“The venom has weakened.” Kshapanaka pointed up to the spot where she had been crouching. “The venom hit the roof, but only left a few cracks.”
The three councilors spurred their horses down the street, keeping their eyes on the sky for signs of the beast.
“If I understood correctly, you can. go wherever you want, be anywhere you want to be. That’s your gift…” Amara Simha looked at Shanku, who nodded. “Can’t you go and find out where this creature might be?”
“I haven’t fully mastered the art yet. Even if I had, the creature could be anywhere. I could go only where I know the creature is, not where it will be next.” Shanku shot Kshapanaka a dimpled smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. “My grandmother is the clairvoyant, not me.”
Halfway down the avenue, a cavalryman of the City Watch informed the councilors that the serpent had been sighted to the east, near the palace, but it had promptly disappeared into the clouds. The councilors turned toward the palace, but soon they saw the monster in the sky to their left, closer to the city’s north gate. By the time they arrived at the northern quarter, soldiers of the City Watch informed them that the beast had once again vanished from sight.
“Is it playing a game with us?” Amara Simha growled. “Either that, or it is fleeing from us,” shrugged Kshapanaka. “It appears to have lost strength, your honour,” one of the soldiers ventured. Pointing to a line of buildings adjacent a public bath, he said, “It spat venom over the row of shops over there, but all the houses and shops are intact.”
Kshapanaka gave Amara Simha a look of vindication. The brawny councilor nodded and said, “Let us find the vile thing and finish it off then.”
After almost half an hour of chasing and dodging, the councilors and soldiers were finally able to corner the beast in a market that sold earthenware. The serpent hovered tentatively over the market, pulsing in and out of the rain as it hissed angrily at its assailants. The soldiers were still wary of the creature and hung back, but the three councilors approached it, Kshapanaka leading the way with her bow drawn taut.
The monster’s jaws unhinged as it prepared to assault the attackers with venom, and Kshapanaka quickly fired three arrows into the black, foul-smelling cavity. With each shot, the serpent wavered in the air, coming slowly apart at the edges as water sluiced down its plumed back in ragged, unruly torrents. With one final heave, it ejected a thin stream of venom, but the jet evaporated before it reached the councilors.
As Kshapanaka slipped a fourth arrow into place, she thought she heard a whimpering sigh of sadness escape from the serpent’s mouth. At the same time, the beast’s eyes changed colour from amber to a light touch of gold, and it raised itself skyward as if breaking free of shackles. Then, thinning out rapidly like mist, it was lost in the falling rain.
* * *
The branches of the trees on both sides of the crude path interlaced over the riders’ heads, forming a canopy that shielded the falcon from Vikramaditya’s sight. The samrat occasionally glimpsed the bird in the interstices between branches, skimming across the grey sky as it chased the small group pounding along the forest floor.
The king twisted his neck around and squinted up to see if he could get an arrow through the knotty branches, but he doubted it. They were moving fast across scarred and uneven ground, and the falcon was moving even faster, a tight, compact streak overhead. Moreover, he knew he didn’t share Kshapanaka’s talent for marksmanship – she would have been able to take the bird down.
Not that Vikramaditya laboured under the illusion that shooting the bird would solve the problem in any permanent way. The thing – whatever it was – was spectacularly resilient, and had thrice resuscitated itself after being cut by his sword. There was no reason to believe an arrow would work where the sword had failed. The thought made the samrat nudge his steed closer to Vishakha’s in anxiety.
What did the thing want with Vishakha? She had done no one any harm, so what did anyone gain by attacking her? What also worried him was the single-mindedness with which the thing had killed the three guards in their escort. Its coldblooded intent was clear – it would remove every obstacle in its way to Vishakha. It would take any form to…
The samrat’s jaw clenched as he darted a quick glance overhead. There was no sign of the falcon. He swung his head to both sides, craning to peer through the branches, searching frantically for the bird, but it was gone.
“Watch out around you,” he hollered at the guards. “Keep your eyes open.”
Vishakha looked back at Vikramaditya, scared and bewildered. The samrat gave a tight nod, hoping it would reassure her, even though he himself was on edge. He then went back to scanning the forest, looking up now and then for the falcon.
