The garrison commander’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Any idea where he was going?”
“No, sir. But he often goes out in the evenings. Probably for a walk. He always returns a little after sunset.”
“And he wasn’t seen coming back yesterday? That should have alerted the sentry.”
“There was a change of guard at sunset yesterday, earlier than usual,” the lieutenant said. “Therefore, no one picked up on the fact that the prince hadn’t returned.”
“And we learn all this now, almost a day after the prince has disappeared?” Atulyateja stared at the three guardsmen, who hung their heads. “No one needed the prince for anything all morning? No one was curious about his absence? It struck no one to check whether the prince was here or not?”
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably.
“We’re absolutely certain he isn’t in the garrison?” When the men nodded, Atulyateja pulled himself erect. “You may go, but keep yourselves handy. I might need you once I have seen the governor.”
The young commander literally hurtled down the dark, twisting stairway and jogged across the garrison ground to get to the governor’s office at the other end of the fort. His head was full of misgivings for having agreed to go north to Madhyamika, leaving Ghatakarpara all by himself in Udaypuri, so he hardly noticed his men staring after him in surprise. Reaching Satyaveda’s room, he almost cannoned into the governor who was on the verge of leaving.
“Whoa, commander! Watch where you’re going.” Satyaveda’s hooked nose wrinkled in disapproval as he stared down at Atulyateja.
“My deepest apologies, Governor,” Atulyateja smoothed his tunic and ran a finger over his clipped moustache. “But there is something urgent you need to know.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?” the governor asked, adjusting the official turban on his head. “And when did you come from Madhyamika?”
“Around noon. The thing is Prince Ghatakarpara is missing.”
Seated across the governor’s table, the garrison commander updated Satyaveda on all that he had learned about the young councilor’s disappearance. Satyaveda drummed his fingers on the edge of the table as he listened, his eyes thoughtful, his right leg shaking anxiously under the table.
“He left on foot, which means he didn’t intend going very far,” Atulyateja pointed out in conclusion. “Without a mount, he couldn’t have gone far, even if he intended to. And anyway, he always returns to the garrison around sundown, which shows he doesn’t go far.”
“You are right,” the governor agreed in his high, nasal voice. “But if he didn’t go far, where has he vanished?”
“That is why I have come to you.”
“Eh?” Satyaveda jerked backwards, blinking in alarm. “Me? Why me?”
“I intend to launch a full-fledged search for the prince, Governor,” Atulyateja said in a patient tone. “For that, I need to marshal men from the Frontier Guard as well as the local militia. I need your permission to pull troops and press them into the search.”
“Of course, of course, of course,” Satyaveda rocked back and forth, and Atulyateja got the impression the man was secretly relieved about something. “Of course, yes.”
“Do I have your permission?” the commander enquired again.
“Permission… yes, mmm…” Satyaveda tapped his fingertips, looking thoughtful. He then leaned forward with a frown. “You know, I am not so sure…”
“Sure about what, Governor?” Atulyateja looked irritably across the table. “Whether the prince is missing, or whether we should launch a search?”
“Both, actually.”
As the garrison commander blinked in disbelief, Satyaveda leaned his forearms on the table, clasped his hands and bent forward.
“You mentioned the fact that he goes out often.” The governor’s voice almost dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps he has found a reason to go out often.”
“What reason?”
“He is a young man, used to the luxuries of the palace, commander. There are hungers that are easily and discreetly satisfied in the palace, but here… not so easily or discreetly. Maybe he has found a place hereabouts that gives him what he craves.”
“Pardon me, Governor, but I don’t understand a word of what you’re saying,” the younger man struggled to keep the heat and irritation from his voice.
“Women, my friend, women.”
“Oh,” said Atulyateja, finally getting it. “No, I know Ghatakarpara. He is not like that.”
