“Councilor Ghatakarpara departed for Dvarka the same morning as I did to warn Chief Yugandhara of the threat to the Anartas, your honour,” the soldier concluded. “My instructions were to deliver the same update to the palace.”
“You have done well, soldier,” Vikramaditya nodded. “You may leave now. But keep all this to yourself.”
Once they had the walkway to themselves, the king looked at the Acharya questioningly.
“What do you make of what we have just learnt, raj-guru?” “It may seem farfetched, but only because the Hunas and Sakas have never displayed any skill in naval warcraft before,” Vetala Bhatta shrugged.
“Even so, the possibility of such an attack cannot be entirely overruled,” cautioned Vikramaditya. “The Hunas may have learnt a trick or two over the years.”
“I agree. And as Amara Simha rightly points out, the Hunas have successfully drawn the troops of Sindhuvarta to the frontier, leaving the Anartas exposed and vulnerable. If it is a strategy, it is an ingenious one. Amara Simha did well in sending Ghatakarpara to Yugandhara’s court.”
“The Mother Oracle has made no mention of any of this so far,” ventured Vararuchi. “If I remember correctly, she had only spoken about a wall of dust rising in the Great Desert. Could the two be connected?”
No one made a move to answer the question. The indecisive silence was broken by Kalidasa.
“Maybe we should ask the Mother Oracle about the ships. She might be able to verify what the scout told Amara Simha.”
Leaning his hands on the parapet, the samrat nodded, his eyes trained on the distant horizon, deep in contemplation. At last he pushed himself upright and turned to his councilors.
“We should have a word about this with the Mother Oracle. If the Anartas are at risk, we must prepare to send in reinforcements. We can’t let the Federation fall to the barbarians.”
Seeing he had the full attention of the men in front of him, Vikramaditya continued. “And though I doubt it, it would be nice if the Mother Oracle could learn who killed that scout in his cell in Sristhali. It had to be an inside job. Which means the threat from the Hunas is a lot closer than we expected – it is already well inside the boundaries of Avanti.”
* * *
For the fifth time in probably as many minutes, Governor Satyaveda reached for the quill sticking out of the inkwell on his table. Extracting it, he brought its sharpened nib to the blank stretch of palm leaf lying in front of him with the intention of putting his thoughts into words, but his hand merely hovered over the leaf, fingers idly twirling the quill, as he struggled to compose a coherent message.
The governor’s problem was that he didn’t know what to write and what to leave out. Rather, he admitted to himself grudgingly, he had very little to write about, and what he did have to say was of no use to anybody.
However, later that evening, he was scheduled to meet the merchant Aatreya – his and the Huna chieftain’s go-between – and he had to have an update ready. That was the understanding under which the pouches of coins were delivered to him, week after week. So, Satyaveda stared across the rooftops of Udaypuri and once again made an assessment of the facts at his disposal.
He knew that in spite of his best efforts, things had gone drastically wrong in Sristhali. By some confounded stroke of misfortune, right after his departure from the command centre, Amara Simha had somehow unearthed a second Huna scout. Satyaveda had learnt of this only when Amara Simha had returned to the fort of Udaypuri with his prisoner, who was immediately placed under the guard of an elite unit of the Imperial Army.
He knew with surety that something was afoot when he discovered that no one other than Commander Atulyateja and Amara Simha himself had access to the scout. Added to that was the mysterious absence of Ghatakarpara – when Satyaveda had probed the matter, Amara Simha had been evasive, saying the prince had stayed back in Sristhali to gain experience in coordinating troop movements. But some clever snooping by Chirayu, his wily and ever-reliable assistant, had revealed a different story. The king’s nephew had left Sristhali with an escort of ten guards, and had headed for Dvarka!
Then the reports of the rakshasas’ attack on Ujjayini had arrived, along with a call to Amara Simha to return to the capital.
The sight of Amara Simha leaving the fort had brought the governor immense relief. Even when he had served in Ujjayini as a courtier at the palace – before the Acharya had deviously plotted his transfer to the wilderness of Malawa, he reminded himself bitterly –Satyaveda had been in mortal fear of the brusque and overbearing councilor.
