Immortals of Meluha Read Free Page A

left on his throat. Leaving him to die slowly, he swung with his right hand, cutting across the face of the other soldier, gouging his eye out. As the soldier fell, Bhadra brought his left sword down brutally, ending the suffering quickly for this hapless enemy.
    The battle at the Meluhan end of camp was very different. They were exceptionally well-trained soldiers. But they were not vicious. They were following rules, avoiding killing, as far as possible.
    Outnumbered and led poorly, it was but a short while before the Pakratis were beaten. Almost half of them lay dead and the rest were on their knees, begging for mercy.
    One of them was Yakhya, his shoulder cut deep by Nandi, debilitating the movement of his sword arm.
    Bhadra stood behind the Pakrati chief, his sword raised high, ready to strike. ‘Shiva, quick and easy or slow and painful?’
    ‘Sir!’ intervened Nandi, before Shiva could speak. Shiva turned towards the Meluhan.
    ‘This is wrong! They are begging for mercy! Killing them is against the rules of war.’
    ‘You don’t know the Pakratis!’ said Shiva. ‘They are brutal. They will keep attacking us even if there is nothing to gain. This has to end. Once and for all.’
    ‘It is already ending. You are not going to live here anymore. You will soon be in Meluha.’
    Shiva stood silent.
    Nandi continued, ‘How you want to end this is up to you. More of the same or different?’ Bhadra looked at Shiva. Waiting.
    ‘You can show the Pakratis that you are better,’ said Nandi. Shiva turned towards the horizon, seeing the massive mountains.
    Destiny? Chance of a better life?
    He turned back to Bhadra. ‘Disarm them. Take all their provisions. Release them.’
    Even if the Pakratis are mad enough to go back to their village, rearm and come back, we would be long gone.
    A shocked Bhadra stared at Shiva. But immediately started implementing the order.
    Nandi gazed at Shiva with hope. There was but one thought that reverberated through his mind. ‘Shiva has the heart. He has the potential. Please, let it be him. I pray to you Lord Ram, let it be him.’
    Shiva walked back to the young soldier he had stabbed. He lay writhing on the ground, face contorted in pain, as blood oozed slowly out of his guts. For this first time in his life, Shiva felt pity for a Pakrati. He drew his sword and ended the young soldier’s suffering.

    After marching continuously for four weeks, the caravan of invited immigrants crested the final mountain to reach the outskirts of Srinagar, the capital of the valley of Kashmir. Nandi had talked excitedly about the glories of his perfect land. Shiva had prepared himself to see some incredible sights, which he could not have imagined in his simple homeland. But nothing could have primed him for the sheer spectacle of what certainly was paradise. Meluha . The land of pure life!
    The mighty Jhelum river, a roaring tigress in the mountains, slowed down to the beat of a languorous cow as she entered the valley. She caressed the heavenly land of Kashmir, meandering her way into the immense Dal Lake. Further down, she broke away from the lake, continuing her journey to the sea.
    The vast valley was covered by a lush green canvas of grass. On it was painted the masterpiece that was Kashmir. Rows upon rows of flowers arrayed all of God’s colours, their brilliance broken only by the soaring Chinar trees, offering a majestic, yet warm Kashmiri welcome. The melodious singing of the birds calmed the exhausted ears of Shiva’s tribe, accustomed only to the rude howling of icy mountain winds.
    ‘If this is the border province, how perfect must the rest of the country be?’ whispered Shiva in awe.
    The Dal Lake was the site of an ancient army camp of the Meluhans. Upon the western banks of the lake, by the side of the Jhelum lay the frontier town that had grown beyond its simple encampments into the grand Srinagar . Literally, the ‘respected city’ .
    Srinagar had been raised upon a massive