The trail curved away to the left and rose up a small embankment. Once they were over the embankment, they would be out of the forest and back in the open, on the road to Ujjayini. The samrat was hoping they could get to the road as quickly as possible – it would be harder for the thing to attack with no cover around.
From the corner of his eye, Vikramaditya saw the black dot come arcing out of the undergrowth. It took the king a second to realize it was a big bumblebee, buzzing as it sped toward the riders on the path. Without sparing a moment’s thought, Vikramaditya raised the bow and aimed at the bee. He could be wrong, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Drawing the arrow all the way back, he tracked the bee’s swerve carefully, waiting for it to come close. Just as the insect straightened and came at the group in a low dive, the samrat let the arrow fly.
The arrow hit the bee square, its barbed head smashing the insect so hard that it exploded into tiny bits, body parts flying in all directions. For a fraction of a second, Vikramaditya was certain he had killed a harmless bee, but before remorse could set in, the insect’s shattered pieces drew back together like iron filings responding to a magnet. The bee sizzled and turned into a small, blazing ball of light that shot into the sky through the mesh of branches.
“Faster, men. Hurry,” the samrat exhorted, taking Vishakha’s mare by the bridle, urging it to greater speed.
The group topped the embankment in a melee of hooves and emerged out of the trees onto the road to Ujjayini just as a fresh burst of rain came down. Not pausing for even a second, they charged down the road, putting distance between themselves and the tree line.
“Stay on your guard and watch for the thing,” Vikramaditya’s voice was now hoarse. “We only have to get as far as the well.”
They had travelled only a hundred paces when the guards leading the pack dropped speed, forcing those coming behind to slow down. “What’s the matter?” the samrat snapped as the escort drew to an inexplicable halt. Ploughing through the crowd, he commanded, “Keep going, men. The threat has not passed.”
“Your honour,” one of the soldiers in the vanguard pointed, drawing the king’s attention to the road ahead, where two riders were approaching.
Rain made visibility poor, and Vikramaditya instinctively urged his horse in front of Vishakha, shielding her while he nocked a fresh arrow and raised the bow. The guards followed suit, taking up defensive stances and forming a tight knot around their queen. As the two riders neared, the samrat’s eyebrows rose on identifying the eye-patch one of them was wearing.
“What you are doing here?” Vikramaditya asked as Shukracharya and his guide pulled up in front of the king’s party. The bells of Ujjayini were clearly audible now, and the king turned a troubled face in the direction of the city, a smudge on the northern horizon. “Why are the bells ringing? What is the matter?”
“I am here to protect the queen,” the asura high priest chose to answer the first question as he got off his horse. Going down on one knee, he scooped up two big dollops of the wet, churned mud, which he then slathered over his palms. Looking up at the samrat, who was staring at him in bafflement, he said, “You were attacked, I take it. What was it?”
“How did you…” Puzzlement made way for a grimmer expression on Vikramaditya�
�s face as the gravity of the threat reasserted itself. “We don’t know what it is, but it takes many forms. An arrow, a snake, a spear… a bee. The last it changed into a ball of light. And nothing seems to be able to kill it.” “It has already taken three men’s lives, respected Healer,” the captain butted in.
Shukracharya nodded, observing the Palace Guards blink water out of their uneasy eyes and look warily into the surrounding plain. “The men died because they were impediments,” he said. “It only wants the queen.”
“We must get her to the protection of the Labyrinth quickly then,” said the samrat in alarm. “We are too few here…”
“This will keep her from harm for a while,” said Shukracharya, striding toward Vishakha. The guards parted way, and the high priest stepped up to the mare. “It would have been good if I had sandalwood paste and honey, but this will have to do for now. Bring your face close, child.”
Vishakha bowed her head as Shukracharya muttered mantras into his palms. Keeping up the incantations, he smeared the queen’s cheeks, forehead and hair with the slime until dirt caked her face and ran down her chin and neck in muddy rivulets.
“That should help,” the high priest said, stepping back to survey his efforts. With a satisfied nod, he swerved back toward his horse. “We can go.”
