The yaksha lord’s head rolled sidewise on his squat, fleshy neck in what could have been a shrug or an indeterminate nod. Reclining on a round couch, surrounded by silken bolsters, the mists from Lake Alaka swirling around him like incense, Kubera continued staring at the apsara, his face hard and inscrutable. The expanse of his stomach and chest rose and fell to his breathing, but other than that, hardly a muscle moved in that great mass of flesh and hair.
“Why, my lord?” Menaka asked, suddenly afraid that she had done something to earn the yaksha’s displeasure. She was Indra’s gift to the master of Alaka, and it was her duty to please her new lord, no matter how abhorrent the task. “If I have failed in my duties…”
“The deal was that I could keep you in Alaka on the condition that I did what the lord of the devas wanted of me,” Kubera interrupted the apsara harshly. “You are being returned because I have failed to keep my end of the bargain.” The yaksha’s thick lips peeled back in a bitter sneer. “If nothing else, we yakshas at least honour our word.”
“Is there a message you would like me to convey to the deva lord?” Menaka asked, struggling to contain the surge of respite coursing through her body.
“Your return to Devaloka is all the message that Indra would need,” said Kubera, his gaze sliding over Menaka, feasting on her curves before settling on her bare, milk-white midriff. Feeling his breath suddenly grow ragged in his throat, the yaksha shook himself with an effort and tore glazed eyes away from the tempting figure standing before him. At a wave of his hand, the mist around the apsara receded to reveal a short flight of steps that led away to the right. A small, oval coracle nudged the bottommost step, lapped by the lake’s waters.
“This will take you to the far shore, where you will find a palanquin waiting,” Kubera said, pointing to the boat. “The palanquin will bear you back to Amaravati. Now go – before I change my mind about you.”
The yaksha lord waited for the mist to close around Menaka before snapping his fingers. This time, the curtain of mist behind Kubera parted, and from within its shifting folds two figures emerged. Both were yakshas, bear-like in build and appearance, but one walked in a broken, hobbling gait, his shoulders badly stooped and misshapen. At the sight of the deformed yaksha, a scowl spread across Kubera’s face.
He surveyed the newcomers critically while they bowed to him, before fixing the cripple with a glare that would have melted stone.
“You failed,” he said in a pithy growl.
“Pardon me, my lord, but I would have succeeded had the mahaguru Shukracharya not come in the way. He had cast powerful protective spells over the human queen. I could do nothing to her.”
“From what I understand, Shukracharya put in an appearance very late,” Kubera raised an eyebrow. “What stopped you from killing the queen earlier?”
“The king, my lord,” the yaksha kept his eyes on the floor. “He is alert, fast and fearless. But I had him on the run and would still have killed the queen were it not for the mahaguru.” Kubera rose and walked slowly toward the ring of mist. A path opened before him, and he slipped through onto a marble promenade lined with perfumed fountains on both sides, their jets arcing and meeting overhead to form a glimmering archway. Yet, no water fell on the promenade, and the marble was cool but dry under the yaksha lord’s feet.
“You are certain it was Shukracharya?”
“I am, my lord.” The yakshas had followed their overlord, the cripple shuffling and dragging himself along. “I recognized him when he fought me. He nearly had me in his control. I had no choice but to flee, master of Alaka.”
“Besides our humiliation, do you know what else your failure has cost us?” Kubera asked, his voice aching with lust and longing as he watched a small boat dwindle into the distance, tugged along by the currents and the unseen hands of mist wraiths. “Indra had promised us Menaka and a dozen other apsaras in exchange for the human queen’s life.” He turned and heaped a scornful look on the yaksha. “Leave us alone.”
Once they had the terrace to themselves, Kubera considered the second yaksha. “Do you believe it was Shukracharya?”
“I do, my lord,” the yaksha replied. “Our brother couldn’t have been mistaken. Look at what has happened to him – broken in flesh and spirit. No human could have done that to him, lord.”
“The lord of the devas wants to destroy the one thing that the human king holds dearest to his heart. And the mahaguru of the asuras arrives in time to prevent its destruction.” Kubera scratched his beard thoughtfully. “It makes me wonder what is so unique about this human king.”
