The Guardians of the Halahala (23 page)

There... above us... on top of the wall.

Suddenly, the raj-guru saw two men staring down from the battlements. The one in front was short and obese, wielding a quarterstaff. The other was a tall, graybearded man standing motionless, holding a spear that had something red glowing near its tip. Fire arrows were being directed at the two men from below, but the fat man was using his staff to deflect the missiles, the staff little more than a twirling blur against the dark sky.

The next image to impose itself on the Acharya's mind was of a young, athletic woman running along rooftops, rapidly shooting arrows and issuing orders as she leaped between buildings. Catching sight of her face in the firelight, he felt a sharp stab of anger.

That's one of their councilors. She's already brought down many of us. Kill her.

It took heroic effort for Vetala Bhatta to wrench himself free of the enthrallment. His suspicions had been proved right – the horsemen shared a common mind that registered everything that every Ashvin saw and felt. But now that Ujjayini had been breached and its citizen's lives were in peril, he knew he had to bring all his focus to bear on projecting his own thoughts onto the collective mind of the Ashvins.

But to his horror, he found that his mind was incapable of conceiving anything other than the destruction of Ujjayini and the recovery of Veeshada's dagger.

We shall make the king of Avanti pay for his arrogance with his life.

Wading against the flow, he fought to channelize his thoughts. Yet the harder he tried, the stronger the minds of the devas emerged, swamping him with scenes of the devastation within Ujjayini as the city's defense fell apart.

Then, all of a sudden, the Acharya's vision was filled with a huge
churail
screaming through the night sky, her hair trailing green fire, her monstrous mouth vomiting flames. He also saw a rider charging down a plain, wielding long flaming whips in both hands. The sight struck cold fear in his heart.

The horseman is the Wielder of the Hellfires.

The thought sank in, settling like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. And fear gave way to terror.

Run.

As the rider with the fire whips drew nearer, the Acharya saw a broad ribbon of green flame, forked at the tip like a serpent's tongue, scythe toward him, torching a bunch of Ashvins in the sweep of its arc. Transfixed, he watched the belt swerve and leap at him, its blazing white heat singeing his skin, sending shards of pain radiating along his limbs...

Vetala Bhatta's eyes flew open in his ashen face. For a moment, he stood on the walkway, staring unseeingly at Dhanavantri's broad back, which was pouring with sweat and heaving with exertion. Then, as the hail of arrows from below ceased, the raj-guru shuddered violently and collapsed on the walkway, his spear clattering loudly on the cold stones.

***

The Ashvins were stampeding through the streets of Ujjayini, a torrent of hooves pouring out from all directions and heading for the shattered remains of the city's western gate. Soldiers of the City Watch hurried to get out of the way of the devas, pressing themselves against the houses that lined the streets to keep from coming under the horses. The horsemen, for their part, didn't spare Avanti's soldiers a glance, even when a spear or two was hurled into their midst.

Kshapanaka crouched on a limb of a tree, watching this frenzied ride with keen, wide eyes. She couldn't understand it.

Unmindful of the resistance from within the walls, the devas had sustained their assault on the western gate all evening, in the hope of gaining an entry into the city. Their doggedness had ultimately paid off, and the cavalry had swarmed into Ujjayini, crushing the feeble defense of the City Watch. What flummoxed Kshapanaka was that hardly any time had lapsed since the gate had been beaten down – yet here the Ashvins already seemed intent on departing.

Perhaps they had got what they came for!

As the thought flashed through her mind, panic reared inside Kshapanaka, mingling with anger and helplessness. She swiftly nocked another arrow into her bow, even as she saw the futility of her action. If the devas had got the dagger, it was too late...

It is never too late to inflict damage on the enemy, she remembered the Acharya telling them as kids, waving his wooden sword at their faces. Every wound, every bruise you deliver makes them weaker.

Drawing the bowstring taut, Kshapanaka aimed at the head of one of the Ashvins charging down the street. She was about to release the arrow when she observed the horseman's expression in the light of a burning house. It wasn't one of gloating triumph, as she had expected. Instead, it was filled with manic fear.

