The Dawn at Dusk - Sample Chapters.

Chapter 1

Frustrated once again with another failure in her spiritual pursuit, Shatvari opened her eyes gradually. Coming back from her trance she instantly locked stares with a jackal who was sitting outside the circle made of human bones wedged in the ground. On that no-moon night Jackal’s eyes were two bright embers like the burning pyres around in the crematorium. Shatvari looked deep into those amber eyes as if seeing there a reflection of the fury that was smouldering inside her. In the deep realms of middle-aged Shatvari this fury still hummed as strong as ever now, ignited long ago by the lusty seekers of her youth and beauty. Shatvari was of an average height and build. Extra layers of fat increased her waist and belly size now. Her thighs and arms also lost muscular tone with age. She had a slightly wheatish complexion, which, as if, got mellowed with time from the blazing, golden hue she carried when she was young. Her face, which glowed with the aura of a full moon in her youth, lost its vibrancy too. Bright eyes gave way to a pair of tired-looking dark spots. A single cloth made of lion-skin covered her lower body and breasts.

Shatvari was looking deep into the eyes of the Jackal, delving deep to rescue a drop of hope. It was well past midnight. A nimble-footed young man of about twenty walked up to her. The young man of average build and height had a simple personality. He could have looked attractive had he been well fed. An animal skin was draped around his thin waist. He had tied a worn-out piece of cloth to cover the lower part of his body.

Shatvari looked sharply at the young man. ‘Seems like another futile day.’, she thought observing the disappointment written large over his face.

However, she asked him while fiercely probing his eyes, “Did you find out anything about the ‘Yantra’ (Magic wand)?”

He simply nodded in negative and kept looking down with his bowed head.

“Do you have the faintest of idea how important it is for us to find that Yantra?” Her voice turned a bit harsh.

“Yes, I know that Yantra can help you attain extraordinary powers.” replied the young man mustering all the courage to raise his head to face her.

“The word extraordinary pales in comparison to what that Yantra can enable me to attain. Its miraculous powers are beyond human perception. It can empower us to avenge all the miseries heaped upon us by the wily coterie of priests, men of riches and the ruling class.”

The young man remained silent, but a little agitated. He clenched his fists to express his resolve to fight the wily coterie, which according to his mother, had driven them to this sordid state.

Shatvari closed her eyes and tried to calm down. She remained silent for a few minutes. After regaining her composure, she looked at him affectionately. She spotted a small bundle of cloth tightly kept by him under his left armpit.

“What are you holding there?” asked Shatvari looking at the bundle.

The young man showed her a neatly folded sheet of raw silk and a blanket.

“Where have you brought them from?” She asked again, sternly.

“These were removed from the dead body before putting that on the pyre.” The youth meekly replied.

Her eyes moistened and asked softly, “No, my son! You should not have even touched these clothes.”

“But, Maa! All Chandaals and Doms do it.”

“You are not a Chandaal.” screamed Shatvari almost without intention.

“What do you mean? My father was not a Chandaal?” The so far calm voice of the young man rose in rage.

“No, neither was he a Chandaal, nor I an untouchable outcaste.”

The young man stood puzzled. His eyes widened with surprise.

“So how come I became who I am today? Why was I expelled from the society to live here among the dead bodies? What was my sin?”

“You did nothing wrong. Your only fault was that you took birth from my womb - an unfortunate Brahmin woman.” said Shatvari with moist eyes.

The young man also felt the emotions of her mother’s words. His eyes narrowed down. 

“What is it that you have been hiding all along? Please tell me if you are a Brahmin then why have been we living here in this crematorium among the untouchables? What happened?” 

“Do you have the courage to hear the anguish of a Brahmin woman who was forced to relinquish her family to seek refuge amongst the Chandaals? Do you have the heart to hear out the gruesome tale of your mother’s life?”

 “If you can muster courage to recall it, I will hold my breath to hear it out.” replied the young man trying to hold tears within his eyes.

Shatvari gathered herself to untie the knots of an old tale which, even though, was always on the periphery of her conscience but never allowed to come this near to her lips.

Chapter 2

Neel knelt to greet and to feel the pure silken water of Narmada, revered as the only virgin river in India. Using both his palms, he drew a handful of water to soothe his parched lips. In the calm water of the Narmdakund, he could clearly see a reflection of himself. An unkempt and tired-looking sullen face, tresses of overgrown hair tangled loosely on the shoulders, lines of stress drawn on the forehead and estranged eyes looking blank and nervous. A spate of unfortunate events over the past year had transformed this tall and handsome twenty-one-year-old youth who could mesmerise any Mekal girl with no effort, into a distrait man, unaware of the impact of the stress and anxiety that were left on his attractive persona. It had been fading the gleam of his eyes, snatching the charm from his face and taking away the spring from his strides.

