“Is she still in Ujjayini?” The physician looked at the samrat, who nodded. “Perhaps, then, you could probe a bit more…”
“I am in no mind to bring the subject of Ghatakarpara and Vatsa’s throne up with Pralupi and get her started again,” the king passed a weary hand over his face. “I have enough to deal with without adding to my troubles.” Shaking his head and pushing the matter aside, he picked up the scroll instead.
“There is one more thing I have been meaning to share with you — this.” He rapped the scroll lightly on the table. “It is really the Mother Oracle’s idea.” In a few short strokes, Vikramaditya outlined the oracle’s suggestion that they reach out to the danavas of the Dandaka Forest for assistance.
“The danavas exist?” Amara Simha looked around dubiously. “And assuming they do, would they even help us?”
“The Mother Oracle says they exist. Whether they would help us — we won’t know unless we ask them.”
“How are we going to find them?” Kshapanaka wondered.
“With this, I’m hoping,” the king waved the scroll, then placed it in Amara Simha’s outstretched hand. “This will go to all the governors of our provinces. It is an announcement that town criers will carry all over Avanti — to every little village, every tiny hamlet, every garrison and every outpost. The palace is offering a reward and full amnesty to anyone who can prove that he or she escaped from the Forest of the Exiles and returned to Sindhuvarta. The palace is also offering a reward to anyone who can provide reliable information on convicts who escaped the Dandaka Forest and are now residing in Sindhuvarta.”
“A hundred gold coins as reward?” Amara Simha exclaimed, reading from the scroll. “People would lie for that sort of money. How can we verify the claims once they start coming in?”
“You haven’t read the whole thing.”
The brawny councilor looked back at the scroll. “Ah, yes. It says here… any person or persons found guilty of providing false information to the palace will straightaway be exiled to the Dandaka Forest.” He grinned with satisfaction. “That should keep anyone from lying.”
“And if we find the person we are looking for, we will get him or her to lead us into the Dandaka, in search of the danava capital of Janasthana,” Varahamihira smiled at the ingenuity of the plan. “Of course, we make no mention of that in this announcement.”
“That might keep them from telling the truth,” Dhanavantri chuckled. Pushing himself away from the table, he looked around. “If there is nothing else of import, I would like to be excused. I wish to see the people of Ujjayini with Kunjala. I might be able to bring them some relief.”
The councilors all rose from their seats, but Vikramaditya motioned Shanku to stay back. When they were alone, the king considered Shanku for a moment. “I didn’t get an opportunity to speak to you earlier, but… didn’t he ask you to go with him?”
Shanku looked down at her hands clenched in her lap. Looking back up, she nodded.
“I would have been surprised if he hadn’t.” The samrat gazed thoughtfully out of the window. “At least there was something of Avanti that still held a place in his heart.”
Rising from his chair, Vikramaditya came around to Shanku, who got to her feet. The king stared into the girl’s face, his eyes gentle yet weighed down with care. “You and I suffer more,” he said, “because we have lost more. We have lost a part of ourselves that we loved. As a consequence, it falls on us to protect everyone else from what we have loved and lost. We have to be braver than the others should the need arise. We have to be crueller — on ourselves and on what we loved.”
Shanku nodded, swallowing the lump that had mysteriously formed in her throat, not trusting herself to speak.
“I want you to ask the Mother Oracle to read every sign coming from the Great Desert. I want her to follow Kalidasa if she can; watch him, decipher every movement of his. Most importantly, I want her to let us know the moment she gets a hint that Kalidasa is on the move…”
The samrat paused, then completed his words.
“…marching with the Huna army against Avanti.”
* * *
King Harihara rolled up the scroll and cast it down on the table, where it landed with a muffled clatter and unrolled partially. Some of its contents were revealed again, as if mocking his predicament, and the king leaned back in his chair and considered the scroll with distaste, his left cheek cupped in his left palm.