“Please,” Satyaveda gave the commander a pitying look. “You and I, commoners, we can’t even pretend to understand what members of a palace household are like.” Leaning even closer, he said, “Look at it reasonably. He goes on foot. Why? Because he doesn’t want the horse to be seen and identified as one belonging to him. He goes almost every day, but returns at sundown. Why? He’s courting this woman, that’s all. Then, one night they decide…” Satyaveda sat back and rubbed his hands in glee.
Atulyateja knew this didn’t sound like his friend, but as the governor had pointed out, who was to say — “But… why hasn’t he returned so far?”
“Sometimes, you go to satisfy a craving only to realize your appetite has redoubled. Some women are like that. My point is, while we are assuming the prince is missing, perhaps he just doesn’t want to be found.”
Atulyateja frowned, a storm of indecision brewing and eddying in his head. “But what if… he is in some danger? Every moment of delay can have irreparable consequences. We are dealing with Avanti’s royalty here, a scion of the Aditya dynasty.”
“I agree with you. But what if I am right, and we launch a search and he is found under questionable circumstances, in a tryst with a woman of questionable character? Think of the scandal that will ensue. It’s the king’s own nephew we’re talking about. It would stink all the way from here to Ujjayini, no?”
Atulyateja heaved a huge sigh. In both instances, the outcome would be terrible, he realized. “So, what do we do?” he asked. “We can’t just sit here…”
“I’ll tell you,” Satyaveda pressed the air in front of him down with his palms, urging calm. “Let us wait until tomorrow morning. If he doesn’t show up by then, you have my permission to rope in men from the Frontier Guard and the militia to start a search. Happy?”
The garrison commander thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He had resigned himself to waiting, but no, he was not happy.
Ga'ur Thra'akha
The marble steps underfoot were cool to the touch and in sharp contrast to the sun-scorched stones of the open courtyard that Ushantha had hobbled across to get to the other wing of the house. She now laboured up the stairs, one hand supporting her arthritic knee, wincing mildly with every step, her ears tuned to the melancholic strains of the rudra veena coming from above. Not stopping to catch her breath on the landing, she followed the music to a broad and shady verandah, where Vararuchi sat on a straw mat, plucking at the veena’s strings.
The sight of her son seated with his eyes closed, enraptured by the beauty of his own creation, brought a sad smile to Ushantha’s kindly face. Leaning against the jamb, she watched quietly as Vararuchi’s fingers skimmed along the frets, coaxing melody out of bamboo, wood, brass and string, and for a moment, she found it hard to believe that there was a mighty storm enclosed in his chest — one that he had kept hidden from her for the three days he had been here. Even now, he seemed at peace, and Ushantha realized she would never have got an inkling of Vararuchi’s distress had her maid’s husband not returned from his weekly visit to Ujjayini’s cattle market with an account that had rattled her and caused her to miss her afternoon siesta.
He ordered the killing of Councilor Kalidasa’s father and sister.
“What is the matter, mother?”
Ushantha blinked and realized that the music had stopped. Her eyes focused on her son’s concerned face.
“Why aren’t you resting, mother?” Vararuchi set the rudra veena aside and sto
od up.
“I wanted to see you,” Ushantha replied, limping onto the verandah.
“You should have sent for me.” Vararuchi hurried over, took her hand and led her gently to a low seat. “You mustn’t strain your joints by climbing stairs, mother.”
“I know.”
Vararuchi nodded — then, perceiving a difference in her tone, he looked at her in puzzlement. “What?”
“I know,” Ushantha repeated. The pause stretched for three heartbeats. “About what happened so many years ago… the reason you are here.”
“Mother…”
The word escaped her son’s lips in a choked, anguished cry. Ushantha reached out, and Vararuchi grabbed her hand like a drowning man, clutching it tight. The resilience of so many days gave way to a sparkle of hot tears that splashed down his cheeks.
“I didn’t know how to tell you, mother,” he mumbled, as Ushantha drew him down and sat him beside her. He instantly put his arms around her, placed his head on her shoulder and wept.
“It is alright, my son,” Ushantha patted Vararuchi’s head. She heard her own voice waver with grief and shock. “I don’t judge you for what happened.”