Looking closely, she noticed that the faces of all the horsemen in the streets below were filled with mortal terror. And it occurred to her that the devas were taking flight, desperate to be rid of Ujjayini.

Vetala Bhatta's instructions notwithstanding, Kshapanaka heaved a sigh and relaxed her arms, lowering the bow. Standing up, she balanced herself on the branch to turn and stare at the western gate, which was clogged with jostling, fleeing horsemen. Shaking her head with relief and mystification at this dramatic turnaround, she watched the Brotherhood of the Ashvins discharge into the night.

Vishakha

A
 dull, leaden pain pounded through Ghatakarpara's head every time he turned, and the muscles immediately above his eyelids throbbed uncomfortably, forcing him to blink and stretch his eyes every now and then. He had trouble even holding his head erect, and his mouth still felt rough and dry, the aftertaste of acid reflux lingering in his throat.

The prolonged bath in icy cold water had been of no help whatsoever, he decided. Nor had the three glasses of buttermilk, downed in rapid succession, worked any wonders.

Pushing himself off the bed where he had been sitting with his head hanging between his knees, Ghatakarpara cursed Amara Simha for the lousiest hangover he'd ever suffered in five years of drinking.

It had all started innocuously enough over dinner the previous night. Commander Dattaka, in a bid to get back into the good books of Amara Simha, had produced a pitcher of firewater, freshly distilled from a neighborhood brewery. Never one to refuse a drink, Amara Simha had gracefully accepted a flagon, filling one each for Ghatakarpara and Governor Satyaveda as well.

The brew was of excellent quality; one flagon had quickly increased to two, then three, then four, Amara Simha's humor returning with each successive flagon. Before long – and Ghatakarpara couldn't exactly recall how it had started – Amara Simha was challenging the prince to a drinking contest, and two more pitchers of firewater were called for. Flagons were emptied with much gusto, only to be promptly refilled...

Ghatakarpara's last memory of the night was of him staring up at the ceiling of the command center's dining room, watching the rafters swim and lurch in the torchlight.

There was a sharp rap on the door, but before the prince could acknowledge it, the door opened to reveal a soldier of the Frontier Guard standing on the threshold.

“Salutations to Prince Ghatakarpara.”

The prince nodded, regretting the movement immediately as a fresh bout of pounding began between his ears.

“Councilor Amara Simha desires your presence at Commander Dattaka's office, your honor.”

“I'll be there,” Ghatakarpara answered thickly, pressing his temples between thumb and middle finger to ease the pain.

He watched the soldier bow and shut the door, wondering if he had detected the shadow of a smirk on the soldier's face. He cursed again, knowing he had made a complete fool of himself the previous night in front of the governor and Dattaka. Word had probably spread through the command center – and he feared soon half the Imperial Army would know that the prince couldn't hold his drink.

Ghatakarpara winced at the bright morning sunlight as he stepped into the open courtyard, across which lay the building that housed Dattaka's office. Having negotiated the courtyard without accident, the prince picked his way into the building and arrived at the commander's office to see Amara Simha hunched at the table, back in a foul temper. Governor Satyaveda sat in another chair, drumming his fingers on his knees, while Dattaka stood to one side, his head hanging dolefully.

Amara Simha cocked an eyebrow at the prince as he entered, then turned and glowered at Dattaka.

“Make preparations to return to Udaypuri. We shall leave immediately.” Although he was staring at the commander, there was little doubt that Amara Simha had addressed the prince.

“But what about... interrogating the prisoner?” Ghatakarpara asked in confusion.

“What interrogation, what prisoner?” the burly councilor snapped. “Because of the foolishness of Commander Dattaka here, there is no prisoner left to interrogate. The Huna scout died sometime this morning without regaining consciousness.”

Not knowing how to react, Ghatakarpara merely stared at the commander, who licked his lips nervously and glanced back at the prince before dropping his eyes.

