The Guardians of the Halahala (27 page)

Amara Simha was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. As he turned, the door opened unbidden to reveal the command center's physician standing on the threshold. The old man was about to step in when he noticed Amara Simha regarding him with a stern gaze. In two minds, the physician held back, looking at Dattaka with indecisive eyes.

“Yes, what is it?” asked the commander, rising and going to the door. “We are a bit busy.”

The physician still hesitated, casting doubtful glances in the direction of the two councilors, not excusing himself, not taking the hint, not leaving.

“What's happened, good sir?” Amara Simha raised an eyebrow, sensing that something was troubling the man.

“It's not very important, really,” the physician mumbled, even as he allowed Dattaka to take him by the shoulder and draw him gently into the room. “I didn't mean to intrude, but...”

“It's fine. Tell us what the matter is.”

“I...” the physician licked his lips nervously. “I suspect the scout we captured... I mean the one who died this morning... he died of poisoning.”

Amara Simha, Ghatakarpara and Dattaka stared at one another, perplexed.

“How did you figure this out?”

“I was examining the dead body before it was sent for cremation when I found a suspicious wound on the scout's right foot.”

“What kind of wound?”

“They were marks left by the fangs of a snake. What made me certain was the skin around the wound – it had been discolored by the venom.”

“Snakebite?” Ghatakarpara stared in surprise. “That explains how the scout ended up in the ditch where he was found by our guardsmen. It also explains the broken leg; he must have fallen badly. And his delirium...”

“There's a problem in that,” the physician interposed. “I gathered traces of the venom and analyzed it. The snake that bit the scout was a king cobra, and the venom of the king cobra kills in a few hours – whereas the scout was alive here the whole of yesterday. And no one here treated him for snakebite.”

Amara Simha walked over to the open window, which overlooked the rivulet and the town of Sristhali. Five mules, laden with blocks of marble, were crossing the bridge into the town.

“So, the scout was not bitten by the snake in the hills,” the older councilor surmised, gazing out. He turned to Dattaka. “When was the last time anyone checked if the scout was alive?”

“The physician and I went to his cell after the two of you and Governor Satyaveda had retired for the night,” the commander vouched. “It was a little after midnight. The scout was unconscious, but most definitely alive, your honor.”

“Yet, early this morning he was dead.” Amara Simha breathed in deeply and looked at the three men facing him. “So, he was bitten sometime between midnight and daybreak, and he died without regaining consciousness.”

“Did anyone notice a king cobra anywhere this morning?” asked Ghatakarpara.

Dattaka shrugged. “Not in the scout's cell, I can say for sure.”

“I wonder if a wild king cobra could slip into those cells, bite an inmate and slip out again unnoticed,” said Amara Simha. “The doors are solid, there are no convenient cracks and holes in the walls, and the windows are placed very high. It somehow seems too easy.”

“Another thing, your honor,” the commander's face was suddenly serious. “The king cobra is a native of dense, tropical forests. These dry mountains aren't its natural habitat. In fact, I've never seen a wild king cobra in these parts –
ever
.”

“So, the one that bit the scout was probably brought here and let into the cell with the intention of murder. The idea was to pass the death off as one brought about by the beating the scout had received earlier yesterday.”

“But who would kill the scout in such a manner? And why?” The commander stared at Amara Simha in astonishment.

“I can tell you why – to keep him from revealing anything to us once he returned to consciousness. The ‘who' would be trickier to detect and hard to prove. It would require some investigation. But I can guarantee that whoever did this is working for the Hunas. And he is among us in this command center.”

In the hush that ensued, Amara Simha's words came out loud, though he had dropped his voice to an undertone. “We won't use the
suryayantra
to send word of the threat to the Anartas, commander. It's no longer safe to communicate so openly. We'll dispatch a trusted rider to Ujjayini instead. I will prepare a detailed report for the samrat, and he can then send an emissary to Chief Yugandhara's court.”