But the fact that Amara Simha had taken the scout with him to Ujjayini was worrying. And try as he might, the governor was unable to get anything out of Atulyateja on what the scout could possibly have spilled to the councilor.
So here he was with the knowledge that a Huna scout had been apprehended near Sristhali and brought to Udaypuri, where he had been placed under heavy guard, before being taken to Ujjayini. Had the scout revealed anything of importance to Amara Simha? Did Ghatakarpara’s unscheduled departure to the Anartas have anything to do with the scout? He didn’t know, and he didn’t believe he would learn the truth about either question.
All he knew for a fact was that the garrison of Udaypuri was no longer under the command of Amara Simha. And that Ghatakarpara was returning to Udaypuri later in the day. He guessed that the prince would now probably take charge of the garrison along with Atulyateja…
Satyaveda sat upright in his chair, gripping its armrests tightly, his eyes shining as he stared at a large, embroidered map of Malawa province that hung on the facing wall.
What had he been thinking when he had told himself he had nothing of significance to share in his weekly report!
The garrison of Udaypuri was likely to come under the command of a buffoon who had yet to shake off his adolescence and get rid of the airs of the palace. Satyaveda had observed enough of the prince to know it was easy to pander to the boy’s ego. He was naive and impressionable, and craved approval. Ghatakarpara was ripe for the picking.
Best of all, there was no interfering Amara Simha to mind over him now.
Almost humming with energy, the governor reached for the quill.
Promise
The palace of Amaravati wore a disconsolate air, its broad passageways and galleries strangely empty of courtiers and palace hands, the halls and antechambers missing the usual song and mirth of the delectable apsaras. Silence lay everywhere, heavy and funereal, broken now and then by the eerie lament of the wind as it slipped over the towering cliffs and cascaded into the chasm that engulfed the palace on all sides.
Jayanta, first-born son of Indra, padded quietly along one of these deserted galleries, heading in the direction of Urvashi’s boudoir. His manner was furtive, eyes darting around to see if he was being watched, even as his ears strained against the wind, struggling to pick up a hint of Urvashi’s voice.
All he got in return was the echo of the gloom that had enveloped the palace.
The atmosphere had stayed that way ever since news of the Maruts’ rout had reached Indra’s ears. Five times thereafter, the sun had risen, but it had failed to bring warmth and cheer; the palace only seemed to sink lower into the shadows of the surrounding abyss. Its inhabitants had remained cloistered in their chambers rather than risk crossing Indra’s path, their voices rarely rising above muted undertones. The king of the devas himself, though, had hardly ventured out of his own bedchamber, opting for solitude over company.
Then, earlier that afternoon, a garuda had appeared from the east and alighted on Indra’s balcony to confer with its king. Moments after the garuda had departed, spreading its large wings in elegant flight, the lord of the devas had sent summons for the apsara Menaka, and asked that Airavata, his battle elephant, be put in harness. A hundred pairs of curious eyes had watched Indra and Menaka emerge from the palace stockade astride Airavata – a humungous, albino woolly mammoth, its six big curling tusks sharpened to points. Conceal
ed behind the curtains of his bedchamber, Jayanta had followed the mammoth as it traversed the moat and turned toward the cleft in the hills that opened to the road heading east.
Knowing his father was safely out of the way, Jayanta turned the corner that led to Urvashi’s chambers in the fervent hope that he would find the apsara in her lodgings. It had been days since he had had a glimpse of her svelte figure, and he longed to see her, hear her, breathe in the heady scent of her youth… hold her close.
And pleasure her with kisses as they drowned in passionate lovemaking.
The image of Urvashi spread deliciously on soft cushions, smiling up at him, arms and legs thrown open in invitation, welcoming him, sent bolts of lust shooting through Jayanta’s veins. With quickening steps, he approached the apsara’s room – and was immediately rewarded with the chime of her irrepressible laughter. Clear and bubbling like a mountain stream, brimming with love, overflowing with life, casting aside the dreariness that was saturating the palace.
Giddy with anticipation, his pulse tripping over itself, Jayanta reached the heavy door to the apsara’s bedchamber before the significance of what he had heard dawned on him. The laugh meant Urvashi was not alone.