“Didn’t the lord of Devaloka tell you, master?” the minion enquired.
“I asked, but he didn’t say. And I didn’t press him. Sometimes, it is enough to agree on a deal when the price is right.” Kubera was silent for a moment. “But now we have to know. I want you to learn everything there is to know about this human king, and why the devas and the asuras are so interested in him. Find out if there is anything we yakshas can gain from king’s survival – or from his destruction.”
Meru
The tip of the sword was inches away from Jayanta’s soft, white throat, the blade quivering in Indra’s hand as the lord of the devas fought to contain his rage. Jayanta’s face was drained of blood, and his eyes twitched frantically between the sword under his chin and his father’s face, flushed and livid under the great golden beard.
“You think you are smart enough to talk back to your father, is it?” Indra growled through gritted teeth. “You barely make it back alive from your ill-conceived adventure, and you have the impudence to teach me the responsibilities of the king of Devaloka?”
Mastering his temper, the deva lord loosened his hold on Jayanta’s shoulder and stepped back. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he whirled around to Brihaspati. “What have I done to deserve this for a son, gurudev? It has to be the impure asura blood of his mother.”
The prince gave Brihaspati a sullen look, and then his gaze drifted to Narada, standing a little way behind Indra, a hint of a smirk on his lips. Jayanta’s eyes flitted to Urvashi next, and a rush of shame overcame him, burying him in the landslide of his father’s insults. Pains and aches from the abortive summoning of Ahi still tortured his body, but observing the expression of apathy on the apsara’s face was like having a dagger driven through his ribs.
When the kinnara had borne his tortured body into Amaravati the previous night, he hadn’t expected concern or sympathy from his father or Narada or Brihaspati. But he had hoped Urvashi would be there to comfort him and appreciate what he had tried to do for Devaloka. Instead, the apsara just stood there, remote and indifferent, watching his debasement.
“– the gurudev and Narada about having discovered the mantra?” His father’s voice floated through the haze of anger, despair and self-loathing, and it took Jayanta a moment to realize that Indra was not through with him yet. “Amaravati could have been saved from destruction had we known about Ahi and the mantra. Do you realize that? We could have used Ahi to defend ourselves from the vyalas. Do you realize that? Of course you don’t! You chose to keep Ahi a secret, and now half the city lies in ruins. But why would you care?”
“All I wanted to do was to surprise you with the Halahala, father,” the prince mumbled in his defence.
“Oh!” Indra considered his son in mock interest. “Come on then, surprise me. Where is the Halahala?”
Jayanta’s chin drooped to his chest and he studied his toes. “And how exactly did you plan to get hold of Veeshada’s dagger once Ahi had flattened the human kingdom? Did you have even an inkling of where the dagger was? Did you expect Vikramaditya to come crawling to you, dagger in hand, pleading for mercy, or did you intend scavenging through the rubble until you found it?” Indra paused, but only to catch his breath. “I’m sure it never occurred to you that there might have been asuras lurking around the city, waiting for an opportunity to pounce on the dagger.”
The deva lord turned and walked ov
er to one of the windows that overlooked the southern drawbridge. Hands on hips, for a full minute he watched the shadows slink off the bridge as the sun gained the sky. “Be gone, you fool,” he spat, throwing Jayanta a contemptuous glance over his shoulder. “Go play with your wooden swords and blunt spears. Get lost!”
The prince cut a hurried path across the room, keeping his face averted from Brihaspati, Narada and Urvashi so they couldn’t see the hot tears scalding his eyelashes as outrage, insult and hatred smothered him from all sides.
Indra’s broad back stayed turned in disdain, and it was only when the patter of his son’s feet died away that he swiveled to face the room. Urvashi immediately drew near, soft and quiet as gossamer. “You shouldn’t be so harsh on him, my lord,” she murmured. “Whatever he does is only to prove himself worthy in your eyes. He only wants to show you that he’s now a man.”
