The Conspiracy at Meru

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Inside the palace, the atmosphere was frenetic and tense. Vishakha had been brought into the Labyrinth through the secret route that led down from the well – a perilous passage that Vikramaditya and the Palace Guards had negotiated with both care and urgency. By the time of their arrival, the threat from the serpent-monster had passed, and Vishakha was taken up to her bedchamber so the court physicians could attend to her.

  The physicians consulted amongst themselves and called for a variety of treatments as they awaited Kunjala, who was out tending to the city’s wounded. Palace hands rushed back and forth fetching ingredients for the prescribed unctions, liniments and kashayams. A good-sized assembly of courtiers, junior palace officials and servants hung about the gallery and stairway outside the queen’s chamber, and it was through this throng that Kunjala – a senior physician of the palace, second only to Dhanavantri in skill and experience – was finally ushered to Vishakha’s side.

  Bowing stiffly to the samrat, the Acharya and Queen Upashruti, Kunjala shuffled up to the bed. “What has the queen been administered so far?” he demanded of his assistants once he had checked Vishakha’s pulse, peered into her blank, open eyes and otherwise taken stock of the situation. He listened patiently as the junior physicians rattled off the measures they had already taken to treat the queen. At last, with a huge sigh, he turned to face the samrat. But before he could say a word, Kshapanaka pushed past the crowd at the door and entered the chamber, her face streaked with sweat, grime and alarm.

  “Is she alright?” Kshapanaka blurted, her head swinging wildly from face to face. Her eyes finally settled on Vishakha, and she slowly tiptoed into the room to stand by the foot of the bed, staring into her sister’s vacant gaze. The chamber appeared to hold its breath, the eight lamps illuminating the room throwing more shadows than light as cobwebs reattached themselves to the lives of the palace household.

  Kshapanaka tore her eyes away from Vishakha and looked at Vikramaditya. “They said she fell… again.”

  Drawing his breath in, the king gave a small, stiff nod. He then turned to Kunjala. “What do you make of it?” he asked in a tone that suggested that he already knew the answer.

  “It would… ” The senior physician stopped to pick his words carefully. “Her injuries are neither nasty nor too deep. I think she needs rest. Everything that has happened to her this morning has been very stressful…”

  “Do you think you could treat her?” Vetala Bhatta asked bluntly. “Will she recover?”

  “I can treat her,” Kunjala answered cautiously, looking down at his gnarled, cadaverous hands. “I will use the same remedies that Councilor Dhanavantri had used earlier. Once he is back, he can…”

  “Dhanavantri will not be back for a while,” Kshapanaka exclaimed. She turned to the samrat. “We need the Healer to look at her. Where is he?”

  “Yes, son,” Queen Upashruti trained her eyes on the king as well. “The Healer has already treated her, cured her. He was the one to come and save her from whatever was attacking her. He will know what to do. Send word out for him.”

  No one observed the shadow that clouded the raj-guru’s face at the mention of the Healer, or the way the Acharya narrowed his eyes as he appraised Vikramaditya.

  The samrat took a moment to consider the Queen Mother’s words. Finally, with a nod, he addressed one of the courtiers. “Send riders out to look for the Healer. We last saw him a little distance from the well that leads into the Labyrinth, but he could be anywhere.”

  The courtier hastened to carry out the order, but before he reached the door, the king’s voice stopped him. “When he is found, he is to be presented at the council chamber.”

  “Why the council chamber?” Queen Upashruti said in surprise, an ounce of annoyance in her tone as well. “Vishakha is here. What good will it do…”

  “I know what I am doing, mother,” Vikramaditya raised a firm hand, quelling all argument. The Queen Mother fell silent. The samrat turned back to the courtier. “The Healer is to be taken straight to the council chamber. I will see him there.”