Dattaka began nodding in agreement, but stopped on seeing Ghatakarpara frown.

“Wouldn't we lose precious time this way?” the prince asked. “The rider will first travel east to Ujjayini for a day-and-a-half, maybe two. Then, the emissary will travel west to Dvarka, covering the distance in two or three days. The news won't reach Chief Yugandhara for nearly a week.”

“What do you suggest?” quizzed Amara Simha.

“I can leave for Dvarka right now – or perhaps at the crack of dawn tomorrow. It won't take me more than two days to deliver the same message directly to Chief Yugandhara. I have the royal seal of Avanti, so I can represent the samrat's court, can't I?”

“That's possible,” admitted Amara Simha, wondering why the bright idea hadn't occurred to him first. Perhaps it was age catching up, slowing him down. “Yes, I think that would work well. But you're not going alone.”

“I won't.” The prince looked excited at the prospect of finally doing something of relevance all by himself, instead of merely tagging along like a passenger. “I'll take half a dozen of Dattaka's men as escort.”

“Sure,” agreed the commander. “My men will be ready whenever you are.”

***

“How is Vishakha?” the Acharya inquired. “Any further... signs of improvement?

Vikramaditya shook his head, his face drawn and tired in the light of the two lamps in the room. “Nothing since this morning.”

The Acharya was sitting up in his bed. He looked rested, and his face had recovered some of its vigor. He was holding an earthenware cup, which he periodically raised to his lips, shuddering each time the thick, bitter potion passed down his gullet.

“What does Dhanavantri say?”

“He asks for faith and patience,” the samrat replied. From his tone, he appeared disenchanted.

“Then we must have faith and patience, Vikrama,” said the raj-guru, assessing the king's mood. “Dhanavantri knows what he's saying – and he's doing what he can.”

The king swallowed heavily and nodded.

“I could probably have tried reading her mind had I been stronger,” the Acharya ventured halfheartedly, the lack of enthusiasm betraying what he really thought of the idea.

“We need you to regain your health first,” the samrat answered with another shake of his head. “Right now that's more important.”

“How's the city coping?” Vetala Bhatta changed the topic after a pause.

Vikramaditya looked out the open window. The action was reflexive, though. The king appeared to be absorbed in some keen inner debate, his vision unfocussed as he stared into the darkness outside. “It's limping back,” he said at last. “We're doing everything we can to instill courage.”

“And how's the news of our having been attacked by the devas and asuras being taken by the people?”

“It's still early to gauge and the full significance of what's happening is probably yet to filter down, but the reaction is mixed.” A small smile appeared on the king's face. “In some quarters, there's genuine pride that the Omniscient One chose Avanti to protect the Halahala. And of course, there's a sense of triumph at having won both the battles. But there are others who are in absolute fear of reprisals and refuse to be assured. Kalidasa and Vararuchi tell me that many among this lot are bound to leave the city and return to the safety of their villages.”

“There isn't much we can do about that,” the Acharya noted. “In fact, those who choose to leave might be the smarter ones.”

The bluntness of the words hung in the stillness of the room like a portentous cloud.

Vikramaditya slowly rose from his chair and reached out for the empty cup in the chief advisor's hand. Placing the cup on a small table by the bedside, he turned to the raj-guru.

“That's why you have to regain your health quickly, Acharya,” he said. “I need you to help me make a journey to the Borderworld.”

“The Borderworld?” Vetala Bhatta's eyebrows rose sharply over his troubled eyes.

“I foresee the devas and the asuras returning – the Omniscient One predicted as much when he gave me the dagger. The Ashvins breached the city's gates and weren't very far from where we now sit. I fear the palace is too vulnerable. The only safe place I can think of for the Halahala is the Borderworld.”

The Acharya sighed deeply. “You intend leaving the dagger in the custody of the Ghoulmaster?”

Vikramaditya nodded. “It's time to redeem the pledge that the Betaal had made to me.”

