‘I know you are,’ said Shiva. ‘Why are you going against your guru? Do you believe that it was Lord Bhrigu who got Brahaspati killed at Mount Mandar?’

Scheherazade stood up and turned to leave. Shiva rose quickly, stretched out and held her hand. ‘Brahaspati is not dead.’

A dumbstruck Scheherazade stopped dead in her tracks.

‘Brahaspati is alive,’ said Shiva. ‘He is with me.’

Tears poured from Scheherazade’s eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Shiva stepped forward and repeated gently. ‘He is with me. Your Brahaspati is alive.’

Scheherazade kept crying, tears of confused happiness flowing down her cheeks.

Shiva gently held her hand in his own. ‘Tara, you will come back with us when we’re done here. I’ll take you back. I’ll take you back to your Brahaspati.’

Scheherazade collapsed into Shiva’s arms, inconsolable in her tears. She would be Tara once again.

Chapter 38: The Friend of God

Chapter 38

The Friend of God

The strategy that Tara had suggested worked like a charm. The Amartya Shpand was genuinely taken by surprise when Gopal entered their audience chamber without Shiva. When he raised the issue of Maharishi Bhrigu’s misuse of the daivi astras, they knew that they had been cornered. They had no choice but to grant Gopal an audience with the Mithra. That was the law.

The following day, Shiva and Gopal were led into the official audience hall and residence of the Mithra. It had been built at one end of the city, the last building abutting the Mountain of Mercy. Unlike the rest of Pariha, this structure was incredibly modest. It had a simple base made of stone, which covered the water channel that emerged from the mountain. On it were constructed austere pillars, which supported a wooden roof four metres high. On entry, one immediately stepped into a simple audience hall furnished with basic chairs and sombre carpets. The Mithra’s personal quarters lay farther inside, separated by stone walls and a wooden door. Shiva could sense that this was almost a stone replica of a large ceremonial tent, the wooden tent-poles having been converted to stone pillars and the cloth canopy into a wooden roof. In a way, this was a link to the nomadic past of Lord Rudra’s people, when everybody lived in simple, easily-built tents that could be dismantled and moved at short notice. Like a tribal leader of the old code, the Mithra lived in penurious simplicity while his people lived in luxury. The only indulgence that the Mithra had allowed himself was the beautiful garden that surrounded his abode. It was bountiful in its design, precise in its symmetry and extravagant in its colourful flora.

Shiva and Gopal were left alone in the audience hall, and the doors were shut. Within a few moments, the Mithra entered.