  * * *

  Ghatakarpara’s spirits buoyed as he sauntered along Udaypuri’s main street, soaking in the air of festivity. The previous afternoon, a travelling carnival had made the garrison town its next stop, and once it opened its grand tent to visitors, the townsfolk had responded with fervour. The gaiety that the carnival had stoked was infectious, prompting Udaypuri’s own shopkeepers to bedeck their stores in colourful silks and satins to catch the eye. Makeshift stalls selling an assortment of goods from carved lacquer lamps to dainty lace hand fans to buttermilk seasoned with rare herbs sprang up in every street corner, as travelling merchants of all denominations made a beeline for the town.

  The streets were abuzz with people, many dressed in finery reserved for special occasions, and Ghatakarpara thought he even recognized a couple of faces from the garrison offices. There was a smattering of soldiers of the Imperial Army and the Frontier Guard as well, men who were off their shifts, enjoying a deserving break from the tedium of patrolling the frontier. Yet, children outnumbered adults by far. They were everywhere, scampering between stalls and threading between shoppers, jabbering and screeching excitably as they shot out of view round corners. The scene was reminiscent of his own childhood in Ujjayini during the spring festival, and the prince felt a pang of nostalgia.

  Then he stopped, arrested by a face diagonally across the street, a face that he had seen before. Once.

  Tucking his gold, sun-crest medallion out of sight, Ghatakarpara squeezed and elbowed through the crowd, which was staring in admiration at a man juggling with knives as he balanced himself on stilts. However, when he made it to the opposite footpath, there was no sign of the face he had come in quest of.

  The prince stood on his toes and craned his neck, his eyes darting everywhere, but to no avail. Turning back with a disappointed slump of his shoulders, he had taken no further than four paces when he saw her step out from behind a stall selling fresh garlands a little way down the street. His heart lifted at the sight, and squaring his shoulders, he set off in her direction.

  By the time Ghatakarpara neared her, she had moved to a shop displaying bangles. As she stood inspecting the merchandise, trying on a pair or two, the prince sidled up to her from behind.

  “The last I heard, I was going to be reported to my seniors and pulled up for my behaviour,” he said in an undertone, almost leaning into her ear.

  Aparupa turned sharply and drew her head back so she could get a better look at the speaker. Her eyes widened in recognition, and a mild blush came over her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought the better of it as the prince’s eyes smiled and locked with hers.

  “What happened to that?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in enquiry.

  “I just thought it was too much effort to expend on a common soldier,” Aparupa answered with a saucy toss of her head. Slipping a brass bangle over her hand, she turned her wrist this way and that, inspecting the ornament. She took it off and placed it back in its tray.

  As the girl began moving away, Ghatakarpara said, “The next time you threaten to take someone to task by reporting them, at least ask them their name. Else how do you expect that person to take your threat seriously?”

  Aparupa blushed again and looked at the prince out of the corner of her eye. With a quick, disarming smile, Ghatakarpara reached for a shell bracelet that glowed iridescent with nacre. “I think you should try this one on.”

  “I don’t wear shells,” the girl shrugged.

  “You don’t?” The prince’s eyes twinkled at Aparupa before they strayed to her ear, adorned with a small stud made of shell.

  “I meant shell bangles,” the girl’s cheeks turned red for a third time, and the blush lasted much longer.

  Ghatakarpara held the bracelet to his ear for a moment, as if listening to something. Then, shaking his head, he put it back in its place. Aparupa gave the prince a dubious stare. “What did you jus
t do?”

  “You rejected the bangle, so I wanted to check if it was alright.” The prince looked at the girl earnestly before giving a sad shrug. “You broke its heart. Here, see for yourself.” Picking up the bracelet, he brought it close to Aparupa’s ear and gave it a mild shake. The tiny beads inside the bracelet’s hollow casing rattled and rolled, making a small pattering noise. “See?” He gave her a cheeky grin.

  Aparupa turned to hide her smile in the shadow of her hair, which fell in loose locks over her face and shoulders. “You are fairly impudent for a common soldier,” she said. Injecting a critical note in her voice, she added, “And judging by the way you dress, you have aspirations to nobility.”

