But when the next day dawned, bright and sunny, it brought with it a surprise for the people of Kausambi. Chandravardhan had woken to discover that he could wiggle his fingers and toes, and even slur a few words out. Dhanavantri was sent for, and the physician observed that the king looked less ashen and listless - he was even able to hold Dhanavantri’s eye and mumble a few words of gratitude. Dhanavantri prescribed a fresh set of salves to augment the treatment, and once again applied the medication himself. By the afternoon, Chandravardhan was able to shift on his bed without much assistance as the strength slowly flowed back into his limbs. When Dhanavantri went to see him at night, the king was able to construct an entire sentence in slow, laboured steps.
“God. bless Vikrama for. sending. you here for. treat. me,” he had said with a small nod of thanks.
Chandravardhan’s words had left the physician ashamed and confused. The king’s treatment was just an excuse, a sleight to conceal the real motive behind his visit. But with Chandravardhan now showing active signs of recovery – Dhanavantri had no idea what had brought about such a remarkable change almost overnight – he was at a loss over how to take his agenda forward.
“Your honour, King Chandravardhan is awake and awaits you in his chamber.”
The physician gave a start and looked around. A servant of the palace stood a little to his left, bent at the waist in a deep bow. Dhanavantri was conscious of a renewed kindling of respect for him in Kausambi; everyone naturally assumed that his role had been vital in the king’s recovery, even though he himself had no reason to believe so.
Dhanavantri allowed himself to be led through a series of narrow passageways, open courtyards and winding staircases. Vatsa’s royal palace was a modest affair in comparison to the lake palace in Ujjayini, yet it took many minutes before the physician was ushered into Chandravardhan’s presence.
“Greetings, my king,” said Dhanavantri, taking in Yashobhavi, Shashivardhan and the quartet of Vatsa’s physicians who hovered around Chandravardhan. The king sat propped up against pillows, and he joined his hands in a pranaam in response to Dhanavantri’s salutation. “How are you feeling this morning?” the physician asked cheerfully, taking note of the colour that had returned to the king’s cheeks.
“The king is much better, vaidyanath,” the head physician of the palace replied, looking at Dhanavantri in awe and reverence. “As you can see, the king is able to sit up. He says he is even feeling strong enough to stand. You have indeed worked a miracle, vaidyanath.”
“It is the king’s will, and the care and attention that all of you have bestowed that has worked. Your dedication is the miracle cure,” Dhanavantri replied graciously, approaching the bed. Addressing Chandravardhan with a small shake of his head, he added, “And about getting to your feet… a little patience, my king. Perhaps we can try it tomorrow?”
“I am… feel… fine,” Chandravardhan offered a token protest, but let Dhanavantri have his way. All five physicians applied themselves to the task of preparing and administering oils and salves, and it was close to an hour before the four palace physicians withdrew, leaving Dhanavantri alone in the company of their king, the prince and Councilor Yashobhavi.
“What news… Dvarka?” Chandravardhan enquired of Dhanavantri.
Seeing the physician’s puzzled expression, Shashivardhan said, “We heard of the Huna plan to attack Dvarka. Do you have any updates on that, councilor?”
“Ah, that.” Dhanavantri nodded in comprehension, then immediately shook his head. “I left Ujjayini at almost the same time as Vararuchi left for the Anartas to help protect Dvarka. We did turn many of Anartas’ troops back to defend their lands, and we diverted a good number of Avanti’s own troops to Dvarka as well. Beyond that, I know nothing.”
“You do know that the Sakas have begun conducting frequent raids along Matsya’s borders, don’t you?” Yashobhavi squinted at a point over Dhanavantri’s shoulder.
“Yes, King Baanahasta brought it to our notice at the Samrat’s rajasuya… ”
“No, councilor,” Yashobhavi interrupted. “These raids are more recent and more serious in nature. Numerous watchtowers along Matsya’s border have been systematically burned down and destroyed, and there have been instances of patrols being ambushed. Slowly but surely, the Sakas are moving in.”
“I didn’t know of this,” Dhanavantri said with an unhappy sigh.
