The Conspiracy at Meru

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Vikramaditya entered his bedchamber and went over to a wooden chest sitting in one corner. Opening it, he rummaged inside before pulling out a small box made of ironwood.

  “This is for you,” he said, taking Vishakha’s hand and placing the box on her open palm.

  The queen pried the lid open carefully and peeked inside.

  “This…” she whispered, her eyes shining in awe, “…this is my mother’s gift to me.”

  With delicate fingers, she extracted a ring fashioned out of polished jade, forest green in colour, and flecked with white. Vishakha’s name, inscribed by a master artisan, ran all the way round the ring’s outer surface.

  “I believe it was made when you turned three,” said the samrat.

  “Yes, mother gave it to me when Kshapanaka and I left Nishada… it was her parting gift to me. I was to wear it the day I turned fourteen.” Her brows knitted in distress. “I… I remember losing this once. Yes, it was in the palace bath, the one to the northeast with the big peepal growing by its side. I was heartbroken that day, I remember. I never thought I would get this ring back. But by some miracle, it was found. I swore never to wear it on my finger again, but to keep it safe somewhere.”

  Wiping the tears that had sprung up in her eyes, the queen looked at Vikramaditya in gratitude. “Thank you for giving me this.”

  “I had kept it safe for you– for the day when you would come back.”

  Vishakha studied the ring in silence, twirling it between thumb and forefinger. At last, she slipped it onto a finger on her right hand. “Then, for you, I shall wear it again,” she said.

  After a short pause, she raised her head to the king. “Kshapanaka tells me that you were a wonderful husband. I am beginning to think she is right.”

  They stood there for a moment, looking at one another in hope and despair. Then Vishakha took a step forward and put her arms around Vikramaditya. The samrat responded by putting a protective hand around his wife’s shoulder, but their embrace was stiff and awkward– there was a stranger between them that neither could ignore.

  “I should go,” Vishakha said, pulling away gently. “You said you have a meeting with the council and the courtiers. I will send someone to clear the table.”

  Once the maids had cleaned up and left, Vikramaditya lay down on the bed and covered his eyes with an arm, resisting the urge to cry out in anguish.

  Vishakha remembered the ring. She remembered losing it in the palace bath. She remembered it having been found later. But she didn’t remember the one who had spent half the day in the dark depths of the bath, searching for the lost ring. She didn’t remember him sitting beside her that evening at dinner, quietly slipping the ring into her palm.

  She remembered everything but him. Maybe that was how it would always be.

  The thought of such a possibility was tearing him apart, ravaging him from within.

  * * *

  “It has come for the deva.”

  The voice was so sudden and unexpected, tearing through the stillness of the lake house, that it startled Indra.

  The lord of the devas looked around and behind him, then let his gaze return to the path that led to the water’s edge. He noticed that Menaka had also stopped halfway down the path, and was glancing back at the lake house, trying to place the source of the voice. Her eyes finally locked with his, and Indra realized the apsara was as mystified as he was.

  “Not you, apsara,” the voice rang out again, shrill and irritated. “The boat has come for the deva.”

  This time, Indra was certain the voice had come from somewhere right behind him.

  “The parrot. It’s the parrot,” Menaka exclaimed in surprise.

  “What? This thing can talk?” Indra muttered half to himself, approaching the cage, peering through the wickerwork to catch a better glimpse of the bird. He stopped a foot away from the cage and glared at the parrot. “Never heard you talk before– full of tricks, aren’t you? How about me showing you a trick by crushing your head in my hand?” Indra clenched his fist at the cage, his knuckles popping loud under the pressure.

  “Let the bird be, my lord,” said Menaka, stepping onto the terrace. “The message from the yaksha king has been delivered. The boat is waiting for you. Go!”

  Wading into the lake, Indra closed in on the boat gingerly, afraid that the vessel might slip away at the last moment, revealing this to be just another of the games that Kubera loved playing. The boat, however, didn’t budge until Indra was seated on board, whereupon it pushed away from the shore, propelled by unseen hands. As the boat eased through the whispering veils of mist, Indra looked back to see Menaka leaning against the terrace parapet and sobbing, her cheeks wet with tears of respite.