Bringing his palms closer to his lips, he took a sip, feeling the soothing effect of the cold water in his lungs. A current of freshness ran through his body. The cold and fresh water did not just quench his thirst, but also helped to calm down his raging nerves. Getting back on his feet, he again bowed to pay his thanks to Narmada. Looking at the serene stillness of the water, he only wished if his disturbing thoughts could be stilled even for a few moments.

Neel started walking towards the east. The picturesque valley of Amarkantak was endowed with flowering shrubs of the most beautiful colours and kind. Herbs of miraculous medicinal value were blooming there in abundance. Hovering over the flowers were countless butterflies, appearing as if to be treated to every nip of nectar until the last ray of the sun faded away into the dark night sky. Soaring from within the shrubs were towering Sal trees eagerly waiting to bid good night to the sun sinking into the lap of the Vindhya. Envying the tall Sal trees, stood mango trees of average height unaware of the fact that their own fruits’ sweetness was the envy of every other being. The melodious singing of birds returning to their nests was adding new tunes to gamut of the evening.

But Neel’s heart wasn’t in harmony with the surreal surroundings. He restlessly glanced at the serene backdrop. Amarkantak was a major town of the tribal kingdom of Mekal, nearly as important as a state capital. He had spent all 21 years of his life in these mountains and the valley. Playing in the mango orchards, learning to hunt with other boys of the Nishaad community, running around in the thick but familiar jungle valley; these marked the happy days of his childhood and adolescence. The flora and fauna of this valley had nourished him into a strong and shapely youth. His father was the king of this tribal kingdom of Mekal and the chief of Nishaad tribe. After his father’s untimely demise, Neel had been made to shoulder his father’s responsibilities.

Ambling through the valley, Neel found himself mesmerised by the beauty of Amarkantak. On one side, Narmada moved towards the north-west, caressing the bosom of the Vindhya. On the other from Sonmuda, Sone River leaped north-east to fall into the arms of the Riksh Mountains. Down in the far south spread as far as the horizon, the defiant dark forests of Dandkaranya were daring the champions and warriors of Aryavart to combat. In the southeast beyond the wild valleys, the lowlands of Mekal were kissing the borders of the great and mighty kingdom of South Kosala—the birthplace of Kausalya, daughter of Emperor Bhanumant and mother of Raghukul’s emperor Rama. Rama was the epitome of human dignity and a sea of compassion. One who taught the lessons of highest empathy towards one and all. He embraced Nishaads and other downtrodden communities to fight against the tyrannical rulers. His elder son Kusha had expanded the kingdom of South Kosala, and established a substantial empire. The descendants of Raja Rama and Kusha had given new dimensions to the empire’s opulence and might. The capital of South Kosala, Shripur had a splendour and glory that was the envy of the several kings of the Aryavart. The same South Kosala was now under siege of Yaduvanshis. They had captured the villages of the lowland areas of the Mekal. Mekal’s youth were made their captives; Mekal’s women were their maids.

A flurry of disturbing thoughts crossed Neel’s mind: How would they be treated there? Would they be demeaned to the level of animals? Would they still be alive? The thought of the plight of young girls made him tremble with alarm and determination. His fists tightened, arms strained and a stream of perspiration flowed enormously.

Neel took a deep breath to regain his composure. He took off the white cloth wrapped around his neck and wiped the back of his neck and shoulders. Putting it back around his shoulders, he again drifted into the stream of his thoughts: Has that time arrived where loss of righteousness was presaged? Are virtues really failing in Bharatvarsh? What is happening to the Aryans nobility? Do Aryans care anything about the Nishaads anymore? It is thanks to the dense forests and vicious valleys of Mekal that our kingdom is not under the possession of Yaduvanshis? Would Mekal too eventually meet this fate? What’s my responsibility as a king? Is it not my duty to protect my populace? Is it not my utmost responsibility to free my villages and people from the clutches of Yaduvanshis? But, are we ready to face the mighty Kosala? Do we have a trained army that can stand face-to-face with Yaduvanshis in a dire battle and defeat them?

The sun had set. Calls of birds were nowhere to be heard. Moths and bees were making their humming dance around the flowering shrubs. The buzz of butterflies had taken a pause until the next morning. Glimmering fireflies flickered from far away. Neel decided to call it a day. His small strides moved westwards to take him back home.

Chapter 3

“How long will you take to get dressed Shatvari? Aditi has been waiting for you outside”, Gautami, the mother of Shatvari shouted towards the room where Shatvari was busy getting dressed.

“Just the last bit of kaajal left to put on Ma.”