  Turning her back to the prince, she began drifting toward the next shop in the street, and Ghatakarpara fell in step beside her. Aparupa glanced at him, but gave no indication of not wanting him around. Emboldened, Ghatakarpara looked casually around as he spoke. “I can’t say about aspirations to nobility, but I do have an eye for beauty and refinement.” Aparupa didn’t answer, and for a while, the two ambled along. They paused briefly to marvel at a little gypsy girl of about six walking a tightrope as she balanced a long-necked pitcher on her head. Then, as they moved away from the crowd, Ghatakarpara broke the silence.

  “How is…” his brow furrowed as he tried to recollect something. “…your maid’s son? I don’t remember his name.” The girl stared at the prince in surprise and her face softened. “Dveeja. Though I don’t think I mentioned him by name that day,” she said. “He’s okay.”

  “Has he… always been like this? Since childhood?”

  Aparupa nodded.

  “Look, I’m sorry about that whole affair the other day. But what choice did we have? The frontier is thick with Huna spies, and no one can be trusted.”

  “Does Dveeja look like a Huna scout to you?” The girl squinted at him skeptically.

  “Huna scouts don’t walk around wearing the hriiz on their foreheads, if that’s what you think,” the prince threw up his hands in exasperation. “They disguise themselves to look like us. You wouldn’t be able to tell a Huna spy if he were standing right… next… to… you.” Ghatakarpara spaced out the words for emphasis, chopping the air with his palm to punctuate each word.

  Aparupa shucked her shoulders and looked away. The space between them was again turning frosty. Discussing Dveeja was proving to be counterproductive, the prince realized, so he began rummaging furiously for something else to talk about.

  “That day… at the frontier… you said that your father is well connected.” Seeing Aparupa incline her head, he continued, half in jest, “How well-connected is he? I mean, does he know the governor? Does he know the Samrat?”

  “Yes, he knows the governor. And yes, he knows the Samrat as well.” Seeing Ghatakarpara turn to her with interest, the girl added, “Even I know the Samrat.”

  As the prince’s mouth fell open in astonishment, Aparupa said, “It’s another matter that the Samrat knows neither my father nor me.” A spark of mischief flared in the girl’s eyes and the next moment she burst into laughter.

  Ghatakarpara gave a goofy grin and ruffled his hair in embarrassment.

  They had walked a little way further when it was Aparupa’s turn to pose a question. “What is your name – so I know the next time I need to complain against you?”

  “Ghata… Ghataraja,” the prince dredged the name up in a stab of inspiration.

  “A pompous name for a soldier,” Aparupa said. Her voice was not unkind, though, and her tone was teasing.

  “You said I have aspirations to nobility. I must have got them from my parents, who named me so grandly,” Ghatakarpara said with an elaborate shrug and a cheeky smile.

  Aparupa laughed again, a warmer, richer laugh that melted and dissolved the distance and unfamiliarity between them. They chatted as they walked, neither noticing the diminutive figure observing them intently from the corner of an alley across the street. The man’s eyes tailed them all the way to the point where the street bifurcated, and Ghatakarpara and Aparupa were finally lost from his sight.

  Chewing his lip thoughtfully, the man turned and traced his steps back toward the garrison. The man was Chirayu, flunkey to Governor Satyaveda.

  Alliances

  I am Shukracharya, mahaguru of the noble asuras.”

  The high priest threw the words down like a challenge for Vikramaditya and his councilors, who stood in a grim ring around the far end of the gigantic council table. The words resonated off the walls, magnifying in volume and causing the four lamps that illuminated the darkening chamber to gutter in their recesses. Outside, the rain came down in sheets, bringing evening to Ujjayini well before sunset.

  “And the thing that attacked the queen this morning was a shape-shifting yaksha, hired by Indra to kill her.”

  There was a quick, incensed draw of breath from Kshapanaka. “Why Vishakha? What has she done to Indra?” “Indra’s idea of a fair fight, I suppose?” the samrat gripped the back of his chair at the head of the table as he held the high priest in a steady gaze.

