in its art. But he also knew that ultimately, the battles in his land were an exercise in futility.
    He turned to an alert Nandi sitting some distance away. The twenty-five Meluhan soldiers were seated in an arc around a second camp circle.
    Why did he pick the Gunas to immigrate? Why not the Pakratis?
    Shiva’s thoughts were broken as he saw a shadow move in the distance. He stared hard, but everything was still. Sometimes the light played tricks in this part of the world. Shiva relaxed his stance.
    And then he saw the shadow again.
    ‘TO ARMS!’ screamed Shiva.
    The Gunas and Meluhans drew their weapons and took up battle positions as fifty Pakratis charged in. The stupidity of rushing in without thought hit them hard as they met with a wall of panicky animals. The yaks bucked and kicked uncontrollably, injuring many Pakratis before they could even begin their skirmish. A few slipped through. And weapons clashed.
    A young Pakrati, obviously a novice, charged at Shiva, swinging wildly. Shiva stepped back, avoiding the strike. He brought his sword back up in a smooth arc, inflicting a superficial cut on the Pakrati’s chest. The young warrior cursed and swung back, opening his flank. That was all Shiva needed. He pushed his sword in brutally, cutting through the gut of his enemy. Almost instantly, he pulled the blade out, twisting it as he did, and left the Pakrati to a slow, painful death. Shiva turned around to find a Pakrati ready to strike a Guna. He jumped high and swung from the elevation slicing neatly through the Pakrati’s sword arm, severing it.
    Meanwhile Bhadra, as adept at the art of battle as Shiva, was fighting two Pakratis simultaneously, with a sword in each hand. His hump did not seem to impeded his movements as he transferred his weight easily, striking the Pakrati on his