For a little while, no one spoke. “It was very generous of Samrat Vikramaditya to spare you to attend to father,” Shashivardhan finally said. “Especially at a time when the citizens of Ujjayini themselves are in great need of your talents. We understand that the attacks by the devas and asuras have crippled Ujjayini.”
“Yes, the people of Ujjayini have suffered much,” Dhanavantri admitted slowly, struggling to make up his mind. “Actually, there is…” he paused, then decided to take the bull by the horns. “There is one more reason to my visit. It pertains to a proposal from King Harihara.”
Chandravardhan’s eyebrows rose quietly, the one on the paralyzed side of his face drooping a little below the other. Feeling the weight of three pairs of eyes on him, Dhanavantri plunged headlong into the account of Harihara’s proposal to Shoorasena, Queen Sumayanti’s message to Vikramaditya sent in secret, and the Acharya’s subsequent trip to Heheya to talk Harihara out of his foolishness. All three men listened without interruption, and it was only when Dhanavantri finished that Yashobhavi spoke.
“If I understand correctly, King Harihara has come around to discarding Shoorasena as a prospective son-in-law if Prince Shashivardhan accepts Princess Rukma’s hand.”
“Yes. It was something that was suggested to Harihara by the Samrat.” Dhanavantri fidgeted and looked at Chandravardhan in appeal. “It would help keep the alliance of the kingdoms of Sindhuvarta intact.”
“Stupid… man,” Chandravardhan chewed and spat the words out. If there was any doubt about who he meant, his next few words cleared it. “A murderer… for a son-in-law!” An uncertain silence laid hold over the small group, but it didn’t last long.
“Samrat… is right,” Chandravardhan nodded and looked at Shashivardhan. “Kingdoms must… stay… united… against Hunas. Will you marry… her?”
“If that will keep Sindhuvarta bonded together and strong, I will, father,” the prince answered without batting an eyelid. “Good.” Chandravardhan settled lower into the pillows.
“There is… Harihara has one condition, though.” Dhanavantri’s discomfort was plain as daylight. “He wants Rukma to marry a king.” When no one said anything and he realized that he hadn’t been properly understood, the physician added, “Shoorasena is a king. But Shashivardhan isn’t one – as yet.”
“So?” Chandravardhan propped himself up again. “Harihara is adamant that he will marry Rukma only to a king.”
“He wants Shashivardhan to be crowned king of Vatsa? Is that his condition?” Yashobhavi finally pounced on what Dhanavantri had been getting at. His face contorting with outrage, the councilor almost shouted. “How dare he? King Chandravardhan is still very much here…”
“Harihara does not insist on a coronation,” Dhanavantri held up a soothing hand. “He only wants the king to make a formal declaration that proclaims the prince as his successor to the throne of Vatsa.”
“Who is Harihara to tell our king what he should or should not do? Our king will do…”
“I will… make… the declaration.”
Chandravardhan’s words sliced through his minister’s fevered rant like a sword, bearing a stunned silence in its wake. Dhanavantri and Shashivardhan stared at the king in surprise as the king passed a weary hand over his eyes; none of them observed Yashobhavi stiffen and pass a narrow, rigid glance from father to son.
“I will… do it for Sindhuvarta,” Chandravardhan repeated. “Harihara can be… informed… of decision. We shall sends message to him… also. We accept Rukma as… future queen.” With a tired sigh, the king sank into his bed and turned on his side, si
gnaling the desire for peace and quiet. As Shashivardhan unfolded a thin cotton shawl to spread over his father’s feet, Dhanavantri rose from the stool by the foot of the bed.
“I shall take your leave, my king,” he said. “I will be back to check on you in the evening.” Bowing to Shashivardhan and Yashobhavi, he left the room.
The relief of having accomplished his mission lifted the physician’s spirits, and there was a jauntiness in his stride as he retraced the way to the chamber allotted to him. So, when he exited a door into one of the passages, it was plain good fortune that averted a collision between him and a figure coming down the passage from the opposite direction.
“Oh, Pralupi!”
