Shiva had been sitting quietly in the icy tomb, holding Sati’s body. His eyes were sunken and expressionless, with no light of hope in them, with no reason to even exist. The blackish-red blotch on his brow was visibly throbbing; he was shivering due to the cold. A single droplet of fluid had escaped from Sati’s good eye, now closed, and ran down her face like a tear. There was an unearthly silence in the room, except for the soft hissing of the cold air being pumped in at regular intervals. A sudden sharp noise startled Shiva, perhaps from the bulls harnessed to the Meluhan cooling system.

He looked around with cold, emotionless eyes. There was nobody in the chamber. He looked down at his dead wife. He pulled her body close and kissed her gently on her forehead. Then he carefully placed her back on the ice.

Caressing her face tenderly, Shiva whispered, ‘Stay here, Sati. I’ll be back soon.’

Shiva jumped off the ice tower and walked up to the door of the inner chamber. As soon as he opened it, Ayurvati stood up. Accompanied by her medical team, she had been tending to Nandi and the other soldiers for the last twenty-four hours.

‘My Lord,’ said Ayurvati, her eyes red and swollen from accumulated misery and lack of sleep.

Shiva ignored her and continued walking. Ayurvati looked at Shiva with foreboding and terror. She had never seen the Neelkanth’s eyes look so hard and remote. He looked like he had gone beyond rage; beyond ruthlessness; beyond insanity.

Shiva opened the main door. He heard voices to his right. He turned to see his commanders in deep discussion. Tara was the first to notice him.

‘Lord Neelkanth,’ said Tara, immediately rising to her feet.

Shiva stared at her blankly for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and spoke evenly. ‘Tara, the Pashupatiastra trunk is in my ship. Bring it here.’

A panic-stricken Gopal rushed towards Shiva. He knew that Shiva hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. He hadn’t slept. He had been sitting on top of an inhumanly cold tower. Grief had practically unhinged him. He knew the Neelkanth wasn’t himself. ‘My friend... Listen to me. Don’t make a decision like this in haste.’

Shiva looked at Gopal, his face frozen.

‘I know you are angry, Neelkanth. But don’t do this. I know your good heart. You will repent it.’

Shiva turned around to walk back into the conference building. Gopal reached out and held Shiva’s arm, trying to pull him back.

‘Shiva,’ pleaded Gopal, ‘you’ve given your word to the Vayuputras. You’ve given your word to your uncle, Lord Mithra.’

Shiva gripped Gopal’s hand tightly and removed it from his arm.