THE SECRET OF THE NAGAS

The Shiva Trilogy

Shiva! The Mahadev. The God of Gods. Destroyer of Evil. Passionate lover. Fierce

warrior. Consummate dancer. Charismatic leader. All-powerful, yet incorruptible. A

quick wit, accompanied by an equally quick and fearsome temper.

Over the centuries, no foreigner who came to India -conqueror, merchant, scholar, ruler,

traveller — believed that such a great man could possibly have existed in reality. They

assumed that he must have been a mythical God, whose existence was possible only in

the realms of human imagination. Unfortunately, this belief became our received

wisdom.

But what if we are wrong? What if Lord Shiva was not a figment of a rich imagination,

but a person of flesh and blood? Like you and me. A man who rose to become godlike

because of his karma. That is the premise of the Shiva Trilogy, which interprets the rich

mythological heritage of ancient India, blending fiction with historical fact.

This work is therefore a tribute to Lord Shiva and the lesson that his life is to us. A

lesson lost in the depths of time and ignorance. A lesson, that all of us can rise to be

better people. A lesson, that there exists a potential god in every single human being.

All we have to do is listen to ourselves.

The Immortals of Meluha was the first book in the trilogy that chronicles the journey of

this extraordinary hero. You are holding the second book, The Secret of the Nagas , in

your hands. One more book is to follow: The Oath of the Vayuputras

Ekam Sat Vipra Bahudha Vadanti .

Truth is one, though the sages know it as many .

God is one, though different religions approach Him differently .

Call Him Shiva, Vishnu, Allah, Jesus or any other form of God that you believe in .

Our paths may be different. Our destination is the same .

The boy was running as fast as his feet could carry him, the frost-bitten toe sending

shards of icy pain up his leg. The woman’s plea kept ringing in his ears: ‘Help me.

Please help me!’

He refused to slow down, sprinting towards his village. And then, he was yanked

effortlessly by a large hairy arm. He was dangling in the air, desperately trying to get a

foothold. The boy could hear the monster’s sickening laugh as he toyed with him. Then,

the other grotesque arm spun him around and held him tight.

The boy was shocked into stillness. The body was that of the hairy monster, but the

face was of the beautiful woman he had just fled away from moments ago. The mouth

opened, but the sound that emanated was not a mellifluous feminine one, but a bloodcurdling

roar.

‘You enjoyed this, didn’t you? You enjoyed my distress at being tortured, didn’t you? You

ignored my pleas, didn’t you? Now this face will haunt you for the rest of your life!’

Then a grotesque arm holding a short sword came up from nowhere and decapitated

the gorgeous head.

‘Noooooooo!’ screamed the little boy, snapping out of his dream.

He looked around his straw bed, disoriented. It was late evening. A little bit of sunshine

had made its way into the otherwise dark hut. A small fire was dying out near the door.

It suddenly burst into flames with a fresh breath of oxygen as a person rushed into the

tiny room.

‘Shiva? What happened? Are you alright, my son?’

The boy looked up, completely bewildered. He felt his mother’s hand wrap itself around

him and pull his tired head down to her bosom. He heard her soothing voice,

sympathetic and understanding. ‘It’s all right, my child. I am here. I am here.’

The boy felt the fear release from his taut body as his eyes shed long held back tears.

‘What is it, my son? The same nightmare?’

The boy shook his head. The tears turned into an angrier deluge.

‘It’s not your fault. What could you have done, son? He was three times larger than you.

A grown man.’

The boy didn’t say anything, but stiffened. The mother continued to gently run her hand

over his face, wiping the tears away. ‘You would have been killed.’

The boy suddenly jerked back.

‘Then i should have been killed! I deserved it!’

The mother was shocked into silence. He was a good son. He had never raised his

voice at her before. Never. She quickly set this thought aside as she reached out to

soothe his face. ‘Don’t say that again, Shiva. What would happen to me if you died?’

Shiva curled his small fist, banging it against his forehead. He kept at it till his mother

pulled his fist away. An angry, reddish-black mark had formed right between his

eyebrows.

The mother held his arms down again, pulling him towards her. Then she said

something her son was not prepared to hear. ‘Listen, my child! You yourself had said

that she didn’t fight back. She could have reached for his knife and stabbed him,

couldn’t she?’

The son didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

‘Do you know why she didn’t do that?’

The boy looked up at his mother, curious.

‘Because she was practical. She knew she would probably be killed if she fought back.’

Shiva continued to stare blankly at his mother.

‘The sin was being committed against her. And yet, she did what she could to stay alive

— not fight back.’

His eyes didn’t waiver for one instant from his mother’s face.

‘Why is it wrong for you to be as pragmatic and want to stay alive?’

The boy started sobbing again as some sense of comfort seeped silently into him.