Shatvari pried upon her appearance in the mirror while dabbing an extra bit of kohl under her eyes. She blinked a few times to let it set in. New-born youth spends more attention in beholding the beauty than embellishing it further. A slight dash of kohl on two starry eyes set perfectly within the round full-moon face, a bright red bindi sitting right in the centre of converging eyebrows, slightly moist and tender, rosy lips, open dangling hair braided with fresh jasmine flowers, earrings of shining gold, and a pendant round the neck studded with rubies—she felt as if some vagrant clouds had descended upon two lakes in a valley of flowers.

Shatvari was barely of eighteen years; she had a wheatish complexion, was of average height, and of slender build. Adding the final touches to her make-up, she slightly adjusted the silver chain worn round her thin waist below her navel. She smiled at herself in the mirror and ran outside.

“Oh, Aditi must have been waiting for long now. We must get going for our music lesson from Pandit Achyut Acharya. He is very punctual and expects discipline.” thought Shatvari while running out to Aditi, who was waiting in a bullock cart all set to go.

“You took so long to get dressed Shatvari, as if you are going to learn music from a Gandharva and not from our Acharya ji.” teased Aditi.

 “You never know, we might come across a Gandharva on our way.” laughed Shatvari enjoying her own comment.

The bullock cart made of wood and metal was designed like a carriage. The cart had two large wooden wheels and a back seat wide enough for three people. At the front was a seat for the coachman and two more seats behind that. All the seats had cotton cushions, covered with a red-coloured cloth. A roof made of dry twigs covered with a brown cloth was there to save passengers from the sun. There were two white oxen, tied together and restrained with a rope that went through their nostrils that was in the left hand of the coachman. He had a wooden stick instead of a whip in his right hand.

Shatvari motioned the coachman to move as soon as she took her seat beside Aditi.

“To Pandit Achyut Acharya’s house?” asked the coachman while moving on.

“Yes, he teaches us music.” Shatvari replied while trying to hold her pink dupatta slipping off her slender shoulders. In her quest to look beautiful, she had even forgotten to cover her arms in choli (a sort of blouse).

“You are really fortunate that you have got Acharya ji as your teacher. There is nobody as good as him when it comes to classical music in the entire state.” said the coachman whilst pulling the reins of bullocks.

“Yes, it’s a matter of pride for us that we are Acharya ji’s disciples. He is a good friend of my father Pandit Aditya Shastri and that’s why he accepted us as his students, otherwise it’s very difficult to gain his blessings.” covering her arms with the dupatta, Shatvari adjusted her silken blouse pulling it a little down.

“Shastri ji himself has earned great respect from every villager. His mastery of Vedas and Shastras is matched by none.”

Shatvari felt good to hear her father being praised. A tinge of brightness lit up her face with pride.

“Listen...” Shatvari called out but was interrupted by the coachman even before she could finish, “My name is Gunjan.”

Gunjan was a dusky young boy of barely twenty years. His build was slight but muscular. A light beard on his long face looked very attractive. Shoulder-length hair were tied together behind his neck, making his high forehead look bright and lustrous. A white loincloth covered his waist and legs and one part of the cloth rested on his left shoulder. He wore a black thread with a silver coin threaded in it around his neck. His earlobes were pierced with small silver earrings that dangled as he talked.

“Gunjan! Your name itself is so lyrical.” Shatvari said and smiled, “My name is Shatvari and she is Aditi, my friend.”

“Do you know any music?” Shatvari asked after a short pause.

“Our music falls into the tradition of holy Vedas. I am a Shudra from a lower caste. How will I learn music? Where from?” asked Gunjan. An element of sadness surfaced on his face.

“Music doesn’t follow any tradition, if at all it’s bound to the breath of every living being. Knowing Vedas can be helpful in understanding music but is not a requirement for sure. Music is also in the calls of cuckoos and in the humming of bees.”

“You are right in a way. I might not know the correct notes and ragas but I do enjoy singing folk songs with my friends. I have learnt some music that way over the years. Also, the priest of Sheetala Mata mandir in our locality plays beautiful flute and he has taught me too to play it.” Gunjan recounted his interest of music. A sweet smile had replaced the poignant look on his face.

“Very nice, then let’s hear your song and see how good you are at music. Moreover, the passage will go by swiftly,” said Aditi jumping into the conversation.

Gunjan was taken aback by this abrupt request from Aditi and embarrassingly said “You both are Acharya ji’s students and must know the nuances of music very well. You will make fun of me.”

“Don’t say that, music should come from the heart and nobody should laugh upon a true heart’s song.” said Shatvari to encourage him.

Gunjan felt at ease by Shatvari’s comment. A smile passed upon his lips feeling lighter at the intimacy shown by Shatvari.

 ‘What’s the harm in singing anyway, Shatvari might like it and get impressed.’ thought Gunjan.

