One of his assailants spoke in the local tongue, a dialect of Avanti, and though the prince did not follow what was said word to word, he understood that the speaker was worried the blow would cause their prisoner’s death.
“No”, another voice mumbled, and as Ghatakarpara fell over on his side, he saw the group’s leader staring balefully down at him, his quarterstaff in one hand, the other hand nursing his broken jaw.
“The swine will be fine — though I’d very much like to kill him,” the leader muttered through a grimace.
Another wave of darkness came crashing over Ghatakarpara. His head felt as if it had split into halves, and a humming, throbbing pain was pushing its way from the back to the front of his head, growing louder and more insistent and strident with each passing moment. He closed his eyes.
“They won’t pay if he’s dead. They want him alive.”
The prince wondered if Aparupa was alright. He was happy she hadn’t shown up after all. All this would have been so much more complicated had she been around. Or had she come and had these men harmed her as well?
“He is alive, so shut up and fetch the bullock cart.”
He really wished nothing had happened to her. He wanted to ask the men, maybe even plead with them to let her go if they had taken her captive. He tried opening his mouth to speak, to form words, but he realized he couldn’t. It was as if the link between his mind and his muscles — his vocal cords, his tongue, his jaw — had snapped.
“Search the place thoroughly while there is still light. Look behind the boulder where he was sitting. If you find anything, bring it here. Nothing of his should be found when they come looking for him.”
Darkness settled over Ghatakarpara like a giant bird on wings. It felt like hands were lifting him off the ground, carrying him, but he was certain it was the same dark bird, bearing him away in its clutches into a dark, bottomless abyss.
* * *
Night had woven a tight cloak around the palace, smudging the contours of its rising domes, balconies and terraces, so to Dhanavantri’s travel-weary eye, it was difficult to tell where the night ended and the palace began. Even the lights dotting the palace windows seemed to shrink and withdraw in deference to the darkness, while the torches lighting the causeway were pale halos of uncertainty, their reflections undulating like ghosts in the lake below. Peering through the carriage window, the physician was struck by how fragile and insubstantial the palace appeared in the dark.
The carriage rolled onto the causeway, and Dhanavantri realized with some relief that it was the mist rising from the lake that was playing tricks on the eye, causing structures to lose form and appear indeterminate. Yet, when the carriage drew to a halt at the palace gates, Dhanavantri sensed a heavy, brooding silence pinning the palace to the ground, a silence that reaffirmed everything he had heard during the last leg of his journey back to Ujjayini.
“Greetings, councilor,” a captain of the Palace Guards bowed as the physician stepped to the ground.
“Greetings, captain.” Looking up, Dhanavantri noticed that the old gate — the one that had been smashed open by the giant, blue-skinned rakshasa the night the palace was attacked — had been replaced in his absence by a new one, built of black iron and fortified with brass.
“Is the Samrat still awake?” he asked, slipping through a smaller door set in the gates.
“I am not sure, your honour. I can get someone to check and…”
“No, no,” Dhanavantri waved a hand. “It’s fine. Don’t bother the king. I am here to check on Queen Vishakha. Is someone with her?”
“I can get someone…”
“It’s alright. I know the way.” The physician gave the captain a curt nod. “You can head back to your post.”
Dhanavantri had crossed the hallway and was almost at the foot of the stairway leading to the levels above when another voice hailed him in greeting. Turning, the physician recognized Vismaya, a senior and well-respected captain of the City Watch. But in place of a captain’s bronze medallion, the man wore the silver medallion of the chief of the Palace Guards around his neck.
“Greetings,” Dhanavantri’s eyebrows rose as he stared at the silver medallion. “When did this happen?”
“A couple of days back, your honour.” Vismaya was short, the same height as Dhanavantri. He had a disfigured nose over a short, well-groomed, grey beard. “When did you return from Kausambi?”
“Some two hours ago. I heard about the queen, so I came to have a look at her.”
“Let me not keep you then,” Vismaya bowed.