“Humph!” Indra gave his head a dismissive flick as he picked up a goblet of soma resting on a side table. “He only wants to show you he’s a man,” he corrected. “You are all that the brat wants, and he’ll do anything to have you. And you encourage him with your smiles and sulks –I know all about it, so don’t deny it.”
“Is my lord jealous of his son?” the apsara fluttered her eyelids at the lord of the devas and ran a finger down his cheek. “And does my lord doubt my affections?”
Brihaspati chose that moment to address Indra. “Urvashi is right, lord,” he said, taking two steps forward. “You shouldn’t be so harsh on Jayanta. After all, we now know that the prince can summon Ahi, and that is indeed a rare talent –one we could use should the need arise.”
“What good would that serve?” the deva lord asked irritably. “He might be able to summon Ahi, but he doesn’t have it in him to bend the monster to do his bidding. An iron will is required to control the serpent-dragon. That is sadly lacking in Jayanta.”
“His will can be tempered and strengthened like steel,” the chamberlain insisted. “I can see to it that the prince masters the art of exercising control of his will.”
“You may, if you think it will serve any purpose, gurudev.” Indra gave an uncaring shrug. Snapping his head in impatience, he looked at Narada. “What have we done with the kinnara who took him to Sindhuvarta? I want it flogged in a public square and made an example of.”
“We mustn’t forget that the kinnara tended to the prince and brought him back to the safety of Devaloka, my lord,” the diplomat reminded gently. “It is my humble opinion that we let the kinnara lord Tribhanu mete out a fitting punishment. These are troubled times and it is recommended we keep allies like Tribhanu on our side.”
“Humph!” Indra snorted again, but the wisdom of Narada’s words kept him from arguing. “Do what is necessary, but make it clear to Tribhanu that no kinnara is to help that foolish son of mine, no matter what inducements are offered…”
A looming shadow covered the doorway, interrupting the lord of the devas. Looking up, Indra saw a garuda fold its wings and step over the threshold. The scout-birds had nearly gone extinct, but fortunately for the devas, a handful had been so far to the north and the east that they had escaped the vyalas’ cacophonous assault. The garuda standing at the door was one such survivor.
“Salutations, mighty lord,” the garuda bowed, the words emerging from its throat in a weary croak.
“What is it?” Indra arched an imperious eyebrow.
“I bring news of the asura king Hiranyaksha and mahaguru Shukracharya, my lord. Hiranyaksha and the mahaguru arrived at Mount Meru with a contingent of asuras a little after daybreak. They have been welcomed as you had instructed, and await an audience with you.”
* * *
Carried from lip to ear by traders, travelling artisans and Avanti’s own soldiers at speeds that would have put town criers to shame, the reports of the extraordinary occurrences in Ujjayini had started reaching Vararuchi right after his departure from Raivata. All along the long road back to Ujjayini, information came to him in disjointed little nuggets, believable at times, unreliable or patently exaggerated at others. But over the course of the journey, the samrat’s half-brother had been able to piece together a fairly accurate picture of the events that had transpired in the city in his absence.
Still, nothing had quite prepared him for the devastation that he had witnessed once he crossed the Kshipra and entered Ujjayini by its western gate. And though over half a day had passed since his return, the dismay and disbelief hadn’t yet fully left him. Even now, as he rode the capital’s streets in Amara Simha’s company, he couldn’t help staring wide-eyed at the wrecked neighbourhoods struggling to stitch themselves back into the city’s fabric.
“You would not believe how overjoyed we were to see the serpent decimate the Huna navy,” he said to Amara Simha with a regretful shake of his head. “No one had any idea of what it was, where it had come from or where it went, but each one of us in Dvarka was eternally grateful to the beast for having saved us that morning. Had I only known of its true intent…” he trailed off, dropping his head in remorse for having partaken in the rejoicing.
“There’s nothing to feel bad about,” Amara Simha shrugged. “You had no way of knowing. And had you even known, there was nothing you could have done about it.” The brawny councilor’s lips twisted in a sour smile. “At least the monster did its bit of good by wiping out the Huna fleet.”
They rode in silence for a while.
