the immortal of maluha

leeding. Then he quickly helped the injured foreign woman move closer to the royal party.
‘Father, are you alright?’ whispered Sati as she held her father’s hand.
‘Dammit, Sati!’ shouted Daksha. What do you think you were doing?’
Sati fell silent at the violent response from her doting father.
‘Who asked you to be a hero?’ harangued Daksha, fuming at his daughter. ‘What if
something had happened to you? What would I do? Where would I go? And for whom were
you risking your life? What difference does the life of that woman make?’
Sati continued to look down, distraught at the scolding. She had been expecting praise. The
crossing-house soldiers and paramedics rushed to the scene. With efficient movements, they
quickly stemmed the flow of Daksha’s blood. Dressing Parvateshwar’s and Sati’s minor wounds
rapidly, they carried Daksha on a stretcher. His wounds needed attention from the royal
physician.
As Sati saw her father being carried away, she stayed rooted, deeply guilty at the harm her
actions had caused. She was only trying to save a woman in distress. Wasn’t it one of Lord
Ram’s primary teachings that it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak? She felt a soft
touch on her shoulder. She turned to face Captain Parvateshwar, her father’s severe
bodyguard. Strangely though, his face sported a rare smile.
‘I am proud of you, my child,’ whispered Parvateshwar. You are a true follower of Lord
Ram.’
Tears suddenly burst in Sati’s eyes. She looked away quickly. Taking time to control herself
she looked up with a wan smile at the man she would grow to call Pitratulya. She nodded
softly.
Jolted back into the present by a bird call, Parvateshwar scanned the perimeter, his eyes
moist at the ancient memory. He clutched his hands in a prayer and whispered, ‘She’s your true
follower, Lord Ram. Fight for her.’
Shiva had lost track of time. Obviously, nobody had been assigned to reset the prahar
lamps when so many lives were still in danger. Looking out of the window, he could see early
signs of dawn. Shiva’s wounds burned, crying for relief. But he wasn’t going to give in. He sat
quietly on his chair, next to Sati’s bed, restraining himself from making any noise that would
disturb her. Sati held his hand tightly. Despite the searing heat of her feverish body, Shiva did
not move his hands away. His palms were sweaty due to the intense heat.
He looked longingly at Sati and softly whispered, ‘Either you stay here or I leave this world
with you. The choice is yours.’
He felt a slight twitch. He looked down to see Sati’s hand move slightly, allowing the sweat
to slide from between their entwined palms. It was almost impossible to say where the sweat
came from.
Is it Sati’s or mine?
Shiva immediately reached out with his other hand towards Sati’s forehead. It was burning
even more strongly. But there were soft beads of perspiration on the temple. A burst of elation
shot through Shiva’s being.