Dhanavantri began mounting the stairs. After three steps, he paused and spoke over his shoulder. “My congratulations, commander. You richly deserve the medallion you have on.”
“Thank you, councilor. I hope I get the chance to repay the palace’s trust in me.”
Climbing the stairway, the physician’s mind was drawn to the whole host of changes that had occurred in Ujjayini in his short absence. The palace had a new gate and a new chief of the Palace Guards; these were probably the only two good pieces of news in a landslide of depressing reports that had greeted him and his company of escorts as they had made their way home.
It had begun the previous afternoon, when he and his men had stopped at a horse station to refresh their mounts. One of the guards had got into conversation with a drunk honey vendor, who painted a florid picture of half of Ujjayini being destroyed by a serpent that spat venom from the sky. Dhanavantri and his men ascribed the story to an excess of firewater and dismissed it, but later that night, as they had set up camp in a fallow field, they were joined around the fire by a family of metalworkers fleeing Ujjayini. From them, the physician learned of the destruction wrought by the giant serpent, and how it had finally been vanquished by the combined courage and extraordinary powers of Kshapanaka, Amara Simha and Shanku. The metalworkers also made a mention of the Healer’s unexpected departure from Ujjayini — all they knew was it had to do with the dagger given to the samrat by the Omniscient One.
The night passed fitfully, and morning brought more bad news. Dhanavantri and his men encountered another scared family coming from Ujjayini, and this lot confirmed much of what the metalworkers had said. In addition, they gave an alarming but disjointed account of Vishakha being attacked by some creature and slipping back into a vegetative state. The shock of this hadn’t yet fully sunk in, when a few hours down the road, they met a small contingent of the Imperial Army, from whom Dhanavantri heard about the bitterly entwined past of Kalidasa and Vararuchi, and of the samsaptaka’s refusal to serve Avanti and its throne any longer.
It was with sheer disbelief that Dhanavantri had entered the gates of Ujjayini, but on arriving home, Madari, his wife, had confirmed every piece of news he had heard along the way. She told him about Ahi and the defence of Ujjayini, and about the miraculous powers that the councilors had discovered they possessed. She told him about the shapeshifting yaksha’s attack on Vishakha that had led to her relapse and to the unmasking of Shukracharya. And he listened in despair about Kalidasa finally remembering his Huna ancestry — and recalling the coldblooded killing of his family by Vararuchi.
A light knock on the door to the queen’s chamber, and the physician was let inside by one of Vishakha’s two maids. The chamber was lit by a pair of lamps, and in their light, Dhanavantri saw the elderly matron and the second maid, who was waving a fan made of cane and peacock feathers over Vishakha’s recumbent form. One look at the queen’s blank and fixed stare was sufficient for Dhanavantri to surmise that everything he had been told about her relapse was true.
“Has she been eating enough?” he asked, nodding in response to the matron’s bow. “Enough water?” He took Vishakha’s wrist and felt her pulse, soft but steady. Her hand was too thin and too pale, though, as was her face.
“Your honour, we try our best to feed her as we can,” the matron replied. “Councilor Kshapanaka makes sure she eats something.”
The door opened to admit one of the apprentice ph
ysicians in the palace. He had obviously been alerted by Vismaya, and he came hurrying into the room, bowing to Dhanavantri. “Greetings, councilor.” The young man stopped, suddenly unsure of himself. “I am… should… should I summon Kunjala vaidyanath, your honour?”
“No,” Dhanavantri shook his head as he pulled Vishakha’s eyelids up to study her pupils. “I shall talk to him in the morning. Can you tell me what medications are being administered to the queen?”
Eager to impress the royal physician, the apprentice launched into a detailed and enthusiastic report of all the liniments, kashayams and sundry preparations that Kunjala had prescribed for Vishakha. The report was exhaustive and to Dhanavantri’s satisfaction. He was nodding his approval when the door opened once again and in walked Vikramaditya and Upashruti.
“Greetings, Queen Mother,” the physician offered Upashruti a pranaam.
“We were told you were here.” There was a note of surprise in the samrat’s tone. “When did you get back to Ujjayini?”