“Did you get to meet the Samrat?” Amara Simha asked.
“I went to see him, but he was asleep.” Vararuchi reined in his horse to allow a handcart loaded with sand and blocks of stone to trundle past. “I was told he had been awake by Vishakha’s side almost all night.”
Amara Simha nodded. “She remembered him,” he said. “Just moments before the yaksha attacked. So near, yet so far. I think that’s what hurts Vikrama the most.” After a moment’s silence, he heaved a despairing sigh. “Had one of us councilors been with them, it might have turned out differently.”
“How?”
“Our… talents. What the Mother Oracle calls gifts. Those might have come in handy against the yaksha.”
“You really did turn into a lion?” Vararuchi turned to his companion in curiosity.
“I didn’t get to see my face, but… yes, a part of me did.” Amara Simha looked down at his palms and forearms, and flexed his fingers at the memory of the claws that had appeared at the tips. “Those who saw me said it was a sight.”
“Just once? You haven’t done it again?”
“It apparently takes practice. That’s what the oracle told Shanku. The girl has been working on her gift –you must see her,” Amara Simha shook his head in amazement. “It is downright creepy the way she vanishes and appears at will.”
“She can go anywhere she wants?” Vararuchi raised his eyebrows.
“Anywhere within a radius of a few miles, yes. She must also be familiar with the place she wants to go to beforehand –she can’t travel to places she doesn’t know anything about or has never been to before.”
“Still impressive.” Vararuchi paused. “Also what Kshapanaka and Varahamihira can do.”
“Kshapanaka was amazing. You know something?” Amara Simha looked at Vararuchi. “Varahamihira did a small experiment a few days ago. He got Kshapanaka to shoot a dozen arrows at a target and had the arrowheads tested. He found nothing in them –they were just plain metal barbs. Then he got her to shoot another dozen arrows, but this time he worked her rage up by talking to her about the yaksha and Vishakha. He then tested this set of arrows as well. You know what he found?”
“Venom?” Vararuchi guessed.
For a second, Amara Simha looked stricken at having been robbed of the joy of presenting his own narrative’s triumphant climax. “Yes,” he said with a dumpish shrug, but he recovered quickly. “Kshapanaka’s gift is fueled by anger. Varahamihira thinks even mine might be. And…” he paused dramatically and edged his horse around so he could face Vararuchi. “Varahamih
ira thinks your leap that brought the rakshasa down in the market square is your gift. We have also been hearing accounts of some of the impossible things you did battling the Hunas on their ship.”
“I have been wondering about it,” the king’s half-brother confessed. “It had me worried… it is not natural, after all. But yes, now that I see a pattern…” He looked right at Amara Simha. “How is this happening all of a sudden? Where did these gifts or whatever you call it come from?”
“No idea. I am as much in the dark as…” Amara Simha stopped as his eyes switched to a point a little above and behind Vararuchi. “Ah, look who is here,” he exclaimed.
Glancing over his right shoulder, Vararuchi saw Kalidasa standing on the landing of an open stairway that led down from the two-storied building directly behind him. The giant had been in the process of descending the steps when he had noticed the two councilors on the road, and now he stood staring down at Vararuchi with a strange, preoccupied expression.
“Kalidasa, greetings…” Vararuchi said. Then, noticing the bemused look on the poet’s face, he gave a mild frown. “Is something the matter?”
The giant blinked a couple of times and cocked his head to one side, as if pondering something over. “I… no, nothing,” he shook his head. “When did you return?”
“Just this morning.”
“What are you doing here?” Amara Simha enquired.
“One of the samsaptakas who went with you to Dvarka lived here,” the giant answered, nodding at Vararuchi. “One of the eleven who didn’t come back. He has left behind an old father and a much younger brother. They have no one else, so I dropped by to meet them.”
“I am sorry,” Vararuchi murmured and looked up at the house that Kalidasa had exited.
“Don’t be, brother,” said the giant. “He was a Warrior of the Oath, and he fought and died bravely. Let that be his abiding memory. That is what I told the old man and the kid as well.”
Vararuchi inclined his head in acceptance.
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 33
