“What is the price you will extract for your help and friendship toward Avanti?” the samrat peered at Shukracharya. “Wait, don’t tell us. Could it be Veeshada’s dagger? That’s where all this begins and ends, doesn’t it?”
The high priest inhaled deeply and drew himself up to his full height. “You have seen the lengths the devas will go to, Samrat,” he said. “And the depths to which they can plunge. Look at your city – what haven’t they done to Ujjayini to get hold of the dagger? You need our assistance if they are to be stopped. What is the dagger to you but a burden? Give it to the asuras and we will protect you. I will protect you. I have already saved Ujjayini twice from destruction. I will happily do it again.”
“You saved Ujjayini?” Amara Simha’s voice rang with skepticism. “Twice?”
“How do you think the Maruts were defeated, councilor? I cast a Regeneration Spell over the city – over all of you – so you could fight the Maruts better. Today, it took my Spell of Sorrows to loosen Jayanta’s grip on Ahi. Without my spells, Ujjayini would have ceased to exist.”
“Ujjayini and its defenders are not made of clay that we will cease to exist because some serpent comes hissing out of the clouds,” Amara Simha’s shoulders bunched in anger. “Where is the evidence of the spells that you speak of? Or do we simply have to take your word for it?”
“There is no evidence, and I can’t prove it,” the high priest admitted with unexpected candour. “But the samrat and the Palace Guards are testimony that I saved the queen’s life today. If I hadn’t reached her in time, the queen would be dead by now.”
A fidgety silence descended over the table. When no one spoke, Shukracharya petitioned Vikramaditya.
“You need me here in the palace, Samrat. I hear the queen has had… a relapse. I brought her back the last time, and I can bring her back again. I will cure her. Not just the queen. There are others like Councilor Vararuchi’s mother and…” the high priest glanced in the direction of Kalidasa, standing mute to the right of the king, but the giant’s face was inscrutable. “… and so many of Ujjayini’s citizens in need of aid.”
The samrat approached Shukracharya in slow, measured steps. He stopped when they were just three paces away from one another.
“I thank you for all that you have done for me and this beloved city of mine, mahaguru,” he said. “None of what you did was of my asking, still I would like to give you something in return. Unfortunately, I cannot give you what you seek – for I cannot part with what is not mine. If there is anything else you want that is mine and mine alone, name it and it shall be yours.” Shukracharya remained silent.
“If there is nothing else I can offer you, let me offer you this – a safe passage from Avanti. You may leave as you came, with no one to accost or harass you.”
“Don’t act in haste, Samrat,” the high priest raised a hand in one last, desperate gamble. “Spare a thought for the queen. Allow me to look at her once…”
“The queen’s destiny has already been forged,” the king nipped into Shukracharya’s speech. “So has mine, and so has yours. The palace cannot entertain you any longer. You may take your leave.”
The high priest considered the samrat’s hand, which was motioning him toward the door. “I will return,” he said in a tone heavy with menace.
“My offer of safe passage holds only for your departure,” the samrat said, unruffled. “You have until morning to leave Ujjayini, and two days to put Avanti’s borders behind you. Thereafter, you will cease to be welcome anywhere inside my kingdom. Should we cross paths again, our meeting won’t be so amicable.”
The door shut on Shukracharya’s back with a heavy finality, a hard, irreversible thump that sent aftershocks through the council chamber’s walls. Vikramaditya considered the closed door briefly before turning to his council. “I wish to be left alone for a while,” he said.
Once the six councilors had departed, the king sank into a chair. Folding his hands on the council table, he rested his weary head on his forearms and closed his eyes. He had no notion of how long he sat there, letting helplessness and despair ebb and flow out of him. It was the sound of the door opening and closing that finally stirred him. Propping his head up, he saw Queen Upashruti come in with a lamp.
“How are you, son?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair as she stroked his head.
“Tired.” It was all he could muster. He put his head back down on the council table.