Gunjan struck up a tune in high note and started a folk song appropriate for the wet season. Listening to the first few notes emanating from his throat, both Shatvari and Aditi realised his superb voice quality and mastery over the musical notes. Gunjan soon got lost in the tempo and music of the song like a bee sipping nectar from a lotus filament. Shatvari tapped her feet and the tiny tinkle bells from her silver anklets added to the beat. The intoxicating, moist, monsoon breeze and earthen fragrance spreading out from the freshly-ploughed fields added to the melody of Gunjan’s song; it mesmerized Shatvari and Aditi. By the time the song had concluded, they had arrived at Acharya ji’s house.

“Wow! Gunjan, you sing so melodiously and you have a great voice. I am sure if you learn classical music, you will become a renowned singer.” Shatvari exclaimed as she seemed overjoyed, rather than surprised.

“You are joking, aren’t you? Who would teach classical music to a Shudra like me?”

“Will you like to learn from me, if I were to teach you music?” asked Shatvari leaning forward and soon Gunjan was besotted by a scent of jasmine emanating from Shatvari’s silken hair. Gunjan was engrossed in the sweet aroma when he was suddenly interrupted by the same voice of Shatvari. He turned around to see both Shatvari and Aditi walk towards Acharya ji’s house. He couldn’t help but notice Shatvari’s seductive gait and lost himself in thoughts. No girl as beautiful as Shatvari had come so close to him and talked to him the way she did. An unknown incense effused from Gunjan as if flowing forth from moist soil after the first showers of monsoon.

“Is Shatvari impressed by me? Does she like me?” thought Gunjan.

Gunjan’s heart fluttered with emotions. He wanted not to let the waves eroding inside him run amuck.

“Is it proper for a Shudra like me to have amorous feelings for a Brahmin girl like Shatvari? My mother who was a Brahmin herself had to break ties with her relatives for loving my father who was Shudra. A relationship between a Brahmin girl and a Shudra boy will never be tolerated by this society. This is the time to clip the wings of this bemused dream. The right thing to do would be to politely decline Shatvari’s proposal.”

Chapter 4

Neel’s house stood not far from Narmada’s furrow. It was fifty yards away from the western main entrance of town. Supported by wooden pillars, the brick walls of the house met the roof made of wooden beams and bamboos. Dried twigs and reeds filled the rooftop to make it impregnable from sun and rain. A wide wooden double-door made of Sal wood stood at the entrance of the house. The door had a triangular top. Both parts of the door had fantastic fine engravings.

The night was almost over but it wasn’t dawn yet. The moist breeze was cold and spread the Tuberose fragrance around. The crescent moon was waxing towards the first quarter. With drowsy eyes, guards greeted Dhananjay with a bow. Dhananjay accepted the greeting with a courteous smile and a little bow. The guards were tall and broad chested, holding big spears in their hands. Hanging from the leather belts tied over their dhotis were long iron swords, sheathed in carved wood. One guard immediately opened the left door of the gates to let Dhananjay in. The respect that Dhananjay got from the guards suggested that he enjoyed a high status and was quite close to Neel.

Dhananjay went in and made his way towards a large room on the right. He tapped gently on the wooden door and waited a few moments. There was no reply from inside. He tapped again, this time a little more intensely. There was no response yet. He wondered if Neel was fast asleep, as he needed to wake him up for the worship of the Sun god. The whole town would gather for the occasion soon. He knocked again with intent. Neel opened the door rubbing his eyes.

“What is it Dhananjay that you had to wake me up so early?” asked Neel while still rubbing sleep off his eyes.

“This is what I want to know, your Highness—what’s troubling you so much?”

“You are one strange man, you woke me up at the break of dawn and you ask me what’s the problem?” Neel got a little irritated.

“Your Highness, you obviously seem to be in some grief. Sleeping late at night and forgetting important state business. All this generally points to a man bitten by a love bug.” said Dhananjay with a mischievous smile.

“Yeah, whatever you say, my friend.” Neel tried to avoid his mischief.

“Really! I am sure these are sure shot symptoms of Cupid’s touch.” Dhananjay still had the same impish smile on his face.

 “There are other serious emotions than love, such as, hatred, anger and malice.”

“But hatred...that can really poison the breath of the beholder, can it not?”

“Those who know how to handle poison can consume it like a potion.” said Neel in a measured tone, “Well, leave it and tell me what made you knock on my door at this hour?”

“Oh, so I have to remind you that today’s the day for Sun worship.” Dhananjay said as if he opened a secret on Neel.

“Ah right, I remember now. What a sin! Anyway, you get in and sit while I quickly get dressed.”

Neel walked hurriedly to get dressed. Dhananjay went in and leaned back on his couch. He looked around the large, royal chamber and noticed deerskin rugs and stag’s horns put on one of the walls as a prized hunter’s trophy. The sight carried him to the past when he and Neel used to enjoy the stress-free days of game hunting in the Mekal’s forests.