Jayanta pushed the door gently open. Poking his head around it, he caught sight of Urvashi lounging against silken bolsters at the far end of the covered terrace abutting the chamber, her back to the door. He drank in her reclining form with greedy eyes, trailing the contours of her body; the soft alabaster neck and shoulders; the slip of her smooth back; the narrowing of the waist, encircled lovingly by a delicate girdle of woven gold; and the supple, rounded heave of her hips.
Conscious of the flutter in his stomach and the stirring in his loins, the prince transferred his gaze to the second apsara, whom he now recognized as Yavika, a pretty handmaiden of Urvashi’s. Yavika sat facing Urvashi, a game of chausar spread on the floor between them. Decked all around the apsaras were large ferns and sweet-smelling blossoms in big copper urns, the leaves and vines swaying and bobbing in the wind.
The sight of the two nymphs, sparingly clothed, emboldened Jayanta. Stepping inside, he shut the door and strode across the expanse of the bedchamber, even as Yavika rolled the two wooden dice, which struck the marbled floor with a loud clatter. Observing the dice, Yavika squealed in exultation – to the accompaniment of an exasperated chuckle from a male voice!
Already halfway to the terrace, Jayanta stopped short, his self-assured smile falling away in big chunks. Disappointment crashed against his chest in high-crested waves.
The male voice was one he recognized.
Just then, one of the large fronds of a fern moved in the wind to reveal what Jayanta was already expecting to find – the handsome profile of Narada. The chief emissary of Devaloka occupied the third arm of the chausar board, flanked to his right and left by the apsaras, his position concealed from view by the urn he was leaning against.
“Not again,” Narada rued, shaking his head good-humouredly. “Destiny is not playing fair with me today and you two shouldn’t be taking advantage of that.”
“Hush, your honour,” replied Urvashi, placing a flirtatious hand on Narada’s knee, her tone placatory, yet ripe with mischief. “We haven’t even started yet. We’ll soon have you begging for our mercy, won’t we?”
She shot Yavika a wicked glance, and with another laugh and a toss of her head, reached her hand out for the pair of dice.
Giving a coy smile, Yavika looked up at Urvashi. Her eyes strayed over her mistress’s shoulder, looking further into the bedchamber… and she spotted Jayanta, shuffling from one foot to another indecisively.
“Oh, our lordship,” she uttered a small gasp, pushing herself upright, licking her lips in nervousness.
His feet heavy as lead, Jayanta took a few half-hearted steps forward. He watched Urvashi turn and throw him a lazy glance over her shoulder.
“Ah, what brings you here?” she asked, her large, beautiful eyes regarding him coolly.
Before the prince had a chance to answer, Narada craned his neck from behind the urn and looked at him.
“Come, come, my lordship,” the court diplomat invited, pointing to the empty seat opposite him. “Would you care for a game or two?”
Glancing from Urvashi to Yavika, Narada continued addressing Jayanta. “These two have taken all my gold and have now begun stripping me of my belongings. Help me win back what is rightfully mine, will you?”
“I am not here to indulge in silly games,” Jayanta answered harshly, drawing himself erect to stare down at Narada, his lips curling in disdain. Aware of three pairs of eyes assessing him, he added, “How can you be jesting here when Devaloka has been put to disgrace by the humans?”
The ensuing silence warmed Jayanta’s heart. He knew he had succeeded in pushing Narada into a corner, making him uncomfortable, and he watched the courtier squirm for a suitable answer.
“Then what are you here for?”
The question came from a totally unexpected quarter – from Urvashi. Jayanta looked at the apsara, who continued to appraise him over her shoulder as if he were some lowly palace hand. Tongue-tied, he glanced at Narada, who was now observing him with twinkling eyes. The prince saw that Urvashi’s question had not just given the diplomat an honourable exit, it had turned the tables on him, wresting the initiative out of his hands, putting him firmly on the defensive.
“I came… I wanted to know if… if Menaka said anything of where she… they were going,” he stumbled through a face-saving explanation while cursing Urvashi at the back of his mind.
