Chapter Three

End of trading day, Pawan is closing down his shop. He is packing
his most valuable artefacts into the strong gunny bags. He stops to
take another look at the figurine he brought for sale for the first
time today, a model of the wind god, his namesake Pawan, but of course
with the suffix Deva, meaning 'respected one' in Sanskrit. The figure
was ready only the day before, a job that took him almost two years to
complete. In his mind, Pawan placed this figure amongst his
masterpieces, because it was highly expressive of the character he was
representing. He looked strong and agile. His face had the solemn look
of someone in command and one who could literally break mountains. But
his well-carved eyes had the look of a pacifier, of a strong
personality who could cool the hottest and the wildest of fires.

Pawan the sculptor thought that the two feet tall figure should fetch
him about ten gold coins after bartering. If some regular trader from
Sumeria caught its fancy, he might even be able to exchange it for
jewels that would be worth much more in value.

As he was taking a last look at the statuette's face, Pawan suddenly
thought that it smiled at him. Bewildered, he brushed away the idea,
thinking that he was imagining things, because very often he got so
attached to his creations that he would start considering them as
living creatures. It was only a few months back that he had sold a pair
of statues representing two female dancers from the court of the Gods
to the prime minister's palace. That evening he dreamt that the dancers
tried to escape the confinements of the palace and return to his house.
So, although convinced that this smile was just another residue of his
attachment for his creation, Pawan could still have sworn that the face
had actually changed expressions for a moment. Anyway, he simply shook
his head and resumed packing, until the few precious figures were all
safely stowed away in his bags, the rest left behind to sit on the shop
display till the next day.
__________

The year according to the modern Christian era is 3214 B.C. The place,
Brahmadesh in the North West part of 'Bharat', the huge land mass that
lies between the Himavant mountains on the North, a sea in the east and
the 'Apaar Samudra' in the west and the south. Brahmadesh is a buzzing
town, on the banks of the river Saraswati, with a population that has
prospered through trade, farming and production of indigenous
specialities like pottery, spices and metal intstruments. Part of the
much larger Bharat, the chiefs of Brahmadesh pledged allegiance to the
powerful Aryan kings that ruled Bharat, using the north as the centre.
The boundaries of Bharat kept changing depending on the numerous
battles that were fought frequently. The deciding factor of these
battles was usually the king and his leadership capabilities. Although
power centres like Hastinapur, Magadh and Gaudh were very volatile in
terms of politics and possessed immense influence over the whole land,
Brahmadesh happily stayed out of all political conflicts by pegging
themselves to the Lunar Dynasty that were currently the most powerful
dynasty in Bharat. This dynasty ruled out of Hastinapur and enjoyed
allegiance from most kings from the North, west and east of
Bharat.

The inhabitants of Brahmadesh were all Aryans and Pawan belonged to the
'Vaishya' caste. By definition, they were merchants or businessmen. The
'Kshatriyas' (warriors) gave them physical protection. The kings and
soldiers came from this class. The 'Brahmins' (priests) gave them moral
and spiritual protection and guidance. Both these castes were
considered superior to the 'Vaishyas' and they had to pay taxes in
order to avail of these services and keep the social structure in
order. The fourth and lesser caste were the 'Shudras', who did all the
physical and menial jobs for the other three.

Financially, the 'Vaishyas' were a privileged community. They were the
backbone of the economic infrastructure of the entire land. Without
their money, neither the Brahmins nor the 'Kshatriyas' would have
access to their luxurious lifestyles. However, this is a time when
Hindu-Aryan culture is at its best. Everybody accepted the social
hierarchy and one could move to another caste by virtue of choice and
merit. On a whole, society was at bliss.

Pawan came from a family of sculptors. His father Ramcharan had
travelled to many land within and without Bharat and his works graced a
number of royal households. His fame had spread to far away lands like
Sumeria and Misr and traders from these lands often remunerated his
sculptures handsomely. Two years back, Ramcharan and his wife Lakshmi
went into 'Vanaprasth'. They joined an 'Ashram' (hermitage) in the
forest adjoining the town. This decision would have to be made by any
'Arya' from any caste, after he reached a certain stage in his life
when he had fulfilled his social responsibilities and would be better
off mentally and physically in serene surroundings, practicing his
faith and gradually submitting himself before God. The average person
would achieve this when he would usually be 50 years old.

By the time Ramcharan left, Pawan was 25 years old. He had completed
his training and was ready to take on the world and support his wife
and two sons. Pawan had reached the 'Garhastya' (householder) stage of
his life.