Chapter 5

Shatvari and Aditi entered Acharya ji’s house and went straight to the study on the left. It was a three-room modest house made up of earthen bricks. Acharya ji sat there in his usual poise. Both the girls bowed and greeted their teacher. He accepted the greetings and smiled in reply. He was a medium built man in his fifties. Fair complexion and a certain aura on his face marked his personality. Long wavy hair rested peacefully on his shoulders. He was wearing a white loincloth and white body corset.

“Meet my son Damodar,” Acharya ji introduced his son, who was standing on his left. Damodar looked barely of twenty-two years and was a tall young man, “He has returned from Shripur only today after finishing his studies. He has been learning music since an early age and he is now no less than a master musician himself. He will assist you in learning as well.”

Damodar joined his palms to greet both the girls. He looked at Shatvari‘s beautiful face and couldn’t resist himself saying, “You are Shastri ji’s daughter Shatvari, if I am not mistaken? One could tell that you would turn out to be a pretty lady when you were just a little girl.”

Shatvari smirked at Damodar’s comment. She wondered how a young man can start a conversation with a stranger girl in this manner. She replied, “Thank you. You really are an expert in judging young beauty. This art definitely comes from long practice.”

Damodar almost blushed at Shatvari’s retort.

Acharya ji was visibly unhappy at the dialogues between Damodar and Shatvari. He took charge and said, “Today we will talk about Rasas used in classical music and dance forms. Please take your places, all of you.”

Acharya ji took his place on a small cushion over a cotton sheet spread on the ground. Shatvari, Aditi and Damodar waited until Acharya ji was seated comfortably. They also sat down. Shatvari realised that Damodar sat rather closely beside her. She elbowed Aditi, who was sitting on the other side, to move further so that she could move away from Damodar.

Acharya ji raised his face to grab everyone’s attention. He started by saying, “Rasa, in artistic context, means quintessence—the absolute fundamental essence of an entity. Like essence of flowers, the essence of life is also contained in some Rasas.”

“But how does that have anything to do with music?” asked Aditi.

“Well, it has direct relation with life itself and music is an important part of life. Rasa and music have a deep bond. We can say that Rasas define the finer emotions of human beings. Music too does that. Music preceded the creation of Vedas and ragas. Music was born as soon as God thought about the creation. The world itself came forth from naad, a sound. The whole creation reflects the presence of music everywhere; it’s in the flowing streams of rivers; it’s in the wildness of storms; in the drizzling of monsoon; and the roar of pregnant clouds. Different styles of music depict different aspects of life, as do different Rasas, with which these emotions are attached. It’s paramount for a musician to understand these Rasas, to be able to portray these emotions in the music. If music is played without the inherent understanding of these Rasas, it will be dull and lifeless. Just like a human being without emotions and sensitivity.”

“Rasa can be classified in eight categories. The most vital and popularly known is Shringaar Rasa. It entails adornment, love and softer emotions. Rati, the Goddess of love, symbolises all that Shringaar Rasa means. In simpler words, Shringaar can mean enjoyment of love between couples of opposite sexes in a sensual environment. This might make it sound simply erotic and confined only to sensual pleasures. That is not so. Love encompasses a lot more beyond the sexual feelings. To understand this deeply, we must know that nature is the master creation of Brahma in the dichotomy of male and female, spirit and nature, Shiva and Shakti. The present universe as we know it is a result of the spiritual play, leela of these opposites immersing themselves in Shringaar. Shiva is the supreme consciousness and Shakti is its driving force. When they come together, creation begins. When a man and a woman come close in love and they become one in unison, they create a cosmos within themselves akin to Shiva and Shakti. The lovemaking that brings the two together remains not simply an act of erotic nature but becomes an exercise of surrender to Brahma.”

Meanwhile, Shatvari realised that Damodar had been looking at her throughout the whole lecture from Acharya ji. She could feel his eyes literally caressing her body. She adjusted her dupatta and moved slightly farther away from Damodar.

“But the meaning of Shringaar as we know is to embellish our appearance and beauty.” asked Aditi.

“That’s true. Beauty is adorable. Love and beauty have this amazing relation. Whatever that is beautiful becomes adorable. On the other hand, whatever that is dear becomes beautiful. For a mother, her son is the most beautiful creature alive. A father thinks his daughter is most pretty,” replied Acharya ji.

Acharya ji suddenly realized that Damodar was paying more attention to Shatvari than the lecture. He thought it best to stop the day’s session right there. Damodar must be made aware of his thoughts before the next class. He announced, “So that’s it for today. How Rasas are employed in music, how they can enhance the reach and popularity of music—all this we’ll discuss tomorrow.”