Oracle

T
he procession that wound through the ragged hills consisted of four palanquin bearers and a dozen horsemen of the Imperial Army, six each riding in front of and behind the empty palanquin. The palanquin, its domed roof painted with the sun-crest of Avanti to denote its official status, was modest. Shorn of the extravagant craftsmanship commonly associated with palace palanquins, it was built of plain wood, with plain cotton upholstery and light muslin curtains. Vikramaditya had chosen it with great care, knowing that if he were to succeed in this mission, a balance between pomp and simplicity would be of essence.

Progress was slow, the palanquin bearers impeded by the uneven terrain. As an outcome, the procession had been greatly outpaced by Vikramaditya and Shanku, who were now nearly half a mile ahead, making their way across a flat expanse of gently sloping rock. The surrounding hills were silent, the metallic echo of the horseshoes magnifying in the stillness.

Shanku reined in her horse and the king followed suit. He watched the girl raise her head and whistle, mimicking the koel's call to perfection. She then tilted her head, listening intently, and the samrat did likewise. But however hard he tried, Vikramaditya could hear nothing but the low, rhythmic
‘hoi-hui... hoi-hui... hoi-hui'
chant coming from the palanquin bearers as they kept in step with the beat.

Then, from somewhere far in the distance, he thought he heard the cry of another bird, faint yet harsh. Shanku pointed to her left, indicating the way forward.

Waiting for the rest of the procession to catch up, the king glanced at Shanku, marveling at the young girl's talents. Observing her quiet countenance and her large eyes burning with quiet intensity, he could see why Kalidasa was attracted to this woman. Though opposites in build, the two shared a rocklike resolve, both had deep reservoirs of patience and commonsense, and their outlook to life was molded by an early loss of identity – and a gradual coming-to-terms with that loss.

However, seeing her sitting astride her horse that morning, Vikramaditya thought he also detected a sense of resignation in Shanku's manner.

“You don't think the Mother Oracle can be convinced,” he said.

The words hadn't exactly been framed as a question, yet the girl gave it a moment's thought. “No, my king,” she said. It was always ‘my king' or ‘your honor' with her, even when there was no one else around.

The samrat was silent for a while.

“It's not as if we want her to abandon the Wandering Tribe and come to the palace permanently,” he said. “And if she wants to stay close to the tribe, we can arrange for all of them...”

“It has nothing to do with the Wandering Tribe, your honor.” A rare, uncharacteristic interruption, Shanku's voice was ringed with exasperation. “It's the palace. She hates it.”

Vikramaditya looked both startled and confused.

“She believes the palace was responsible for bringing disgrace to the Wandering Tribe.”

“Because of your... the Warden?” the king asked cautiously.

Shanku bit her lip and nodded, before turning her face away. But she hadn't been quick enough, and the samrat saw the shame in her eyes. And he realized that deep in her heart, Shanku also probably hated the palace for reminding her of the tainted blood that coursed through her veins.

The blood of her father Brichcha, who still languished in the palace dungeons, deep in the bowels of Ujjayini.

A common soldier of Avanti during the reign of King Mahendraditya, Brichcha had risen rapidly through the ranks once the war against the Hunas and Sakas had commenced. After the death of the king, at the time of Vararuchi's regency, Brichcha was appointed Warden of the Imperial Stables, in charge of overseeing the maintenance of the Imperial Army's horses. He continued to hold the prestigious office even after Vikramaditya's succession to the throne – a privilege which, however, he systematically started abusing in exchange of money from the Hunas.

Privy to all cavalry movements within Sindhuvarta, Brichcha secretly began passing the information onto the enemy, as a result of which Avanti's army suffered quite a few severe reverses. Yet, Brichcha's deceptions would never have been discovered had greed not got the better of him. Eager to further fatten his purse, Brichcha, at the behest of the Hunas, began bribing stable masters to add opium to the horses' diet to make the beasts slow and unreliable in battle.