Setting the lamp down, the Queen Mother drew one of the chairs closer and sat down. For a while, she was silent. The rain had ceased, but the drops continued to fall from the eaves. Somewhere, crickets and frogs vied for supremacy in a fearsome medley of sharps and flats.
“I heard that you sent away the Heal… the high priest?” she asked softly, unable to contain herself any longer. Seeing Vikramaditya nod without raising his head, she said, “You could have let him take one look at Vishakha.”
The samrat lifted his head and appraised his mother. “Despite knowing who he is and what he wants from me? Never.” Shaking his head, he sat up erect.
“What was the harm, son? I am told he offered to see her…”
“Had I allowed him to see her this time, I would be in his debt, mother. I will not knowingly incur a debt that I cannot repay.” Rising abruptly, Vikramaditya left the chamber so that the Queen Mother would not see the tears that burned in his eyes like sparks.
* * *
It was only in the light of the following day that Ujjayini took full stock of itself. Of the six neighbourhoods that had crumbled under Ahi’s senseless rage, the two worst affected were the ones that housed the ironworkers’ colony, and another, which was a residential district for the wealthier merchants and traders of the city.
With close to a hundred-and-fifty dead and nearly the same number injured, it was no surprise to see a renewal in the flow of refugees from Ujjayini. Bullock carts and horse carriages trickled past the city’s gates at the first light of dawn, and by the time the sun was a quarter of the way up the sky, the outbound traffic was dense enough to create snarls at the gates, where they met incoming caravans bearing commodities for the markets. Yet, not everyone had somewhere to go to – the poorer artisans and tradesmen were forced to pitch tents in one or the other of the city’s grounds, and some families even erected makeshift shelters in the half¬burned ruins outside Ujjayini’s northern wall.
The lack of the Healer’s familiar and comforting presence only compounded the people’s trauma. But as the news of the Healer’s identity – and what had transpired in the council chamber – filtered out of the palace, a sense of despondency gripped the public. There were dark mutterings in some quarters over the wisdom of banishing the Healer in such times of dire need, and there was at least one instance where supporters of the samrat’s decision and those who questioned it came to blows. When Shanku and Varahamihira visited one locality, a grief-stricken old carpenter had railed against Vikramaditya, saying all the king cared about was his promise to the Omniscient One, and nothing for his people’s misery. It took a gentle but firm reminder from Varahamihira about Vishakha’s state for the man to simmer down with an apology.
If there was despair on the one hand, there was also wonder and passionate pride at the manner in which the councilors had combated the monster. Amara Simha’s spectacular transformation into man-lion, in particular, caught the public’s frenzy, and even though the transition had been fleetingly short – and less than twenty people had been witness to it – word of it spread quickly. Kshapanaka’s immunity to the serpent’s venom was almost as big a talking point, as was Shanku’s talent at being able to transport herself anywhere at will. Only Varahamihira’s skill remained a secret – the councilor had spoken of it to none but the king and his fellow-councilors.
Vikramaditya himself spent the morning visiting the worst-hit neighbourhoods, listening to his people’s travails and offering condolences, support and hope where he could. Strangely, people’s woes were
not limited to the losses they had suffered directly at the hands of Ahi. The merchant community was worried at the large-scale exodus of citizens from Ujjayini; they feared that a sudden slump in demand for goods would take a toll on trade. Similarly, the ironmongers and metalworkers were concerned with the hike in duties on iron and bronze. They insisted that the demand for their wares was dropping due to the high duties on raw materials, and now with homes and smithies in need of rebuilding, their livelihoods were at risk.
“The metalworkers are right about the slip in demand for their products,” said the raj-guru. “After all, we were the ones to impose higher duties on iron, bronze and lumber to cut demand, so that our armouries wouldn’t have to deal with a scarcity of weapons.”
The king and the councilors were back in the council chamber to exchange notes and decide upon the next course of action.
“If we reduced the duties a little… would it help?” the samrat enquired.