How quickly things switched from good to bad, he thought morosely. When he had retired to bed the previous night, he had been in high spirits, ecstatic at having received a courtier from Vatsa bearing a message from King Chandravardhan, seeking Rukma’s hand for the king-in-waiting, Prince Shashivardhan. Vetala Bhatta had been true to his word and had brokered the deal, and before long, Rukma would be queen of Vatsa. The prospect had happily interfered with his sleep, and Harihara had been up before daybreak, walking the palace orchards, admiring the marigolds and sniffing at the jasmine, when a guard had announced the return of his messengers from Girivraja.
“A reply from King Shoorasena, your honour,” one of the messengers had said, extending a scroll as the first rays of the sun set the tops of the orchard’s tallest trees on fire.
Propping himself up wearily, Harihara drew the scroll to him and unfurled it. He knew nothing could have changed in its contents, yet a part of him wanted to believe he had misinterpreted Shoorasena’s missive, and that re-reading it would somehow alter the meaning of things.
The scroll was the one he had originally sent Shoorasena, with his submission to accept Rukma as his wife. The submission, richly worded and exquisitely calligraphed, occupied most of the space on the piece of canvas, but Shoorasena had found enough space at the bottom to scrawl a terse reply: ‘The wisdom of your choice is appreciated. I accept.’ Stamped below was the royal seal of Magadha, a hawk in flight, the upward sweep of its wings ending in flames. Harihara couldn’t help noticing the flames, a recent addition to Magadha’s old hawk ensign, obviously put in after Shoorasena’s coronation and in keeping with the kingdom’s newly acquired martial attitude.
I accept. There was no ambiguity in Shoorasena’s words.
It was not as if Harihara had not feared that things would come to such a pass. Even as he had savoured Chandravardhan’s invitation seeking Rukma as his daughter-in-law, the shadow of Shoorasena had hovered nearby. Yet, the king had been in denial, irrationally convincing himself he had no cause for worry — Shoorasena would be busy in Vanga and the message would somehow get lost and fail to reach him until it was too late; Shoorasena would simply ignore his offer; Shoorasena would decline to accept Rukma’s hand… All perfectly honourable exits, but the doors had been slammed on them with just two words.
I accept.
Harihara rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Shoorasena had accepted. Chandravardhan had also accepted. As an outcome, he was stuck between Vikramaditya and Shoorasena, two powerful kings. One, the established samrat of Sindhuvarta. The other, a challenger, an emerging champion with burning ambitions. Both men who could crush him and Heheya into the dust. He would have to choose between them now.
Avanti was an immediate neighbour, thus a more direct threat. Avanti could hurt him with brute military force as well as through all sorts of economic sanctions and embargoes. Yet, Vikramaditya was a just and considerate man, and there were limits to the misery he would inflict on Heheya’s innocent subjects. Moreover, Vikramaditya had other headaches at this time. Magadha, on the other hand, was far away, but all evidence suggested that Shoorasena was ruthless and vindictive, definitely not someone to be crossed. Siddhasena had already paid the price, and if he could kill his own father… Harihara shuddered. Moreover, Magadha was on the rise, and who was to say what the equation of power in Sindhuvarta would be in a few years? Avanti was being hammered by the devas and asuras; it was anybody’s guess how long Vikramaditya could withstand the onslaught before caving in. Whereas Shoorasena was already expanding his borders an
d Magadha might cease to be all that distant from Heheya. What would a slighted king nursing a deep grudge do then? Harihara had no illusions about how far Shoorasena would go to exact revenge upon an enemy — he would raze Mahishmati to the ground at the first available opportunity.
Avanti or Magadha. It was a tough call. And there was no point in seeking his wife’s counsel; Sumayanti had made her choice clear the day she had secretly sent her messenger to Vikramaditya’s court. But for her interference, matters would never have come to such a head, Harihara thought bitterly. He dared not mention it to her, of course. Sumayanti would only scoff at him for having invited the crisis through his foolish act of sending messengers to Girivraja…
With a push that sent the scroll sliding halfway across the table, Harihara leaned an elbow on the table and clutched his forehead in anxiety.