“Are you aware of how much information we could have got out of that scout?” Amara Simha continued admonishing Dattaka. “We might have learned invaluable information about the Hunas' plans if your stupidity hadn't come in the way.”

“True, true,” tut-tutted Satyaveda solemnly. “Very silly, very stupid.”

For all the regret that he was displaying, Ghatakarpara got the distinct feeling that the governor was enjoying Dattaka's humiliation very much. Or was there something else here, something that seemed to give Satyaveda immense satisfaction... Ghatakarpara put the thought away as the commander spoke.

“My deepest apologies to you, councilors. I regret what has happened, but unfortunately it cannot be undone. As chief of this command center, I take full responsibility. I shall abide by whatever punitive action is taken against me.”

Taken aback by Dattaka's earnest apology and willingness to shoulder the blame, Amara Simha merely nodded.

“Have a full report on this sent to Udaypuri without delay,” he said, rising from his chair. Turning to Satyaveda, he asked, “Are you returning with us as well?”

“No, your honor. As I told you, I have some work with the town panchayat here,” the governor pointed in the direction of Sristhali. “I have to go through revenue receipts, meet local civic authorities for road repairs... Then I leave for Sarmista in the afternoon – there's work pending there as well.”

“Yes, yes, I see,” Amara Simha interrupted, looking most relieved. “You'll come from Sarmista by yourself. Carry on.” With that he walked briskly out of the room, appearing none the worse for last night's excesses.

Not much later, as Ghatakarpara, Amara Simha and their escorts stood by their horses, readying for departure, they saw Commander Dattaka approach them in a hurry.

“Councilors, I have news for you,” the commander's face shone with excitement. Seeing Amara Simha raise his eyebrows, he continued, “As luck would have it, it seems another Huna scout has been apprehended by soldiers of the Frontier Guard.”

“Where?” Amara Simha's voice crackled with hope.

“Near the border village of Uttashi, further to the south. An hour's ride away.”

“Are they sure he's a Huna scout?”

“No, your honor. The man speaks the local dialect well, but the soldiers are certain he's not from these parts. He claims to be a traveling carpenter, but he was caught snooping around the Frontier Guard post last night. Of course he insists he had only lost his way in the dark.”

“Hmmm... suspicious,” Amara Simha twirled his big red moustache as he processed the information. “Maybe he's lying, maybe he's not. There's only one way of knowing.” Looking from the Dattaka to the prince, he added, “Let us ride to Uttashi and meet this carpenter.”

“I will get my horse right away, your honor.” The commander wheeled around, but he'd barely taken three steps when Amara Simha hailed him.

“Wait... Has the dead scout's body been disposed of yet?”

“No, your honor. I was about to give the orders...”

“Then I have a better idea,” Amara Simha interjected. “I want you to take twenty of your best men to Uttashi and bring this man to Sristhali. We shall find out the truth about him here. But make sure there are no mistakes this time.”

“Yes, your honor.” Dattaka nodded, looking befuddled at the sudden change in the councilor's decision.

“But before leaving, instruct your men
not
to dispose of the dead Huna's body. This is very important. Now hurry up, commander. I'm very eager to meet this traveling carpenter.”

Ghatakarpara frowned as he watched Dattaka depart. Turning to Amara Simha, he said, “I don't understand this.”

“You will, my boy,” Amara Simha smiled mysteriously, throwing an arm around the prince's shoulder and shepherding him into the shade of the buildings. “Let's go inside. You have two hours to get rid of that hangover of yours.”

“Why do you want to preserve the dead scout's body?” Ghatakarpara asked irritably, hating the fact that the hangover was so obvious to everyone around.

“Because I believe a dead Huna might also be able to reveal great secrets to us.”

***

The corner bedroom was a large but frugal affair, conspicuously out of place in the ornate environs of the palace of Ujjayini. Its expansive marble floor was completely bare, as were its plain white walls, finely washed with lime. Big, airy windows lined two of these walls, and were strung with flimsy curtains that flapped gently in the morning breeze. No furniture adorned the room other than a low divan and a simple writing table pushed against one wall, and a high bed placed nearly at the room's center.