“What about the men?” Vikramaditya asked. “They are being attacked as well.”
“There are nine of them. It would take much too long to perform the spell on all of them, and the effects of the spell on the queen would begin wearing off. What good would that serve?”
“They are protecting the queen with their lives,” the samrat looked down at the high priest with a stubborn set of the jaw. “They deserve all the help you can give them. If the delay is a concern, I shall ride ahead with the queen.”
One hand on the saddle of his horse, Shukracharya assessed the king for a moment. “That won’t be necessary. I will do what I can, but we will have to hurry.”
Filling his hands with mud, the high priest began the process of anointing the Palace Guards with spells. While the king and the soldiers kept a lookout for danger, no one – not even Vishakha herself – noticed the ten discoloured drops of rain that splattered over her shoulders and back. Defying gravity, the ten grey drops wriggled and ran across her back in a haphazard manner, crisscrossing back and forth, searching for ways to get at her. But Shukracharya’s spell held true. Losing their drive, the drops slid simultaneously downward, past her waist, over her hip and onto the saddle – where, one by one, they transformed into black scorpions.
Neither the guards nor Vikramaditya saw the creatures scuttle into the folds of the saddle or crawl into the white mare’s underbelly, their vicious stingers hooked and ready to strike. When the mare whinnied and stamped a foot in fright, Vishakha merely stroked its neck and spoke a few soothing words into its ear.
The asura priest had just completed casting his spell over the guide from the City Watch when Vishakha’s mount bucked and reared, belting out a neigh that shivered with agony. Jolted by the sound, everyone turned to see the mare kick up its hind legs and let out another shrill neigh as Vishakha hung onto the saddle for dear life. Then, before anyone could react, the horse spun around wildly and bolted down the road, kicking up mud and spray as it went.
“Get the horse,” the samrat screamed, staring into Vishakha’s terror-stricken eyes as she turned around to look at him in helplessness. The king pushed his mount into a run, and as one, the guards responded, charging after the mare. Behind them, Shukracharya ran and leaped onto his horse, turning the beast around so he too could give chase.
The mare bucked and neighed every few seconds, and though the motion tossed Vishakha around mercilessly, it slowed the beast’s progress, allowing the pursuers to close in on the queen. Vikramaditya and the Palace Guards were not more than a dozen paces behind the mare when it swerved off the road and plunged into the countryside.
The samrat and his men followed through the driving rain, and the chase crossed over to the wet grassland. The land rose into tiny hillocks, the grass gave way to scrubby bushes and coarsely pebbled earth, and the horses began to tire. Yet, Vishakha’s mount pushed on, driven insane with the pain inflicted by the scorpions.
The mare crested a hillock and disappeared over it – and when Vikramaditya reached the top of the rise seconds later, his eyes flew open in horror.
Below was an unexpectedly sharp depression, one that neither Vishakha nor her mount had anticipated. The mare had lost its footing and taken a nasty tumble, flinging Vishakha off the saddle. As his own steed reared precariously at the lip of the ravine, the king watched the mare and Vishakha skid and roll down the precipitous incline, taking an avalanche of mud and loose stones with them to the bottom. The mare was somehow able to stop its slide and get back on its shaky legs, but Vishakha flopped and bounced until she came to rest by the tattered little rivulet that trickled past the ravine.
“Vishakha!”
The queen’s name left Vikramaditya’s lips in a shriek. The next moment, the samrat was slipping and sliding down the side of the depression, mindless of the thorny bushes that left painful scratches across his face and forearms. He reached the floor in a stumbling sprawl, but picking himself up, he tripped over to the queen’s side and went down on his knees. He turned her gently onto her back and bent over her mud-stained face.
“Vishakha,” he whispered, patting her cheek anxiously. “Open your eyes, Vishakha. Vishakha…”
The queen stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered open and she looked up at the samrat.
“Thank heavens you are fine,” Vikramaditya breathed with relief.
There was no response from the queen.
“Vishakha?” A terrible sense of dread and despair settled over the king. “Vishakha!”