  Shortly after his departure, the king of the devas started losing all sense of time and space. There were moments when the mist thinned and, through its shreds, he saw the night sky above him, decked up in stars like a bride, a half moon hanging low like an exquisite bridal pendant. The mists drew together again, and the next time they parted, Indra caught sight of a violent sunset, the sun bleeding red into a sky bruised purple. At times, the water beneath the boat appeared so clear he could see into the lake’s bottom, where he fancied he saw palaces with moats around them, and farmlands stretching away on all sides. But at other times, the water underneath was dark and oily and impenetrable, yet he could sense ghastly forms with hollowed eyes and sinewy tentacles rippling and roiling and waiting in ancient hunger… Then, suddenly, there was no water under the vessel. Just empty air and cold mountains down, down below.

  For all he detested Kubera, Indra couldn’t help marveling at the city that the yaksha and his followers had built for themselves from the dreary, inhospitable glacier that Lake Alaka once had been. The golden spires that broke through the mist and caught the sun; the giant mermaid statues that lay sprawled on rocks, their lips parted in lustful invitation; the waterfalls that spilled out of the mouths of humungous lion and elephant heads cut from black granite… every sight made the deva draw his breath in admiration.

  Eventually, the ceaseless glide of the boat, the cool scented breeze and the drifting mists lulled Indra to sleep. He had no idea how long he had dozed, but when the deva opened his eyes with a start, he saw that the boat was at a standstill, docked against a narrow wooden pier. White mist hid the other end of the pier from view, but Indra was certain there was a diffused glow of yellow lights dancing within its folds.

  Stepping off the boat, Indra walked down the pier, the soggy, rotting planks creaking under his weight. He made his way into the mist, expecting it to fall back naturally, but instead it swarmed and eddied around him like smoke, growing thicker, whiter and more opaque. Alarmed at what the smothering mist might be hiding, the deva stopped.

  “Anyone here?” he called out, conscious that the mist was muffling his voice. “I am Indra, lord of the devas, here to see Kubera.”

  “Welcome to Alaka, friend, welcome,” whispered a sly voice that conjured a reptilian image in Indra’s mind.

  Instantly, the mist slipped away, as if repelled by a sudden magnetic force. It rolled back down the pier, retreating until it obscured the other end of the pier with the boat at its tip. Watching the mist withdraw, Indra was struck by the transformation that the pier underwent– the old, waterlogged wood changed into hard, white marble, flecked with gold.

  Pivoting on his heel, the deva looked around, his jaw dropping as he took in the spectacle. He was standing in a large hallway, its walls, pillars and balconies plated in gold. Yet, it wasn’t so much the hall’s width as its height that was impressive. The ceiling rose steep into the air in a series of arches and domes, and from these, suspended at various heights, were elaborately cut crystal chandeliers and plates of shining gold. At the very apex of the structure burned one single lamp, and Indra realized that the light from that solitary lamp, reflecting off the gold plates and refracting through the carved crystal, lit the entire hall.

  Then he spied Kubera, standi
ng on a high balcony, beckoning him with a wave of a hand.

  “Come. Let the mist guide you,” the yaksha’s voice whispered in his ear.

  Again, for a matter of moments, a swirl of mist wrapped itself around Indra, spinning sideways and upward with him trapped in its vortex. In the blink of an eye, the mist was gone– and the deva drew his breath at the sight before him.

  He was in a small marble gazebo, erected in the middle of a sedate pool filled with blooming water lilies and lotuses. A ridge encircled the pool, and a waterfall gushed over the lip of the ridge and cascaded into the pool from all directions, forming a white curtain of fast flowing water all around the gazebo. Yet, there was no sound of falling water, and the waterfall didn’t trigger even a single ripple across the pool.

  “Would you admit that we have created a city more beautiful that Amaravati?”