* * *
King Bhoomipala had summoned only three of his most trusted courtiers to the private meeting, and it was to these three that he now turned, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning against the window that offered an unobstructed view of the Ajiravati, flowing sedately less than half a mile away. The king assessed the three men — the most seasoned veterans of war and diplomacy in Kosala, behind only Pallavan in calibre and experience — and couldn’t help thinking that one of them would definitely stand to gain in rank and esteem if Pallavan failed to make it back from Girivraja alive.
Wondering if similar thoughts had crossed the three courtiers’ minds, Bhoomipala raised his eyebrows at them. “You have heard the terms set forth by Magadha for Pallavan’s release. What, in your opinions, should we do?”
“Whatever we do, we cannot let any harm befall Councilor Pallavan,” said Kadru, the youngest of the three, a slightly built man with ears that stood out sharply from both sides of his head.
Bhoomipala watched the other two courtiers nodding their agreement. Stroking his salt-and-pepper beard, he said, “That drastically narrows down our options to one — giving into Shoorasena’s demand and handing Gajaketu over to him.” The idea seemed to make him uncomfortable, and he turned to look out of the window. In the streets below, he could see the citizens of Sravasti going about their business, blissfully unaware of the crisis brewing in the palace. “How are we ever going to explain this to our allies?” he sighed hopelessly.
“We could explore a way of helping Pallavan escape.”
The king didn’t need to turn around to know who had spoken – Adheepa, the oldest of the lot, a gruff general with Kosala’s army. “We can send in a small, undercover team of soldiers to plan and execute the breakout. Of course, we will need assistance from within Magadha as well, but that is never hard to come by if the bribe offered is large enough.”
“What if the plan fails?” Bhoomipala swung back to face the courtiers. “What if we find no one willing to be bribed out of fear or loyalty to Shoorasena? What if the persons we approach double-cross and expose us? What if our soldiers are able to break into wherever they have confined Pallavan, but are unable to reach him and are instead caught by Magadhan troops? What would happen to Pallavan then?”
The barrage of questions took the general aback. “We… but it can also work if planned out in meticulous detail,” he mumbled defensively.
“How long would this meticulous planning take?” the king asked. “The scouting out of the prison that holds Pallavan, the recruitment of Magadhans willing to accept our bribe in return of favours, all of it?”
“Twenty days… maybe a month,” Adheepa replied, suddenly unsure of himself.
“We don’t have that kind of time,” Bhoomipala threw his hands wide open in despair. “Shoorasena has set an ultimatum of four days for the exchange. There is an envoy from Magadha waiting downstairs. The envoy will leave this evening, and we have to have our answer ready by then.”
The four men settled into a glum silence as they contemplated the extremely slender set of choices at their disposal. “A full-scale armed conflict with Magadha is out of the question, isn’t it?” asked the third councilor, Kirtana, a thickset man with a broken nose.
“Absolutely,” the king said. “We are severely short on troops, and we have already lent the cream of our warriors to Matsya. We can’t look to Vatsa for help either — most of their men are guarding the frontier as well.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “It would be foolhardy to wage war with a full-strength Magadhan army. Our troops will be beaten senseless before they can free their swords from their scabbards.”
“If we can buy time from Magadha, we can plan the breakout,” said the general, displaying an uncharacteristic oafishness that irked Bhoomipala.
“We can’t buy time because Shoorasena is clever enough to see it as a delaying tactic,” he snapped.
“And even if we do succeed in springing Pallavan from prison, he and our men will still be in the heart of Magadha, miles away from the border,” reasoned Kadru. “The probability of them being caught again is very high. It’s not a risk worth taking.”
Bhoomipala’s face took on a faraway, contemplative expression as he heard the courtier out. For a full minute, he stood immersed in thought, plotting the way forward. Finally, with a sigh and a slow shake of his head, he turned to the courtiers, who were looking to him for a verdict.
“We don’t have much choice,” he shrugged. Addressing Kadru, he said, “Will you ask one of the guards outside to bring the Magadhan envoy to us?”