The queen said nothing. She stared resolutely through him. The familiarity of that gaze – blank, vacant, unseeing – was shocking. The gaze that had ignored him – mocked him – from Vishakha’s pillows for two years. Vikramaditya saw his world spinning out of control.
“Vishakha, no… no. Don’t do this to me.” Vikramaditya grabbed her wrist to feel her pulse under his fingers, strong and regular. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically to her breathing. Only her eyes stayed immobile, remote and uncaring.
The samrat crushed the queen’s hand to his chest in desperation. “Don’t go away again, my love. Please… please don’t,” the words came out in a tormented sob. But she had already left, withdrawing into the void where nothing would reach her.
Vikramaditya hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the tidal wave of grief surging inside him, fighting to burst out of his ribs, threatening to rip his universe into a million shards of hopelessness.
Aparupa
Deva… We should be gone from here, deva.
Jayanta stirred and surfaced from the fog of misery that cocooned him. Wiping the tears and snot from his face, he blinked in the half-light. The lamps had all gone out, taking the cheer with them and allowing the dampness back in, which seeped through his body like poison. The water in the copper bowl was cold and still. The only evidence of what had transpired in that meagre space was the loose stack of palm leaves and the dull outline of the mandala.
With a tremendous effort of will, the prince got to his feet. His body was riddled with aches and his throat felt hoarse and torn, as if it had been stabbed with a dozen quills. Angry, red welts ran along his arms and shoulders, terminating in ugly purple bruises that made his skin pucker. His head hurt the most; Jayanta was certain it would tip over and fall at the mildest jerk.
“The humans are near, son of Indra. Please… we have to go now.” There was panic in the kinnara’s voice, accompanied by a fretful and anxious stamping of hooves.
The prince stuffed the palm leaves crudely into his satchel and stumbled out of the hut. He fell on his hands and knees, and stayed there a while, staring at the wet earth.
“The humans bear swords and spears
, deva,” the kinnara hissed urgently. “They will kill us if they find us.”
Jayanta winced and glared at the centaur, which was hopping and straining at its bonds. Then, cocking his head, he listened. A murmur of voices came from not very far away. Someone was issuing orders. Twigs cracked and the undergrowth scrunched under trampling feet.
Hurrying as best as he could, the prince limped over and began sawing at the kinnara’s ropes. By the time the centaur was free, the voices were dangerously close to the hut. Slipping his knife back into his satchel, Jayanta heaved himself painfully onto the kinnara’s back, clutching the beast tight with his knees. The kinnara needed no prompting – whipping around, it bolted away in the direction opposite to the one the men were coming from. As the beast slipped past the tree line, Jayanta glanced back at Ujjayini, which lay quiet under the murky sky, a dark wound on the face of the plain.
There was no sign of Ahi. Freed from his control, the demon had vanished.
The city was still standing, while he was fleeing. The city had won and he had lost. Yet again. There would be no triumphal return to Amaravati, no feasts in his honour. Instead, there would be derision and laughter.
Hurt swelled in his chest, overriding all other pains. But Jayanta didn’t care as the memories of Shachi and Urvashi crept up on him again. He slumped on the kinnara’s back, wrapped his arms around the beast and let the torrent of hot tears flow.
* * *
Without anyone noticing, morning gave way to afternoon. Not that anyone could tell the difference from the slant of the light. The same dull grey clouds piled one upon another, the same erratic spurts of rain, the same morose semi-darkness; everything just carried over into the second half of the day.
Not that anyone in Ujjayini even cared what time of day it was. Far more pressing matters commanded people’s attention.
In all, the monster had reduced six localities to rubble, and the damages and loss of life suffered in four of these were considerable. Entire neighbourhoods had come out to assist the councilors and the soldiers of the City Watch in rescue efforts, and Ujjayini’s hospices were overflowing with the dead and the injured who had been trapped under falling debris. Of those killed by the serpent’s venom, there was nothing to show. What little had remained of the victims had dissolved in the rainwater and had been swept into the city’s gutters without a trace. Misery slowly laid its cold hand on Ujjayini, and there were few streets in the city where women could not be seen beating their chests in sorrow, or men sitting on their haunches, clutching their heads in dejection.
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 28