The sun had dropped halfway to the horizon when mother and son descended the stairs and made their way to a broad, wooden swing that occupied the centre of a portico situated to the east. Sitting side by side in the shadow thrown by the house, they gazed at the paddy fields, where ribbons of the wind cut rippling paths in many shades of green, and gaunt egrets hunted for morsels on stiff, twiggy legs. A cooling breeze helped dry the tears on their cheeks and revived conversation.
“Were you ashamed of what you had done? Is that why you hesitated to tell me?” Ushantha asked.
“No…” Vararuchi pondered the question a while and shook his head with certainty. “No. I am not ashamed. It was war, mother. The demands of war may look unreasonable in times of peace, but the willingness to meet those demands determines whether one ends up victorious or vanquished.”
“Then why didn’t you say something? You spoke of Ahi, you told me about the defence of Dvarka against the Huna warships… but not one mention of this.”
“I wanted to keep you from the hurt, mother. I didn’t want it to touch you, I didn’t want it sullying the beauty of this place.”
“Hurt?” Ushantha peered into her son’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“The hurt of rejection, mother. Of being misunderstood by your very own, of realizing that no matter how selfless your motivations are, your decisions will be questioned and your actions will be judged. The pariah’s hurt.”
Hearing the bitterness creep slowly into Vararuchi’s voice, Ushantha paled. “Who has misunderstood you, son?”
There was no immediate response from Vararuchi. Instead, he stared across the fields with flinty eyes, as if seeking to pierce the gathering curtains of haze and darkness to the east and narrow the distance, so that he could see all the way to Ujjayini. Without taking his eyes off the faraway horizon, he let out a sigh that sounded to Ushantha like the dying of hope.
“You know that I hated the palace, didn’t you?” Vararuchi glanced sideways at his mother. “And that the palace hated me back with equal vehemence?”
“I guessed it was difficult for you there because you were my son,” Ushantha gave a sad shrug.
“It was more than difficult. I cannot put the Queen Mother’s dislike for me in words. There wasn’t much she could do because father wished me to be around, but she missed no opportunity to snub me, put me in my place. And Pralupi… I never even existed for her.” Vararuchi chuckled mirthlessly. “I can’t remember her ever saying more than two sentences to me at a stretch. It was utter misery, being with the two of them. Thankfully, Pralupi married Himavardhan and went away to Kausambi, but no such luck with the Queen Mother.”
Ushantha’s face crinkled with dismay. She put a comforting hand on Vararuchi’s arm. “You never told me it was so bad.”
“Father wanted me in the palace and there was no escaping that, and telling you would only have upset you,” Vararuchi shrugged.
“You could have at least told your father.”
“You forget that the barbarians had arrived, mother. Father was hardly ever there. He was either fighting off the invaders or was away building alliances.” Vararuchi paused to gather his thoughts. “The Queen Mother’s hatred for me got worse after father’s death. I think she worried that I wouldn’t give up the throne for Vikrama. That’s why I volunteered to lead the campaigns to drive out the barbarians — anything to keep me from the palace and that woman. Fortunately, Vikramaditya lived up to his promise and grew into a fine young man. He was the reason I returned to the palace and agreed to become a councilor. He treated me with the love and respect I had never had before. He brought light to a place I always associated with darkness.”
Despite the shadows of dusk falling on him, Ushantha saw her son’s face turn sour.
“I gave Vikramaditya everything I had in return — my love, my loyalty, even my life. Yet, he now sides with Kalidasa, accusing me of committing atrocities on the Hunas and claiming innocent lives. I…” his voice shook with emotion. “I, who fought to free Avanti and Sindhuvarta from the brutality of the barbarians, am being told that I was wrong in killing them, that I should have shown mercy to the merciless. Kalidasa proclaims himself a Huna and walks out after issuing a challenge to Avanti, and he is allowed to go free. Whereas I, who have stood by Avanti in its darkest hour, am expected to feel sorry for what I did to liberate my kingdom from Huna occupation. Where is the justice in this, mother?”