“You, councilor?” Pralupi was surprised to see him, but whether she was pleased or not, Dhanavantri couldn’t be sure. With the princess, it had always been hard to tell. “What brings you here?”
“I came to have a look at the king… see if I could help with his ailment,” the physician answered vaguely. “I heard you and Prince Himavardhan had gone to Kasi on a pilgrimage. When did you get back?”
“This morning. We were stranded in the floods,” Pralupi answered. Looking squarely at Dhanavantri, she asked, “What news of Ghatakarpara? Is he back in Ujjayini yet?”
“He is still in Udaypuri.” Not one question enquiring after the Queen Mother or her brothers or about the state of affairs in the city she had grown up in. All Pralupi seemed to care about these days was her son, Dhanavantri thought.
“Till when does Vikrama intend keeping him at the frontier?” Pralupi eyed the physician irritably, as if he was somehow responsible for Ghatakarpara’s situation. “He should be in Ujjayini, learning how to run a kingdom.”
“One can learn how to run a kingdom from anywhere,” Dhanavantri blinked in confusion. “And to run a kingdom, one should learn to be a soldier first.”
The princess twisted her lips into something that was a cross between a smirk and a scowl. “At least I hope Amara Simha is taking good care of my son.”
“Amara Simha is back in Ujjayini.”
Pralupi’s eyes flew open, and in their depths, Dhanavantri saw shock, rage and horror. “Ghatakarpara is all alone at the frontier?” she hissed. “What is Vikrama thinking? Has he gone mad?”
“There are thousands of soldiers and officers of the Imperial Army and the Frontier Guard in and around Udaypuri,” the physician offered. “I don’t know how Ghatakarpara could be alone at the frontier even if he wished to.”
“Vikrama has lost his senses,” Pralupi shook her head with vehemence. “My boy mustn’t be at the frontier; it is not his place. Vikrama needs to be told…”
Brushing abruptly past Dhanavantri, she swept through the doorway and stomped down the shadowy passage, muttering agitatedly to herself, fists clenched in anger and distress.
* * *
A shadow appeared over the patch of sunlight that tumbled in through the open door of the armoury, making Kalidasa pause and look up from the whetstone where he had been honing his scimitar.
“Ah, Vikrama,” the giant’s dark, brooding face softened into a smile. “A pleasant surprise.”
“I am glad it is pleasant,” the samrat remarked with a smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. He stepped into the armoury and looked around. The place was deserted – the king had already guessed as much when Kalidasa had addressed him by name – with most of the samsaptakas either in the training grounds, or back in their barracks after their routine exercises. A cloying scent of clove hung in the air, and Vikramaditya’s eyes went to the bowl of clove oil that the councilor was using to oil the scimitar.
“What brings you here?” Kalidasa asked, setting the sword down on the whetstone.
“It has been a while since we spoke as friends,” the king shrugged lightly. He approached the whetstone, picked up the scimitar and held it to the light, feeling its edge with his thumb. “A really long while,” he said for emphasis as he tested the weight and balance of the heavy sword by whirling it around in a few practised moves. The ease with which the samrat wielded the scimitar fetched an indulgent yet admiring glance from Kalidasa.
“If my memory serves me right, the last time we spoke as friends was the day Narada came calling.”
Vikramaditya gazed at Kalidasa thoughtfully before nodding. “Are you done with this?” he asked, handing the sword back to the giant by its hilt. Seeing the councilor incline his head, the samrat reached for a rag to wipe the oil off his hands. “Let us get some fresh air then. The smell of cloves is stifling in here.”
The sunshine that the two friends stepped into felt bright and warm on the skin, without being unpleasant. It was a welcome and uplifting day after the rains that had laid siege on Ujjayini, stirring nostalgia in Vikramaditya of the time he and Kalidasa used to roam the streets and parks of the city in quest of some exciting adventure or the other. That was before his coronation, when the burden of driving the barbarians out had rested on Vararuchi and the Acharya.
“Are you writing anything these days?” the samrat asked. Kalidasa gave a wry smile. “The sword and the quill were never destined to bleed at the same time.”