The apsara gave a dismissive shrug. “I didn’t meet her, so she didn’t say.”
Jayanta caught Narada’s eye and the diplomat shook his head in helplessness as well. Seeing the handsome courtier sprawled next to the apsaras, the thought of him touching them, cavorting with them, brought the prince to a sudden boil.
“How come you don’t know anything of this?” he snapped accusingly at Narada. “Shouldn’t you be aware of what’s happening in the palace? Isn’t that one of your duties?”
“You are correct, my prince,” Narada’s reply was equanimous. “But there are times when a king chooses to keep his counsel. My duty is also to respect my king’s decision to keep his thoughts private.”
Jayanta was still working out a good retort to this one when Urvashi spoke.
“If you were so keen on finding out where they are heading, why didn’t you ask the king yourself?” she asked tartly. “Wouldn’t a father have humoured a son with an explanation?”
Lashing out like a flail, stinging him, tearing his self-esteem to shreds. Why was she doing this, the prince wondered through the haze of confusion and dismay that was settling around him.
This time, the pregnant silence stretched even longer as the diplomat and the two apsaras waited with sadistic pleasure for Jayanta to respond. A part of him wanted to run out of the room, but the prince knew that was no option. So he stood rooted to the spot, sullen and slouched in despondency, Urvashi’s words smarting in his ears.
“I think his lordship would like to be left alone in the company of Urvashi,” Narada spoke at last, his eyes locking with Jayanta’s. Turning to Yavika, he added with a winsome smile, “Come dear, let us revive our little duel elsewhere – though this time I believe luck will be in my favour.”
Retrieving his shawl and turban from the floor, Narada rose to his feet. As Yavika busied herself with gathering the chausar board, the shells and the wooden dice, the diplomat stepped in front of Jayanta.
“Thank you for interrupting our game and rescuing me from ruin, my prince,” he said, gesturing to the shawl that was now draped over his forearm. The courtier was smiling, but there was a calculative coldness in his eyes that unnerved Jayanta. “With your permission…”
Narada began bowing with the intent of taking his leave, then stopped and looked at the prince as if a thought had struck him.
“I think you must know this, your lordship. I am always awar
e of what’s happening in the palace. I see, I hear, I observe, I deduce. I don’t always reveal everything I know.” The diplomat paused, as the subtle menace of his words swept the room like an undercurrent. “My silence should never be construed as ignorance.”
A shiver went through Jayanta as he watched the door shut on Narada and Yavika. Turning back to the room, he saw Urvashi leaning against the parapet of the terrace, gazing up at the ring of cliffs. The sun was well on its westerly course, and the wind had gained a stiff edge, moulding Urvashi’s clothes to her shapely form. Fallen blossoms and leaves, driven by the wind, skittered and rustled over the marble floor of the terrace.
“Why do you treat me this way?”
The prince took a few tentative steps toward the terrace, but stopped when Urvashi turned around to scrutinize him, her eyes flashing.
“How else do you expect me to treat you?” the apsara countered angrily. She leaned back on the railings and crossed her arms across her chest, accentuating the swell of her breasts. Even in the state she was in, she couldn’t help being beautiful, Jayanta thought.
“I… I want you to treat me nicely… with… with dignity…” he began weakly, but the apsara cut him short.
“Why? Why do you deserve any dignity?”
“I… because… ” Flustered, Jayanta groped for words. “Because I am the son of Indra, lord of Devaloka.”
“There you are!” Urvashi threw up her hands as if she had just proved a point and smirked. “You have just admitted who you really are – a nobody. You hold onto Indra’s name like a crutch, because without that, you amount to nothing.”
“That’s not true…” Jayanta whined in rebellion, but the apsara again interrupted him.
“Do you really think I don’t know what brought you to my chambers today?”
The prince dropped his gaze, but Urvashi wasn’t done yet. “You talk of being a man, but you lack the courage of men. You wait for your father to leave the palace before slinking down here to profess your love for me. You stand around making silly excuses in front of mere maids like Yavika instead of speaking boldly, as is wont of a prince. Your behaviour speaks neither of courage nor passion nor love.”
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 3