The absence of clutter in the room seemed to reflect its occupant's outlook to life – which wasn't entirely surprising, considering the man who lay on the high bed, propped up on pillows and bolsters, was Acharya Vetala Bhatta, his hollow eyes staring tiredly out of their sockets.

The bed was surrounded by the samrat and the rest of the council, with Kalidasa, Vararuchi and Varahamihira looking understandably shocked and perplexed at the unexpected turn of events in Ujjayini. They had left a city that was strong and impregnable, only to return fifteen hours later to find it savaged and reduced to cinders.

“You really shouldn't have done what you did, raj-guru,” Vikramaditya chided, though his tone implied affectionate concern rather than indignation or disapproval. “It was way too dangerous.”

“I warned him against it, but who's to listen,” said Dhanavantri, who was administering an unction of sandalwood and herbs on the Acharya's forehead. Contrary to the implication, there was no grumpiness about the physician either. Wiping his hands clean on a towel and shrugging nonchalantly, he added, “No one bothers about what physicians have to say anyway.”

“The Ashvins had to be stopped and I couldn't think of doing it any other way.” Vetala Bhatta's voice was thin but coherent, the words forming with a firmness and clarity that was reassuring. He turned to Dhanavantri, a faint smile playing on his wan, pinched face. “And speaking of following your instructions, I solemnly promise to stay in bed today and not exert myself.”

“See what I meant by no one listens?” Dhanavantri shook his head in exasperation. “I didn't say rest for
today.
I said you have to rest
until
you have fully regained your strength.”

The councilors exchanged smiles at the lighthearted banter, relieved to see that the raj-guru was in no great distress. Vararuchi, who was standing to the left of the bed, waited for the chuckles to die down before speaking.

“Even if it was risky and unwise, we must thank you for doing what you did, Acharya,” he said. “By controlling the minds of the Ashvins, you spared Ujjayini from suffering even greater calamity at their hands.”

“And you prevented them from claiming the dagger,” Varahamihira added quickly, as the others nodded in agreement.

“Indeed, we are all grateful...” Vikramaditya began, but stopped upon seeing Vetala Bhatta shake his head forcefully.

“No, no... it wasn't me. I did nothing. Yes, I tried to control their collective mind, but I failed.”

Taken aback, the king and the councilors stared at one another.

“You're being modest, raj-guru,” the samrat said slowly.

“I am not,” Vetala Bhatta's voice was adamant. “I told you I failed.”

A brief silence ensued, which was broken by the king. “Then what made the Ashvins take flight so abruptly?”

“It was you, Vikrama. You and your Hellfires.”

The samrat looked down at the swords that still hung at his hips. “I don't understand...”

“I felt the fear – the terror – that took hold of the Ashvins' minds when you charged at them with the Hellfires,” said the Acharya, shuddering at the recollection. “I saw the
churails
turn their cavalry to ashes, I felt their horrible pain as they died burning. It was the terror of the Hellfires that made me lose my consciousness.”

Observing everyone stare at him blankly before looking at one another in confusion, the raj-guru sighed.

“I was right in guessing that the Ashvin brotherhood shared a common mind – that's how they worked so efficiently despite their large numbers, spread across such a wide area. What one Ashvin saw, felt or thought, all other Ashvins saw, felt and thought. That's the real reason why wounded Ashvins either kill themselves or are killed by their mates – so that the collective mind doesn't get crippled by the pain of the wounded.”

“So, you're saying that when the Ashvins at the south gate were terrorized at the sight of the samrat with the Hellfires, their fear instantly spread to the rest of the cavalry, causing all of them to flee?” asked Kshapanaka.

Vetala Bhatta nodded. “It is possible just one Ashvin was scared, but that was enough to ignite terror in their collective mind.” He paused and shook his head. “Their greatest strength ultimately became their greatest weakness.”

A thoughtful stillness subsided over the group, as they mulled over what the chief advisor had just revealed.