They walked for a while in silence – it seemed they had nothing much to talk about after all. Sensing the absurdity of the situation, the giant turned to Vikramaditya. “How’s Vishakha?” he asked, regretting the question almost immediately upon seeing the dejection settle over his friend’s face.
“The same,” the samrat gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing’s changed.”
As if with a force of will, he faced Kalidasa. “But I am not going to lose hope,” he continued, speaking partly to himself, instilling courage. “She remembered us showing her and Kshapanaka the way out of the Labyrinth, and me saving you from falling off the ledge. If she can remember once, she can remember again.”
“She will, my friend.” Kalidasa hoped he sounded a lot more confident than he felt. However, seeing Vikramaditya’s downcast face, he said, “Do you regret sending the Heal… I mean, Shukracharya away?”
The samrat gave this a moment’s thought. “Not for myself, no. Yet, I do realize many would have benefitted from his being around. Vishakha, the people of Ujjayini, badi-maa… you. Knowing this doesn’t make it easy for me.” Vikramaditya paused and placed a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “For that I am sorry, my friend.”
“Please don’t shame me by tendering an apology, Vikrama,” Kalidasa laid his own hand over the samrat’s and gave it a reassuring pat. “I am already deep in your debt for everything you have done for me; an apology from you would crush me. No one doubts you did the right thing by asking Shukracharya to leave. Moreover, you heard what the raj-guru said – it is best I leave a past that had something to do with the Hunas buried deep. Ghosts that haunt cremation grounds should never be invited home.”
Vikramaditya inclined his head in agreement. “When you started seeing these visions, why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“You already had so much on your mind; I didn’t want to burden you with my problems as well. I was also confused… I… didn’t know what they meant… I still don’t.”
“Do the visions still persist?”
“All the time.”
“The same ones? No changes?” The samrat looked closely at Kalidasa.
The councilor didn’t reply immediately. “You know the one where I am sitting by this fire, and there is a man with a dagger and I know he is going to hurt me.” Kalidasa paused to see if Vikramaditya was following him. “Well, last night, for the first time, I got a clear glimpse of the man’s face. The one with the dagger, I mean. It is the same man who is chasing me on the horse, trying to kill me with an arrow. The same hard face with the hriiz on the forehead.”
They had reached an open area next to the archery range. Vikramaditya’s eyes strayed to a small, covered enclosure that had been erected in this open space, and he paused in his stride. Following his king’s gaze, Kalidasa also drew to a halt.
Within the enclosure, eleven squat kalashas made of copper sat on a raised platform. Square pieces of red linen cloth covered the mouths of each kalasha, the cloth pieces held in place by strings tied around the kalashas’ short necks. The eleven urns held the symbolic ashes of each of the eleven samsaptakas who had given up their lives defending Dvarka. Per samsaptaka tradition, the kalashas had been filled with sacrificial ash when the eleven warriors had first taken the Death Oath – every samsaptaka performed his own last rites as part of the initiation into the elite unit. Now that they were dead, their urns awaited an auspicious hour so the ashes they contained could be consecrated in the Kshipra.
“The message from Vararuchi said they made Avanti proud,” said the samrat. “Chief Yugandhara is having a memorial built for them. There will be a plaque in Dvarka bearing Udayasanga’s name, with the honorary title of Eternal Friend of the Anartas bestowed on him.” It was Vikramaditya’s turn to lay a comforting hand on Kalidasa’s shoulder. “Your men will be remembered as heroes, friend.”
The giant gave a quick nod, but stayed silent for a while longer. “Udayasanga was one of the best we had, and as true a friend as any,” he said quietly. “The Hunas have taken too much from me. A time will come when they will have to pay for this. I wait for that time.”
* * *
“Are you really sending me back to Devaloka, lord?”
Menaka’s large, imploring eyes swam with hope and relief as they sought out Kubera’s coal black ones, yet there was a trickle of fear in her voice, born of the doubt that this was just another of the many perverse games the yaksha loved indulging in.
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 32