Shatvari and Aditi got up and bowed to Acharya ji. They walked out of the house. Damodar quickly followed them to the front of the house and said, “I have brought a new horse cab from Shripur. If you don’t mind, I can drop you home.”

Shatvari looked at Aditi, who smiled back.

“No, thank you, we have brought our own cart today. Maybe some other day.” Shatvari said with a sharpness steeped in her smile.

Damodar was a tall and attractive young man. He had an irresistible charm enough to impress any young lady.

Shatvari carefully judged Damodar’s antics. She knew what he was up to. She preferred to sit on the fence to see what to make of him as time passed.

Sitting at the back seat of Gunjan’s bullock cart, Shatvari asked him, “So what have you decided, will you learn music from me?”

“You are a Brahmin girl and I am a Shudra. Will it be proper for me to learn from you? Will the society tolerate it?” replied Gunjan.

“This is the same society where Shudras like Valmiki and Vedvyas became great saints. So, don’t worry about all that.”

“That was long ago. Now society has changed. The caste system is much deeper. I doubt people would like it.”

“Society is always changing. If it changed from that time to this, why can’t we change it for the better again? Don’t worry too much about all that, just tell me if you want to learn music or not?” replied Shatvari with the tone and authority that partly came from her own judgement but also from the broad-minded teachings of her father.

“Okay, if I say I am willing, will your father be ready to let you do it?” asked Gunjan.

“My father is not a hypocrite. He is a learned man with a true understanding of religious texts. Unlike other Brahmins, he does not interpret holy texts as per his convenience. I am sure of him.”

“What’s the harm in learning music? After all, Shatvari would be my teacher. A teacher should be respected and revered. I was unnecessarily getting carried away by emotions.”

Gunjan thought and confirmed his willingness to Shatvari. “Then it’s final. I am now your guru and you are my disciple. Remember you have to give the guru’s fee sooner or later.” said Shatvari.

“Yeah, and that would include touching her feet every day.” teased Aditi and glanced at Shatvari and they both laughed together.

“I heard that you are going to teach Gunjan?” asked Shastri ji.

“Yes father, that’s right. I hoped you have no issues with that. I believe you are not concerned that he is a male and a Shudra?” Shatvari replied, trying to assess what her father was thinking at that moment.

“No, I am not concerned. I am happy that you are sharing your art. What I must tell you, though, is that one must judge whether the disciple is able enough to receive the gift of knowledge from an able teacher.”

“Father I have heard him. His voice is melodious. He sings well. All he needs is some knowledge of classical music.”

“Well, if you have judged his abilities, fine.” He paused for a second, as if looking for right words to continue.

Shatvari guessed her father’s dilemma and asked, “Father you look unusually worried, what’s wrong, please tell me?”

“No, nothing like that. I just hope you understand that a teacher-student relation is considered very holy in our tradition. It is similar to a father-daughter, or a mother-son relation. It is important that the decorum of such a relation is always maintained. Can you promise me that you will take care of this?”

“Do you not trust your daughter, father?”

“I trust you Shatvari, that’s why I am asking for the promise. There is no point in getting a promise from a person who can’t keep it.”

“If it comforts your mind, I promise you that I will respect that tradition and decorum of the teacher-disciple relation.”

“I am sure you will my dear.” replied Shastri ji and walked out of the room.

Pandit Aditya Shastri had an indomitable personality—both in his physical form and in his spiritual prowess. He was tall, fair, wide chested, and glowed with the aura of a yogi. He was a renowned expert of Vedic texts and therefore had the title of ‘Shastri’. He had complete command over the whole canon of Hindu holy texts—both under Shruti and Smriti categories. Apart from that he was well versed with the day’s religious rituals and state traditions of the present. Although Shastri ji reflected broad mindedness in his interpretation of ancient Vedic text, on certain topics, he liked to agree with the conservatives, caste-wise classification in the society was one such topic. He believed that this system was necessary to bestow a balance on the society. Still he was against all forms of discrimination based on the caste system. For him caste system should be based only on a man’s profession and it should be confined to that. But it was a fine line to walk. He would oppose the atrocities done in the name of caste, but he never revolted against the tradition wholeheartedly. He was well respected not only in the village but all around the state. People from all over the state would come to get advice on matters— religious, political, social, spiritual. His financial state was not sound. The major source of income was the alms and donations he received in return of performing Vedic discourses at people’s houses. He was always aware and steadfast about his reputation. He allowed Shatvari to teach Gunjan because he was liberal in his thoughts about caste system, but somewhere deep down he wasn’t sure. Shatvari’s promise, however, relieved him from his worries.

Chapter 6

“Wake up, mate! You pushed me out of bed and now you’re snoozing away yourself.” Neel said tapping lightly on Dhananjay’s right shoulder. By his tone it was evident that his mood had improved.