Then one fine day, the wheels came off his little wagon, when one of the stable masters was caught red-handed mixing opium into a feeding trough.

Brichcha was stripped of his commission and put on trial, where inevitably, he was condemned to the harshest penalty in Sindhuvarta – banishment to Dandaka, the Forest of the Exiles. But before he could be transported to Payoshni Pass, his wife, a proud daughter of the Wandering Tribe, hanged herself in shame, leaving behind their eight-year-old daughter, Shankubala.

Brichcha pleaded to Vikramaditya for pardon, and moved by the thought of the small, helpless girl on the verge of being orphaned, the king transmuted the traitorous warden's sentence to imprisonment in the dungeons for life. He also ordered for Shanku to be moved to the palace so that she could meet her father regularly. Thus, Shanku had come to live in the royal stables, where her skills at riding horses and throwing knives had caught Vetala Bhatta's eye. Slowly she was inducted into the tutelage of the raj-guru, and over time she had earned the respect of Vikramaditya, who made her a part of his council.

Yet, the irony was that except for the first few years, Shanku hardly ever went to see her father, the visits to the dark cell growing less frequent with every passing year. Vikramaditya knew that she had roundly refused to see Brichcha for nearly three years, despite repeated pleas and petitions from the prisoner.

As the palanquin and its escort rounded a hill and came into view, the samrat guessed that even if the palace were to grant Brichcha amnesty, Shanku would never forgive her father.

It was almost an hour later that Vikramaditya and Shanku were ushered into the tent of the Mother Oracle identity – but not before the king had been feted with a traditional meal baked on dung fires. The king and his councilor were joined in the Mother Oracle's tent by four senior tribesmen, each present on the invitation of the king.

“I was told of your coming by the wind,” the old woman was blunt, not resorting to formalities. “I hope the meal that I asked to be prepared for you was to your liking? Or was it too simple for your taste?”

“It was perfect, mother,” replied Vikramaditya. “No one appreciates simplicity better than one who leads a complicated life.”

“Clever, clever,” the Mother Oracle cackled with laughter, her old watery eyes full of mirth. Then, sobering down a bit, she asked, “What does the clever king want?”

“Well, mother...” The samrat paused, before deciding to come straight to the point. “I want you to come with me to the palace.”

The king's words were greeted with dead silence, filled only with the labored wheezing of the eldest of the tribesmen.

“You have done a lot to assist Avanti, mother, and I can't thank you enough for that,” Vikramaditya continued speaking. “But I fear there will be much greater need for your counsel in the days to come, and I cannot have your granddaughter constantly riding out of the palace in search of you. That would be a colossal waste of her talents – not to mention a colossal waste of time that could put the precious lives of my soldiers and people at risk. So please, mother...”

The Mother Oracle was quiet for a while. Then, with a shake of her head, she spoke. “I am old and have but a few years to live. I want to be with my tribe...”

“Mother, I know you dislike the palace – your granddaughter told me so,” the king butted in. “Still I request you to come.”

As glances were exchanged, the woman nodded. “Yes, the palace has been unkind to me. It brought
that man
into my daughter's life,” she spoke as if she found the idea of mentioning Brichcha by name revolting. “It took away my daughter and brought humiliation upon the tribe for no fault of ours.”

“The palace also gave the tribe justice by penalizing Brichcha,” Vikramaditya reasoned.

“The penalty was for his treachery against the palace,” the Mother Oracle corrected. “We know the honor of the tribe was never under consideration. We may be nomadic people, my king, but we like to hold our heads high with pride.”

The gathered tribesmen rumbled in appreciation and support of the old woman's words.

“Indeed, mother,” the king conceded. “But where vengeance was to be had, the palace showed mercy by sparing the traitor's life for the sake of the tribe's granddaughter.”