  “The thirst for vengeance is invariably bereft of perspective and morals,” Shukracharya’s good eye burned in the lamplight as it switched between Kshapanaka and the king. “By defeating the Ashvins and the Maruts, you stoked a rage in Indra that wasn’t easily appeased. I presume he wanted to cut you where it hurt the deepest.”

  The samrat’s jaw hardened. A yaksha hired by Indra. Even as he and the Palace Guards had ridden away from the ravine with Vishakha slumped against his shoulder, he had turned one last time to see the Healer struggling to contain a black, writhing form, part light, part shadow, by the lip of the ravine. “What has become of the yaksha?” he asked.

  “It is gone. I tried capturing it, but it slipped away. It won’t come back, though.”

  If Vikramaditya felt any relief at this, it failed to register on his face. A momentary silence hovered over the chamber, broken by Varahamihira. “You spoke of us defeating the Ashvins… and the Maruts.” He shifted his crutch so he could lean better against the table. “Who are these Maruts whom we have supposedly defeated?”

  “The four-horned rakshasas who came down the other night in bolts of lightning.”

  “Those were rakshasas, which means they were of asura extract,” Varahamihira countered. “How could the lord of the devas have commanded asuras…”

  “It is a long story,” the high priest interrupted. “But take my word when I say the asuras had nothing to do with the Maruts coming here.”

  “Your word.” Vikramaditya rested an elbow on the back of his chair. “All these days we believed you were a nameless healer from the banks of the Lauhitya, only to be told otherwise now. And you want us to take your word?”

  “I can’t make you believe me, yet it is the truth,” the high priest gave a small shrug. “The Maruts were Indra’s doing. As were the Ashvins, the yaksha and Ahi.”

  “Ahi being… the monster that attacked Ujjayini today?” Amara Simha glowered from under his thick eyebrows.

  “The serpent-dragon, yes. Invoked by Indra’s son Jayanta, undoubtedly at his father’s behest. It is this city’s good fortune that Jayanta has a feeble mind, so my spells were able to break his hold over Ahi. Otherwise…” Shukracharya let the unspoken fill the samrat and the council’s mind.

  After the shortest of pauses, the high priest half-turned toward the council chamber’s door. “I would like to see the queen now,” he said in a brisk tone that implied the discussion was over.

  “So you admit that the blind ogre and the pishacha army that attacked Avanti came at your command,” the samrat spoke as if he had not heard the high priest.

  “I admit to a lapse in judgment on my part,” said Shukracharya. “Which is why I came to Ujjayini to help and make amends.”

  “If the intention was to make amends, why the disguise of the Healer, why the subterfuge?” Vikramaditya pressed.

  “I feared you would refuse my offer of ass
istance if I revealed my true identity, Samrat. Ujjayini needed my help; the queen needed my help. Therefore, I chose to win your trust first.”

  Vetala Bhatta, who had been quietly stroking his beard all the while, leaned forward. “And this desire to… make amends, as you put it… is all that brought you to Avanti?”

  Shukracharya took a moment to answer – a moment that betrayed him. “I realized we can be friends,” he said stiffly. “My help is a token of the value the asuras place on this friendship.”

  “Everyone wants to be friends, yet ironically, ever since we’ve had that word thrust at us, all we’ve had to deal with is enmity, hatred and bloodshed,” remarked Varahamihira.

  “What is your obsession with the cremation ground?” the raj-guru changed the drift of the conversation without warning.

  “What?” Shukracharya almost staggered back in surprise. Regaining his composure, he managed to sound dumbfounded and indignant at the same time. “What cremation ground?”

  “And why do you move secretly around Ujjayini at night?” It was the Acharya’s turn to ignore the high priest’s defence. “You routinely take a boat across the holy Kshipra – Councilor Shanku has spoken to people who have seen you.”

  “I seek rare herbs for the potions I brew to cure the queen. Herbs that can only be picked by night.” Shukracharya’s gaze flitted from one councilor’s face to another, assessing the impact of his improvisation. The light outside had faded even more, and the chamber was steeped in shadows, making it hard for the high priest to read their expressions. Even so, the rigid postures facing him told their own story.