Not more than a couple of minutes had passed before the door opened and the guard ushered the envoy in. The envoy bowed to Bhoomipala and stood quietly, waiting for the king to speak.
“We have a message for your king,” Bhoomipala said, drawing up his short, stocky frame to muster as much authority as he could. “We are prepared to trade the musician Gajaketu for Councilor Pallavan’s freedom. We also accept the terms of the exchange as laid out by Magadha. Four days from now, we will hand Gajaketu over to you. You will simultaneously release our councilor, unharmed. The exchange will happen at the same time — one hand gives, the other hand takes. It will be a fair exchange — neither party will resort to any force or intimidation, and both sides will honour their word.” The king paused to assess the messenger. “Have we both understood the terms correctly?”
“Yes, your honour,” the envoy gave another stiff bow. “We have.”
* * *
“What do you mean he is not to be found?”
Commander Atulyateja’s glare switched between the three soldiers of the Frontier Guard lined up in front of him, before finally settling on the young lieutenant standing in the middle.
“He is the prince of Avanti,” the garrison commander’s tone was flat, as if weary of stating the obvious. “People recognize him. Somebody is bound to have seen him. Somebody would know where he is.”
The lieutenant shifted on his feet and gave a small shrug. “We asked,” he said, looking at the men flanking him. Both soldiers nodded vehemently. “No one has seen the prince since morning. Actually,” he hesitated, “since… yesterday afternoon.”
“Wha—” Atulyateja stared at the lieutenant in bewilderment. “And… you tell me now?” His voice exploded in the narrow confines of his office inside the garrison. “If I hadn’t sent word asking to meet him, I wouldn’t even have known, right? Forget about me, even you wouldn’t have known!”
The lieutenant dropped his eyes. “We didn’t… realize…”
“You didn’t realize what?” Atulyateja thundered. “Are you or are you not in charge of the prince’s security detail, lieutenant?”
“I… we… we always go with the prince when he visits the command centres and outposts along the frontier, sir,” the lieutenant mumbled. “Here, inside the garrison… we didn’t think it was necessary…”
As the soldier trailed off lamely, Atulyateja took a deep breath to keep himself from snapping at the man. The lieutenant was right, he realized. There was no compelling reason to offer Ghatakarpara security — or have someone with him at all times —
as long as he was in Udaypuri. What could happen to the prince inside a well-guarded garrison in a well-populated garrison town? Yet, his friend was nowhere to be found.
“When was the last time anyone saw him?”
“The prince led an inspection of a regiment of Frontier Guardsmen yesterday afternoon,” one of the soldiers offered. Looking out of the window to estimate the time of day, he added, “About this time, or maybe an hour later.”
“Where is the soldier who was appointed to take care of the prince’s needs?” Atulyateja asked, suddenly remembering. “He should have realized something was amiss. Why didn’t he report the matter to someone?”
“He was taken off that duty on the prince’s orders, commander.” Seeing Atulyateja’s eyebrows rise, the lieutenant added, “The prince insisted he didn’t want any soldiers being in his attendance all the time. He said the garrison and the kingdom would be better served by having all soldiers focus on training for battle instead.”
The garrison commander puffed his cheeks and blew a stream of air in exasperation. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked out of the window and thought of Ghatakarpara with pride. Deciding to embrace the life of a soldier at the frontier, the prince had dispensed with all the trappings of comfort that palace life provided. It showed remarkable commitment on Ghatakarpara’s part, and under different circumstances, Atulyateja would have been overjoyed at his friend’s transformation. Now, however, the prince’s decision would prove to be a hindrance in finding him.
“The prince was last seen inspecting the Frontier Guard around this time, right?” he asked, making sure.
“Actually, he was last seen leaving the garrison by the sentry at the gate, commander,” the other soldier replied. “This was after the inspection, much later in the afternoon.”
“On horseback?” asked Atulyateja.
“No, on foot.”
The Vengeance of Indra Page 5