  Indra turned to survey Kubera, lounging on a divan. The yaksha was fat beyond words and hairy to boot, an atrocity of flab and fur. Except for his dhoti, he was unclothed, but thick, matted hair covered most of the exposed skin. Bedecked in an array of gold ornaments that clinked whenever he moved, Kubera sported a thick black beard that covered his fleshy face, but failed to hide his thick, puffed lips. His eyes were the colour of charcoal and filled with guile.

  “I would admit you have done well for yourself, Kubera,” Indra replied casually as he lowered himself onto a vacant divan placed opposite the one the yaksha occupied.

  “Do I detect faint praise there?” Kubera made a show of cupping his ear. Seeing there was nothing more coming from Indra, he clapped his hands together. “Well, what can I offer you? Nothing less than soma for the lord of the devas, isn’t it?” Indra sensed a movement near his shoulder, but before his eyes could focus properly, the mist-wraith was gone. Glancing down at the table by his side, he saw a goblet filled with soma waiting for him. Kubera watched Indra take a long sip of the refreshing wine.

  “So what brings the lord of the devas to the humble abode of the yakshas?” Indra caught the mocking tone in Kubera’s voice. “It must be something terribly important for him to wait patiently for so many days.”

  Indra heaved a deep sigh. “I need your assistance to put a human king in place.”

  “A human king?” The yaksha stared at Indra in disbelief before bursting into laughter. “Why would the lord of the devas want my help in dealing with a human king?”

  “This king has been the cause of much agony,” Indra’s reply was cold.

  “If he has been such a pain, why not just use your vajrayudha to…” Kubera stopped, a wicked gleam forming in his eye. “I see. You can’t use the vajrayudha because this king you speak of has done you and Devaloka no harm. Use the vajra on him and you lose the right to wield it forever. How interesting!”

  Indra switched his attention to the goblet to avoid the yaksha’s gaze.

  “Exactly what sort of agony has the king been giving you?” “How does that matter?”

  “I would like to know,” Kubera shrugged adamantly. Seeing Indra hesitate, he added, “If you are afraid I will judge you poorly, let me assure you that I have already judged you for what you are. If you remember, there are few secrets between us, and I don’t think you can fall any lower in my esteem.”

  The deva’s face went red with anger at Kubera’s impudence, but the yaksha didn’t appear to notice.

  “And if you worry that what you will tell me will arouse my greed and make me want to covet it…” The yaksha spread a hand out, pointing around him, the rings on his finger glinting in the sunlight. “I have everything I want here in Alaka. There is nothing anyone can give me that I don’t already have.” “Alaka doesn’t have the apsaras you lust after, yaksha lord,” Indra’s smile was rich with malice. He knew he had found a sensitive spot at last, and drawn level with Kubera.

  The yakshas and devas had shared a troubled relationship even before the former were forced out of Devaloka. The yakshas had always fancied themselves as being equal to the devas, and it was no secret that Kubera had nursed ambitions of sitting on the throne at Amaravati. However, for all their talk of matching the devas, the yakshas lagged miserably when it came to attracting apsaras– the nymphs of Devaloka were invariably reluctant to consort with the yakshas. And although the yakshas were hermaphroditic, the apsaras held a special charm, making the yakshas covet them even more.

  Things came to a head when three yakshas were charged with abducting an apsara with the intention of ravishing her. The three accused pleaded innocent at the trial, but even when the evidence was inconclusive, the tribunal adjudged them guilty.

  Drubbing the whole affair as a conspiracy to malign his kind, Kubera demanded that the yakshas be exonerated. When Indra declined to overturn the tribunal’s ruling, Kubera accused the deva himself of bias, insinuating that Indra was not fit for the throne if he couldn’t dispense proper justice. The slur was too severe to overlook. Indra instantly decreed that the yakshas were to go into exile, terming them a blot on the beauty of Amaravati. Kubera and his followers had left Devaloka under a solemn oath– that they would construct a city of their own that surpassed Amaravati in its beauty. Over the years, Alaka was built to rival Amaravati, and the yakshas slowly gained mastery over the black arts. Yet, for all the magical powers they had acquired, Kubera did not dare move against Devaloka– he continued to fear the vajrayudha that Indra wielded to protect his realm.