“A little while ago.” The physician noticed another recent change in the palace — a fine beard with a sprinkling of grey hair now covered the samrat’s cheeks and jaw. “I heard about this from Madari and had to come.”
“It could have waited until the morning,” the king said. “The journey must have left you quite fatigued.”
Dhanavantri shrugged so his neck disappeared into his fat shoulders. “I wanted to take a look. It’s my duty as the court physician… and as your friend and councilor.”
Vikramaditya inclined his head as he moved to Vishakha’s side and looked down at her face, wan and expressionless. A curtain of gloom seemed to fall over the samrat, and Dhanavantri couldn’t bear to see his dejection.
“What do you think?” Upashruti gestured towards the bed. “Is she… Will she…?”
“I honestly can’t say, Queen Mother. We have to observe her, try different things… as before…” The physician sensed the samrat and his mother’s resignation from the sudden slump of their shoulders. “We mustn’t lose hope, of course. I mean… she did recover, so there is hope… and I’ll do everything I can.”
A little while later, the samrat and the physician were walking down a gallery. Even though the hour was late, the palace was quieter than Dhanavantri ever remembered it being at night; it appeared to him as if the very walls and pillars were in silent mourning.
“I can’t bear to see her like this.” The words escaped the king’s lips in an anguished rush, a compulsive baring of the heart that made Dhanavantri look at his friend’s face. The firelight from the torches lighting the gallery shone in the tears in Vikramaditya’s eyes, tears held back by sheer force of will.
Not knowing what to say, the physician kept silent. They walked past the turn that led to the samrat’s chambers, and Dhanavantri realized Vikramaditya wanted to talk. The gallery opened onto a curved, partially walled terrace, with stone benches arranged along the wall. The samrat sank onto a bench and Dhanavantri sat down by his side.
“She remembered me,” Vikramaditya turned to the physician with a small smile, and Dhanavantri saw that behind the sadness, there was joy that the memory had brought. “She remembered me as Vikrama, from when we were both younger. And she made the connection.”
“I know. Madari told me.”
“And then it was over.” If the samrat had heard Dhanavantri, he didn’t show any sign of it. “Gone again.”
The physician placed a hand over the king’s hand. “Why didn’t you let the Healer take one look at her? It might have helped.”
“Then I would have been obliged to him. And then, what if he had asked for the dagger?” Vikramaditya shook his head. “I will do nothing that can jeopardize my promise to Mahadeva.”
They lapsed into silence once again, and once again, it was the king who broke it.
“I owe you an apology.” Seeing Dhanavantri look at him sharply, the samrat nodded. “I was charmed by the Healer’s words, blinded by his assurances, taken in by his obvious talents. I wanted to see Vishakha cured, and that obsession and the Healer’s successes made me forget everything you had done. I ignored you, I gave the Healer the importance that I should have reserved for you. I am sorry. Forgive me if you can.”
“Ah, what is this…” The physician took Vikramaditya’s hand between both of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I understand, my friend. There is nothing to seek forgiveness for, there is nothing to forgive. Don’t bring this up again, please.”
King and physician were making their way back down the gallery when the latter shook his head in disbelief. “Such a lot has come to pass in so little time,” he remarked, looking up at Vikramaditya. “What… what’s happened to us? Why are we suffering like this, what sins are we paying for?”
Glancing at his friend, the samrat shrugged. “You do recall the Mother Oracle talking of an eclipse devouring Avanti’s sun, don’t you?” Seeing Dhanavantri nod, the king added, “I wish the oracle had been wrong on this one, but I suspect she isn’t.”
“Let’s hope this eclipse passes us soon then.”
“It will inevitably pass.” They had reached the fork where they had to part for the night. Vikramaditya looked down the gallery, then surveyed the palace. “I just don’t know what its sweeping shadow will take with it; what will remain, and what will be lost forever.”