“It’s not just they who need iron,” Vetala Bhatta pointed out. “Six neighbourhoods now need to be rebuilt, four almost from scratch. And, of course, our own forges and armouries also need metal.”
“We must strengthen our reserves promptly, buy more iron,” observed Amara Simha.
“One small problem, though,” Varahamihira scratched his pockmarked cheek. “There is no iron available in the market.” “What do you mean, no iron?” Amara Simha stared in surprise.
“I was speaking to an overseer of the Royal Engineers last night. It seems the flow of iron has virtually dried up. There are no fresh supplies coming out of Dandakabhukti.” “Shoorasena,” said the Acharya to no one in particular. “What we had feared has come to pass,” growled Amara Simha. “We can’t let Shoorasena choke the supply of iron like this. This shortage will impact all our allies across Sindhuvarta.”
“Short of marching an army against Magadha, I can’t see what we can do about it,” replied Vetala Bhatta.
“That is out of the question at this moment,” the samrat’s tone was firm. “We need our army at the frontier. And any men we can spare from the frontier are needed here in Ujjayini.”
Amara Simha inclined his head. “How do we get around this iron crisis then?”
“We have to find another source to replenish our iron reserves,” the samrat replied.
“Other than the mines of Dandakabhukti, there is only one more known source of iron in Sindhuvarta,” Vetala Bhatta said slowly. “The deposits found along the treacherous slopes of the Riksha Mountains, bordering the Ghost Marsh.”
Vikramaditya nodded. “The deposits are relatively smaller, but a few samples have shown that the ore is even richer than what Dandakabhukti produces.”
The air above the council table hummed with fresh possibilities.
“Will Queen Abhirami and King Veerayanka even entertain a request of this nature?” the raj-guru pondered. “The deposits aren’t large, possibly just enough to meet Odra and Kalinga’s demand.”
“And even if they could trade, the question is would they?” said Varahamihira. “Odra and Kalinga have never reciprocated to our overtures in the past. I can’t think of a more distrustful and standoffish pair of rulers than Abhirami and Veerayanka.” “There’s no harm in asking. If Shoorasena takes Vanga, he will definitely levy higher taxes on all goods that come through Tamralipti. It would be advisable to look for another port that trades with the kingdoms of Sribhoja and Srivijaya – and that port could be Tosali or Uttara Tosali.”
“There’s merit in what you suggest,” said the Acharya, chewing his lip. “Perhaps it is time we once again sent feelers out to Odra and Kalinga.”
“Do we speak to the iron traders to open a dialogue with their counterparts in Odra?” asked Kshapanaka.
“No, this conversation has to be taken up at the highest level – with Queen Abhirami. We are not simply looking for trade partners. We are working toward building alliances.” The samrat gazed deeply into each councilor’s eye until his vision rested on Vetala Bhatta.
“I hate to do this to you, raj-guru, especially at your age. However, I cannot think of anyone better suited to pay Queen Abhirami a visit and impress upon her the need to collaborate with us. I know the journey to Uttara Tosali will be long and exhausting. So forgive me for asking, but would you agree to go nevertheless?”
“What is there to forgive, Vikrama?” the Acharya replied with a kind smile. “It is in Avanti’s interests; I will proceed at the earliest.”
* * *
The light from the two flickering torches struggled to penetrate the darkness beyond the stout iron bars that held Pallavan in his cramped and musty cell. Still, it was sufficiently bright for the envoy to make out his three visitors, who stood appraising him critically as he sat on the rough, stone floor of the dungeon, his hands shackled behind him, one foot chained to a heavy bracket on the wall.
“Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined us meeting under such strange circumstances, dear sir,” said Shoorasena, an amused smile playing on his thin lips. The new king of Magadha had his arms crossed in front of him, his head tilted to one side, his beard and moustache immaculate in the torchlight. “You and your king truly amaze me.”
Pallavan made no attempt to speak, partly because he could think of nothing appropriate to say, and partly because his bruised and puffed lips made speech painful.