  The other aspect that did not change for the yakshas was their enduring passion for the apsaras, who were now strictly out of bounds.

  “What do you want from me, Indra?” Kubera asked, his face darkening at the deva’s words.

  “I told you. I want you to bring misery on the human king.”

  “And why would I do this for you?”

  “I brought you the apsara.”

  Leaning back on his divan, the yaksha lord gave a scornful laugh. “You think you can walk in here with that plaything of yours, have her entertain me for a few days, and expect me to do whatever you wish? That might have worked in the past, but no. not any longer.”

  “If you do what I want, you can have Menaka in Alaka. For keeps.”

  Toying with one of the rings on his fingers, Kubera scrutinized Indra from under furrowed brows. The silence was so profound that the deva thought he heard the slightest gurgle of water falling into the pool.

  “I can also send two dozen apsaras to Alaka for your followers,” Indra extended the bait.

  “You would do that?” Finally, there was greed on the yaksha’s face.

  Indra tossed back the contents of the goblet and nodded, stroking his rich golden beard in satisfaction.

  Kubera swung his legs off the divan and perched himself on the edge of the seat. “Tell me what you want done to the human king,” he said. “Tell me how much harm you want me to cause him.”

  Proposal

  An amorphous haze of red dust, drifting slow and listless across the open field, was all that remained in the wake of the eight horses that had just thundered past Kalidasa, Shanku and half a dozen keepers and officials of the Imperial Stables. No breeze disturbed the flaps of the pavilion where the councilors and the horsekeepers stood, and the heat was unbearable even in the shade. Far to their right, at the other end of the field, close to fifty horses stood in an enclosure, snorting and swishing their tails to keep the flies away.

  “What do you make of the lot we just saw, Warden?” Kalidasa asked of the small, wiry man sporting the badge of the Warden of the Stables. Keeri.

  “I would definitely pick the dappled mare and the brown stallion with the white hind leg, your honour,” the Warden said, running his fingers through his mop of silvery hair. “And maybe the white mare too, the one with the short tail.”

  “Each one of mine is a fine specimen, your honour, just ideal for the Imperial Army,” a portly man butted in. From his general manner, it was plain he was a merchant. “I vouch none of the eight will ever give Avanti’s cavalry grief.”

  “Wh
at’s your opinion?” the giant mopped the sweat off his brow and looked down at Shanku.

  “I would agree with the Warden, particularly about the mare with the short tail,” the girl said, giving Keeri an appreciative smile. “She may not be the fastest among the lot, but she is all heart. But let us first look at what the other merchants have brought us.”

  The stockade opened and another set of horses cantered onto the field for inspection.

  It was another three hours before Kalidasa and Shanku finally rode away from the pavilion, heading back for Ujjayini. The afternoon had been long and tiring, the procedure of drawing a shortlist and then inspecting each mount carefully before selection, a time-consuming one. Avanti was badly in need of horses. Over seventy steeds had died in the course of the battle against the pishacha army at Trehi, and half that number had been killed during the attack by the rakshasas. Those needed to be replaced. Moreover, the threat of a Huna-Saka invasion had led to a spike in demand for horses at all horse stations and garrisons. Of the sixty-odd animals that had come up for sale that day, only a third was deemed worthy of the Imperial Stables, a number that didn’t even begin covering the shortfall.

  “Still not a bad number,” Kalidasa offered, squinting up at the sun, which was halfway to the western horizon. A breeze had struck up an hour earlier, helping the day cool.

  “Not at all,” Shanku agreed, looking back over her shoulder at the field, where the Warden and his staff were still negotiating rates with the merchants. “In fact, seven or eight of them are very good buys.”

  “The short-tailed mare being one of them?” Kalidasa smiled gently at the girl.

  “I like her,” Shanku smiled back.

  They rode in silence for a while, both horses on a gentle trot.

  “There is something I have been meaning to ask you,” Kalidasa said at last.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know if… this is going to make any sense to you…” the giant fumbled, his heavy square jaw clenching in inner turmoil. “It… could seem stupid…”