* * *
The pool was in the middle of the herbarium, wide, placid and shallow, carefully concealed by an assortment of broad-leaved plants and dense, trailing creepers that fell in curtains from the branches of nearby trees. With the intoxicating scents of arcane herbs tickling her senses and welcoming her in, Holika swept aside the creepers and emerged by the pool’s side to see Hiranyaksha submerged in the water up to his chest. The asura lord’s eyes were closed as he soaked in the silence, flush with tropical fragrances. The water itself was clear, so the fish that slipped between the round, black stones at the pool’s bottom were in plain view.
Holika stood quiet for a moment, drinking in the sight of Hiranyaksha, muscular, broad-shouldered and naked in the water, the curling ram horns majestic on his forehead, his face hard, hairless and handsome. Her skin tingled at the thought of the little ripples that lapped the asura’s body, desire coursing through her quicker than lightning, causing her to catch her breath sharply.
“Holika?”
The Witch Queen of Patala looked at the asura in surprise, noting that the eyes were still closed. A small, playful smile danced on his lips.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
The smile broadened and Hiranyaksha opened his eyes, golden like sunshine. “Who else but you would come here in search of me at this time of the night?”
The asura stretched out an arm in invitation, but Holika ignored it. Turning around, she moved towards a moss-covered stone bench set to one side and sat on it.
“I was told that you were back from Devaloka,” she appraised Hiranyaksha with her cold, blue eyes.
“Yes, the mahaguru suggested I should come back and prepare for our brother’s return.”
“Hiranyakashipu is returning from his penance?” Holika sat up, her face alight with anticipation. “When?”
“The mahaguru didn’t say, but the bones have told him that brother will be with us before long.”
A short silence followed, during which Holika deduced that Hiranyaksha had returned alone.
“The mahaguru didn’t accompany you back?” Seeing the asura lord shake his head, Holika asked, “What’s keeping him in Devaloka? Hasn’t he succeeded in convincing Indra about the need to cooperate in defeating the human king?”
“Oh, Indra came around to the idea of working with us very quickly.” Hiranyaksha splashed water idly as he spoke. “He may be stubborn, but he’s not stupid. No, the mahaguru has stayed back because he says he has some unfinished business.”
“Unfinished business?”
The asura lord nodded, then shrugged.
Holika let the mat
ter rest. “What of the grand plan that the mahaguru had spoken of, the one designed to break the human king?” She leaned forward in excitement. “Have we made any progress there?”
“Of course,” Hiranyaksha said with a chuckle. “According to the mahaguru, an irreparable divide has already occurred between the king and one of his councilors. So, the powers that the Nine Pearls exert have begun eroding. But that’s only the beginning. The real blow to the human king will come from the deva Gandharvasena.”
“Gandharvasena?” Holika tried to place the name. With a frown, she added, “Not a name I am familiar with. Who is he?”
With a few powerful strokes, the asura lord swam over to the bench. Staying in the water, he explained who Gandharvasena was and the influence the deva would exert over the course of events. Fascinated by Shukracharya’s cunning, the Witch Queen listened with interest, her red lips parting in wonder at the devastation that had been planned for Vikramaditya.
“Has Gandharvasena departed for the human kingdom?” she asked in an awed whisper, once the asura had completed his narration.
“He and Indra are supposed to leave soon.”
“And what happens after that… after Gandharvasena?”
“After that, the human king and his Nine Pearls will be of no consequence.”
“And the Halahala?” There was sudden alarm in Holika’s voice. “Indra will be in the human kingdom. He could somehow get…”
Hiranyaksha reached out and took Holika’s hand between his. Stroking it, he spoke soothingly. “Nothing will happen to Veeshada’s dagger. The devas know nothing of its whereabouts. The mahaguru knows it is safe where it is, at least for now.”
“How much longer will it be safe where it is?” Holika had slid down the bench and was kneeling by the pool.
“I don’t know,” the asura lord replied, tugging Holika gently by the hand. The Witch Queen responded by shrugging the light shawl off her shoulders and slipping into the water. “Which is why the mahaguru has instructed that besides preparing to welcome our brother, we should also prepare for battle.”
The Vengeance of Indra Page 3