“Living out of a commonplace caravanserai, sneaking about Girivraja in disguises, planting stories in my courtiers’ ears, stoking a mutiny in my absence…” Shoorasena shook his head theatrically in mock wonder, but his green eyes were cold and hard in the torchlight. “Very resourceful, but also very unbefitting a person of your noble stature. You know how much it pained me to discover all this as I rode into Girivraja? I wanted to celebrate the fall of Vanga with my people, but instead I am in this stinking dungeon talking to vermin like you. I’m quite tempted to have you killed right away – and I might just do that, you know?”
“No matter what you do, you will pay for everything,” Pallavan mumbled, wincing as a crack on his lip stretched and opened. “There is no getting away from any of this.”
“Is that so?”
Shoorasena raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated display of surprise and looked at the two men who flanked him. The one with the broad face, curling moustache and big, tambulam- stained teeth Pallavan recognized as General Daipayana; the other was a dark, square-jawed man wearing the medallion of the Magadhan council, whom he had never seen before. The general and the councilor grinned at Shoorasena, who turned his eyes back on the envoy.
“You sit at my feet in chains and you tell me there is no getting away from any of this? Your time would be better spent thinking how you can get away from this,” Shoorasena drew a circle with his finger at the surrounding blackness of the dungeon.
Daipayana leaned forward and smiled, as if making a friendly suggestion. “The king is right. But let me tell you, even that would be a waste of time – because there is no getting away from here either.” The general’s eyes glinted in manic delight as he threw his head back and let out a laugh that was all teeth and spittle.
“I’m not concerned about what happens to me,” said Pallavan, trying to muster as much dignity as he could while shifting around to find a more comfortable position on the filthy floor of the cell.
“I would love to hear you say that when we put a rope around your neck and string you up in the city market along with your co-conspirators,” said Shoorasena with an acidic smile. With that, he turned on his heel to leave the cell.
“If anything happens to me, you are assured of earning the displeasure of my king,” the envoy addressed Shoorasena’s back.
The new king of Magadha was stooping to exit the cell’s door, but he stopped to consider Pallavan. “In which case, we shall save a place in the market to string Bhoomipala up as well.” Turning to the councilor at his elbow, he added, “Make sure the dungeon keepers feed him just enough so he doesn’t die of starvation.”
/> Shoorasena, Daipayana and the councilor were climbing the winding stairway leading out of the dungeons when the councilor spoke. “When are we executing him, your honour?”
“Executing who?”
“The envoy, your honour. You said he would hang in the market.”
“We are not executing him,” Shoorasena gave the councilor a withering look. “Those were just threats to keep him from sleeping too soundly.”
The councilor and the general sneaked confused glances at one another. “May I know the reason behind keeping him alive, your honour?” Daipayana enquired.
“We’ll use him as a hostage to demand a ransom from Bhoomipala,” Shoorasena replied.
“I’m not sure I understand, your honour,” said the general. “We’ll tell Bhoomipala he can have his envoy back, alive and in one piece, if he agrees to give us what we want in return.”
“And that is…?”
“The musician.” Seeing the look of surprise on his companions’ faces, Shoorasena explained, “Remember what Pallavan told Uttama, Asmabindu, Diganta and Bhaskara? Even in Sravasti, very few know the musician even exists. So we trade Pallavan for him. Once we lay hands on him, we kill him, and with his death, all proof of what happened disappears.” “That might be true, your honour,” Daipayana said thoughtfully. “But Bhoomipala, Pallavan and a few others in the court of Sravasti still know what happened. They can start spreading the news…”
“What would they say?” the king butted in. “That there is a musician who saw something nasty happen in Girivraja? If they do say that, people would want to know where this musician is. What would Bhoomipala and Pallavan say to that? That they traded the musician with Magadha to save their envoy’s life? I doubt that would show Kosala in a very favourable light. No, I am certain Bhoomipala and his court will keep their mouths shut.”
“And if Bhoomipala refuses to barter?”
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 30