“Excuse me, your Highness! The moments of waiting are felt longer than the moments of toil.” said Dhananjay waking up from his slumber.

“Yeah, you can blame me. Maybe you think that I take longer than young women while getting dressed. And why do you keep calling me ‘your Highness’, you are my childhood friend and have always been calling me Neel.”

“That was a different time. Now you are our king and the chief of our tribe.” Dhananjay tried to make his point clear.

“Change in rank should not change personal relations. It’s better if you call me Neel from now on.” Neel insisted. But his tone lacked command.

“As you wish your Highness.” Dhananjay said with a cheeky smile.

Neel glanced at him and soon a natural smile appeared upon his face.

Neel adorned special attire for this year’s Sun worship festival. A white loincloth with a thin black border, a sturdy pair of black shoes, a deer skin cloth covering his wide chest and a sidelong white cockade turban. A white pearl and silver necklace round the neck gleamed with sunlight. Both arms had beautifully engraved silver armlets that made his biceps look robust and strong. The man who walked back home last night under the spells of gloom was nowhere to be seen now. Neel portrayed a leader with poise and command.

Both friends walked out to proceed to the festival ground. Neel himself took the reins of the horse cart waiting outside. It wasn’t unusual for Mekal leaders to do their own chores wherever possible. Neel held a rein made of strong, jute rope to control the lone horse pulling the cart. In his other hand, he held a leather whip to guide and control the muscular beast.

The dawn was broken. Sky mellowed with orange sun rays. Birds were starting to leave their nests to begin another bright and breezy day. Butterflies emerged out from their night shelters to hover around the fresh morning flowers. Neel and Dhananjay’s carriage galloped towards the east part of the town.

The thirty feet wide main passage built of sand and stones divided the town in roughly two parts. The town of Amarkantak was not designed to be a state capital. It was almost an afterthought. No architect or Vastu expert was probably consulted. Most of the houses were modest huts at best. The bigger and brick houses were also scattered there, amidst the wooden huts and cottages. The town wasn’t planned to segregate people in terms of their caste, creed, or financial status.

The carriage stopped at Narmadakund ground, which was the designated venue for this year’s Sun worship. Neel felt a sense of pride at seeing the enormous crowd congregated for the event. He felt satisfied to see that the Nishaad people still valued and respected such religious and cultural events. He looked around to quickly assess the arrangements made at the ground. Even though it was a religious ceremony to worship the Sun God, the whole event was planned to celebrate the beauty of human life and nature as a festival. A huge idol of the Sun God was placed on one side of the ground in a large carriage. A large area was cleaned and rolled out flat and painted with cow dung and yellow earth paste. It was barricaded using a rope leaving only some space for the entry. Outside this perimeter, there were some marked places to seat the special guests. The rest of the crowd stood around.

Neel and Dhananjay arrived with some other important town members. They first came and bowed to the Sun idol. Then Neel grabbed a bow and an arrow placed at the feet of Sun idol. He placed one of the arrows on the string, flexed it backwards, pointed to the sky and let go of the arrow. It pierced up into the sky and disappeared. The ritual was to pay tribute to Sun as the source of all energy and strength to mortals on earth. As soon as the arrow was shot, the crowd burst into the sound of ‘Jai Suryadev’. Everybody joined in and then saluted the Sun God once again. Neel and his accomplice took their seats. The festival was about to begin.

A group of young men and women dressed in special attires came to the ground. Some of the men carried a percussion drum called Mardal. Some had cymbals—a round, small cymbal in each hand. The drums and cymbals started to play a rhythm and the rest of them throbbed into dancing to the beats. The folk music and dance created an amazing atmosphere. The steps of the dancers complimented the beats of the percussion. The whole crowd was engulfed by the musical melody. Neel and Dhananjay were enjoying themselves and swaying with the folk beats.

The festival was at its peak when two armed soldiers suddenly appeared on their horses. They pierced the crowd and came straight to Neel.

“What’s the urgency? Any trouble?” asked Neel standing up from his seat.

“Yes, your Highness! Our south-east camp has been attacked by an infantry from Kosala.” replied a soldier nearly out of breath.

“So, the evil demons have reached this far!” Neel clenched his fists and turned to face the two soldiers, “These Yaduvanshis have flayed all the rules and ethics of war. They knew we would be occupied here in the festival today, so they took the opportunity to sneak in like the cowards they are.”

“Yes, my lord, we were taken by surprise. Some of our soldiers have already died and the rest are losing courage.” the second soldier added.

“Don’t insult the martyrs by using such expressions, my dear soldier.” retorted Neel.

“My apologies, your Highness,” replied the soldier keeping his head down realizing that the new ideals put forward by Neel as a forward-thinking king must be respected.