Pawan is a tall man standing at about 6 feet 3 inches. He is lanky and
has the thin and pointed fingers of an artist. He had his father's
reputation as a fine launching pad for his career. Today, two years
since he took over the trade, traders and clients from near and far
were already asking for him by name. Initially they had high
expectations from Ramcharan's son and now these expectations had
materialised to give Pawan a place of his own in the trade.
_________

'Pawan', shouts Paras, just as our man is about to walk off after tying
the blinds on his shop. Paras' pottery shop was just opposite Pawan's
and the two of them used to meet very often after work and go for a
drink of 'Surra' to the local den of the traders.

'Got some time to spare for your friend here?'

Getting the message, Pawan simply beckoned at his drinking partner
positively and the two of them promptly walked off to the public house
owned by Puru.

Dark as it was, Puru's place had quite a cosy feel about it. There were
enough oil lamps for everyone to see each other clearly, but most
importantly, it had low benches and tables to accommodate most people
who turned up from the market to relax with a drink after a hard day's
work.

'How was the weather today on your side', asked Paras, who was in fact
enquiring about business.

'Not bad, but probably as yourself, I am still waiting for the
Sumerians to turn up. They should be here in about fifteen days now,
what do you think?'

'Yes, but I have heard that the weather is not on their side currently,
so they may be delayed by a few days. My friend Shambhu just returned
from there yesterday with the news'.

'What's wrong?'

'Flooding of the Tigris. It is simply delaying the co-ordination of
their caravans, but things should be settled soon. Tell me about Pawan
Deva, did he create any storms in your shop today?'

'A few people showed interest, but I suppose he is too expensive for
them. No one was here from the courts today, but I expect him to do
well in the next few days'.

'I am sure, he does look very?' Paras' speech was broken by the sudden
and stringy sound of the Veena. Both friends turned their heads towards
the direction of the music, Pawan to his right and Paras to his left.
It was time for Kamala Devi to make her appearance. As the musician
swiftly moved the fingers on his left hand on the upper end of the
strings of the Veena as his right was strumming the lower end, Kamala
made her appearance on the stage, to the cheering of the men
around.

Pawan was a faithful husband and a God fearing man, but he did enjoy
watching the resident danseuse of Puru's house making her deft moves
once in a while, not for any other reason but for appreciating the
arts. Pawan thought that Kamala did her traditional dance as smoothly
and with as much expertise as he hammered the chisel on his statues.
Her hips were shaped like the dunes on the desert and when they moved
they looked like the waves softly dancing on the calm sea. But nothing,
not even her heaving breasts that entrapped Pawan's soul amidst them
could be compared to her jet black eyes. Lotuses would look so much
more beautiful if they were shaped like Kamala' s eyes. Hypnotic as
they were, Pawan thought that if he were to die one day, he would want
to do so by drowning himself in those eyes. How he wished that he were
the wind that could brush across those eyes, making them blink and in
the process make them feel his presence. But little did he realise that
he was actually brushing across those eyes, because Kamala found this
sculptor so irresistible that whenever he was around, she could not
help but throw her glances at him every now and then.

Kamala' s dance mesmerised the audience. Her moves were far from being
called seductive, because they were beyond any words that could be
found on the Aryan vocabulary. You could say that they were bewitched,
but Pawan felt that the audience were in fact just frozen, to such an
extent that they were now only statues, that would live to tell this
tale of beauty and grace till eternity.

_________

He lay in bed with his eyes wide open. He could feel his wife's arm
around him and it made Pawan feel that he had everything that a man
could desire for in life: love, family, wealth and security. But why
did he feel this painful void in his heart? A void that could only be
filled with something that seemed to be beyond his reach. Something,
that was visible to him only as a blur and showed no signs of turning
into reality.

What was this blur? Was it Kamala or was it his urge for creativity. As
he fell asleep, in his dream he argued against both these options. He
did not need Kamala, he was married and in love with his wife. It is
the dancer's profession to seduce and his infatuation was just a proof
of her success. As for his thirst for creativity, wasn't he already
achieving it? Didn't he just create the wind god himself, a work of art
that could put even Vishwakarma the god of the artisans to shame? There
was no more room for perfection he had just achieved it, but
then?'no?.', cried Pawan as he woke up with a start. He just saw Pawan
Dev suddenly blowing up as if hit by some warrior's missile of fire.
Breathing heavily, and perspiring all over, he saw Saraswati awake and
looking startled beside him and he pacified her by saying it was just a
banal nightmare.

But within minutes, as Saraswati went back to sleep, Pawan was up from
bed, checking his bag and was relieved to see the statue lying there
looking as peaceful as it did in the evening.