“Is it true that Kalidasa has left Avanti to join the Hunas?”
“Riders and soldiers of the Imperial Army have spotted him heading west. Where else could he be going but back to his blood brothers? It is plain as daylight, yet the instructions are clear that he should not be stopped. Why? Because, apparently, he is the wronged one here.”
In his agitation, Vararuchi stood up and started pacing the portico. The darkness made it hard for Ushantha to discern his features, but the quiver in his voice revealed his mental turmoil.
“This is insanity! If Kalidasa crosses over to the Hunas, they will have all the information they need to strike and cripple us. That man is a threat to us, but tears are shed for him while I am being made to feel guilty. That is what hurts, mother. This blind love of Vikramaditya’s for Kalidasa — and his blind disregard of all that I, his own blood, have done for him and Avanti.”
He stopped pacing abruptly and faced his mother. “Am I right in my thinking?” he asked.
“I understand how you feel about this,” Ushantha spoke slowly, piecing her thoughts together. “Your sense of betrayal is natural, especially after all that you have done for Avanti. Yet, I also understand Vikrama’s predicament. Those who died that day were the kin of his dearest friend, killed by a representative of the throne. If you are driven by a deep sense of loyalty, Vikrama is compelled by an overriding desire for fairness.”
“Are you saying what I did twenty years ago was unfair to Kalidasa, and he is justified in carrying the grudge?” Vararuchi’s tone was challenging.
Ushantha rose and took the two intervening steps to her son. Taking his right hand, she clasped it and brought it to her lips, kissing it gently. A housemaid emerged from a distant doorway bearing a lamp, and its glow fell on mother and son, holding hands and looking deep into one another’s eyes.
“What is justified and what isn’t are points of view. You did what you thought was right and justifiable, and no matter how much we debate it, what happened cannot be undone now. Kalidasa is a consequence of what happened that day, and he cannot be undone either. What we need to remember is this, son,” Ushantha nodded sagely. “If we sow seeds of blood, we must be prepared to reap a harvest of swords. Kalidasa is the bitter harvest that Avanti must now be prepared to reap.”
* * *
His breath catching in his throat, his fleshy bosom heaving with anxiety an
d the effort of walking quickly, Aatreya shuffled and stumbled through the thick stalks of corn. Big corn leaves scraped and clutched at him, their rustling loud in his ears, and he worried the sound would carry back to the house and someone — a servant or his wife or even Aparupa — would come looking. And they would discover…
Blanking the thought from his mind, the fat merchant pushed on towards the back gate of the small plantation that was an extension of the kitchen garden. He had never been able to fathom why his wife insisted on a corn patch when she could have grown anything there, but right now, he was grateful for it as it gave him much-needed cover.
Meet me at the back gate of your house after sunset.
Scrawled on a scrap of palm leaf, the message had been handed earlier that evening to one of the bullock-cart drivers in his employ, along with strict instructions that it be given to Aatreya without delay. Thankfully, the cartman couldn’t read, nor did he recognize the person who had given him the palm leaf. But Aatreya had known instantly, and he had been cursing ever since, hating the fact that the meeting was so close to his home.
Reaching the back gate, the merchant looked right and left but saw no one. He pushed the gate open and stepped into the small backroad that led to the faraway millet fields, but the road was vacant. But for the chirping of crickets, the night was silent. Deciding that the meeting must have been cancelled — and thankful for it — Aatreya was about to turn back when a figure stepped out from behind a salmali tree.
Aatreya didn’t need light to tell that it was Chirayu, the governor’s lackey.
“I have made it clear that I don’t want to meet anywhere near the house,” he hissed at the lackey, even as he threw a stealthy glance over his shoulder. “Why this then? A meeting with the governor is scheduled for tomorrow — couldn’t this have waited?”
“I had the choice of meeting you here, now, or at your shop in the market, earlier in the evening,” Chirayu’s tone was mocking, bullying. “More people would have seen us together there. Would you have wanted that?”
The Vengeance of Indra Page 6