“We will give a befitting reply to this cowardly trickery of Yaduvanshis. I call upon all young men present here, who are trained in warfare, to join me to teach them a lesson.”

Realizing that the festival might get disrupted by this sudden unfolding, Neel announced to the organisers to keep the festival going unhindered. Nobody needed to know what was happening out there on the periphery of their state. Neel subscribed to the idea that the warfare should be limited to the army and its soldiers, and the general populace should remain unaffected by it.

Around two hundred armed men were ready to join Neel for the attack. Dhananjay was on his horseback waiting for instructions from Neel. Neel knew that their number wasn’t enough to beat the Kosala army. He thought for a moment and addressed a soldier, “We are going to support the camp that has been attacked. You go to our north-east command camp and pass my orders to move towards the south-east.”

Neel kicked his horse and quickly galloped towards the battlefield, followed by two hundred brave Nishaad warriors.

Neel slowed down after a few minutes. He stalled his horse and turned around to address his cavalry.

“We will have to accept that we do not have enough men to face them in a man-to-man battle. We will have to plan smartly. I have an idea I just conceived. We will split in two units. One group will go ahead and reinforce our battalion fighting the Kosala army. You will join them and keep attacking the Kosalas from the north. After some time, you’ll withdraw so that they will think that you are running away. They will chase you, and you will draw them towards the dense forest. As you know the forest’s terrain would confuse the enemy, then you can spread out and make their composition haphazard. The second unit, headed by me, will be waiting for you there and we will strike them from south taking them by surprise. With no exit option and no knowledge of the forest, they will be baffled and we can easily overcome.”

Dhananjay was listening keenly to Neel’s plan. As soon as Neel finished speaking, he asked, “Your Highness do you think this plan aligns with the ethics of war that we Nishaads have pledged to stand by under your leadership at all times? Is it right to attack from behind?”

“Dhananjay, I see your point. But we did not strike first. We are simply responding to their shrewdness and trickery in their own unethical way.” replied Neel.

Dhananjay as well as all the soldiers present nodded in affirmation. They realized that their king was not simply an idealist talking of ethics and morals. He knew the war games and how to use tact and plans.

As per the plan, they split into two units. Dhananjay was leading one of the units and Neel the other. All the soldiers galloped towards the battle zone. They knew the importance of reaching as soon as possible to help their dwindling battalion. Dhananjay led the unit that were to go and assist the fighting soldiers. Neel took his soldiers towards the forest and settled in camouflage waiting for the right moment.

Dhananjay’s unit stormed with the passionate slogans of ‘Jai Suryadev’ and ‘Jai Mekal’. The soldiers who faced an enormous Kosala army were losing hope with every passing minute. As soon as they noticed the rising dust and slogans coming to aid them, a newfound wave of energy infused their bodies and weapons.

Dhananjay sprang forth and struck a Kosala soldier on his right shoulder taking him by surprise. As he turned around to assess his attacker, the Mekal soldier who was fighting with him attacked him on his chest. This toppled him over his horse onto the ground. As soon as the Kosala soldier fell on the ground, a foot soldier pierced his heart with a sharp and unforgiving spear. It was clear the traditional ethics of war were not being followed here.

Dhananjay rode around the battle zone with a surprising agility and purpose. Rather than meeting any Kosala soldier for a face to face duel, he sneaked around here and there and attacked them from behind or just by rushing past. Slicing one here, gashing one there, piercing a chest of a horseback soldier running towards him, darting a spear from behind, drilling daggers into foot soldiers obstructing his path. It took Kosala soldiers by surprise who were still engaged in man-to-man duels.

Soon one of the Kosala soldiers took the initiative to try and stop Dhananjay’s mayhem. He challenged Dhananjay for a duel by coming right in front of him purposefully stopping him. Dhananjay took the challenge. He knew this was inevitable. He struck the first blow on the left shoulder of the soldier. The blow was skilfully tackled and a counter attack off-balanced Dhananjay. They exchanged a few swings of their swords. Dhananjay moved and fought like a champion warrior. Soon he deliberately took one of the blows on his left shoulder. It looked like he was slashed by his opponent’s sword. Dhananjay looked back at one of his soldiers and winked. It was time to make the tactical move. Dhananjay took another body blow and made it look more severe than it was. He had to appear defeated and scared enough to run for his life. He quickly kicked his horse around and ran in the opposite direction. The Kosala soldiers realised this. They also noticed that all the Mekal soldiers were withdrawing from the fight. An order was shouted around Kosala soldiers to chase the cowardly Nishaads running away from the battle ground.

The plan was working. Dhananjay lead the tactical withdrawal. His horse galloped towards the trap that was waiting for the Kosalas in the dense and dark forests in the south. Two armies raced towards one destination. The web was already cast and the spiders were waiting.