A small murmur of approval went around the tent as the Mother Oracle brooded. The samrat sensed a slight thaw in the atmosphere and decided to press home the advantage.

“You speak of the sun of the Aditya dynasty falling under an eclipse, mother. Yet you wouldn't lift a finger to help dispel the gloom that is to come to this land? You speak of the tribe being disgraced on account of the conduct of a palace representative, yet you turn your face to the one opportunity the tribe has to return to grace by assisting the palace? You speak of holding your honor and pride dear, yet you squander the chance to earn both by helping me protect the gift of the Ancient God?”

For a long while after the king spoke, the Mother Oracle sat hunched on her straw mat, eyes closed, her body rocking gently, back and forth. The tribesmen shifted in their seats, not knowing what to make of the Mother Oracle's silence. Shanku was almost convinced that her grandmother had lulled herself to sleep when the hag opened her eyes and took a good, long look at Vikramaditya.

“You are wise with your words and your thoughts, my king,” she said at last. “I shall come to the palace with you.”

***

“From what I understand, the devas and the asuras will not stop until one or the other has claimed this dagger. Is that correct?” King Harihara looked anxious as he studied Kalidasa's face.

“Yes, your honor.”

Breathing deep, the king leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and pinched his lower lip as he considered the implications of all that the councilor had just revealed.

“You say a good part of Ujjayini has already suffered great destruction from the first attack,” he said at length. “At this rate, the city will be devastated before long.”

Kalidasa opened his mouth to respond, but checked himself. Arguing against Harihara was foolish denial. It was plain that if the attacks persisted, Ujjayini would be in grave danger of collapsing. Yet, an open admission would do nothing to allay the jittery king. Under the circumstances, Kalidasa said nothing.

Unfortunately, Harihara construed the silence as a sign of tacit agreement. Throwing up his hands, he asked, “How does Vikramaditya intend defending the dagger?”

“With courage and with faith.” This time Kalidasa knew he had a good answer. “That's how we rid ourselves of the pishachas and the Ashvin cavalry.”

The king of Heheya rose and began pacing the narrow confines of the private chamber that Kalidasa had been shown into upon his arrival at Mahishmati earlier in the morning.

“And the Hunas and the Sakas?” the king asked in agitation.

“What
about the Hunas and the Sakas, your honor?” Kalidasa asked cautiously.

“Will Avanti now abandon its campaign against them?” Harihara clarified.

“There's no question of that happening, your honor. Avanti will fight to the very end to keep Sindhuvarta free of invaders.”

“Vikramaditya will fight the Hunas, the Sakas, the devas and the asuras, all at the same time? How?” Shaking his head, the king slumped back into his seat. Then, as a new thought occurred to him, he sat up. “There will be more attacks on Heheya too, I presume?”

“From the devas and the asuras? We doubt it, your honor. Their only interest lies in the Halahala, which is in Ujjayini.”

“Yet the pishacha army led by that blind rakshasa ravaged half of my kingdom,” Harihara sounded petulant. “Who is to say we won't suffer more such attacks by asuras or devas bound for Ujjayini?”

“The kingdom of Avanti deeply regrets the suffering that Heheya has been subjected to, your honor,” Kalidasa spoke stiffly. Though he understood Harihara's concerns, he had begun developing a sharp dislike of the king's display of pettiness. He got the distinct impression that Harihara was increasingly behaving as an ungrateful, fair-weather friend.

“Regrets are all fine, Councilor Kalidasa, but you must realize Heheya is but a small kingdom with limited resources. We don't possess the wherewithal to deal with such eventualities.”

“I offer Avanti's sincere apologies and a small token of our appreciation of Heheya's friendship,” Kalidasa replied, making a mental note of the way the king had addressed him as ‘councilor'. The old warmth in Harihara's tone was missing. “There's a wagon waiting downstairs that has a chest of gold for your treasury, your honor. I hope it can be put to use in rebuilding the garrisons and villages that were destroyed by the pishacha army.”