The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Watching a kingfisher plunge into the lake and emerge with a fish trapped in its beak, Harihara decided that if the alliance between the kingdoms of Sindhuvarta wasn’t going to hold, it was best to give Rukma to Shoorasena. In the absence of a strong alliance, Vatsa — even Avanti, but definitely Vatsa, of that Harihara was certain — would be overrun by the barbarians, and Shashivardhan would end up dead. So, Shoorasena it would have to be. But what if the Hunas didn’t stop at Vatsa and swept all the way to Magadha and defeated Shoorasena as well? Would Rukma be safe then? Very unlikely. So, instead, what if he cleverly distanced himself from the whole alliance and made it clear to the Hunas that, as far as he was concerned, they were welcome to settle in Sindhuvarta? Would they believe him and spare Heheya? Quite possibly… if he offered Rukma as a token of good faith and friendship to Kalidasa.

  But then, what if the alliance survived under Vikramaditya, and what if the Hunas were routed and sent packing? Those who had stood by Avanti would be rewarded, and Shashivardhan might end up becoming one of the most important men in Sindhuvarta. Harihara gritted his teeth in exasperation, not knowing what to do, knowing it was almost impossible to make a correct prediction. But yes, if he knew what was in Vikramaditya’s mind and how he intended acting once war commenced, it would help him…

  “Your honour, the Samrat wishes you to join him for breakfast.”

  Harihara turned to see Vismaya behind him. Seeing the small smile on his face, the king got the absurd idea that the officer had read his thoughts and knew why he was here.

  “Sure,” he coughed and covered his mouth self-consciously. “Delighted.”

  Harihara had scarcely moved when a short but shrill blast of sound fell on his ears. It came from somewhere far to his left, borne over the rooftops of Ujjayini by the wind, but there was no doubting its intensity. It was like the blare of a trumpet, harsh and warlike, making the hairs on his neck stand up. Alarmed, he shot a glance at Vismaya, who was staring away to the north, head to one side, listening. When the sound didn’t repeat itself, the palace officer turned to his guest. The raising of Harihara’s eyebrows was met with a faint shrug.

  “This way, your honour,” Vismaya said, bowing. As he straightened, his gaze went towards the north of the city, where it lingered, his expression hard to decipher.

  When Harihara was ushered onto the terrace where breakfast had been served on a low table, Vikramaditya stepped forward, his hands joined in a pranaam.

  “My sincere apologies for keeping you waiting,” he said. “Come and have a seat.”

  “I heard about Ghatakarpara on the way. Taken hostage by the barbarians,” Harihara shook his head in dismay. “Terrible news.”

  “Yes,” the samrat’s face turned grave. “But Amara Simha has left for the frontier with a band of samsaptakas. I’m certain the prince will be rescued and brought back safely to us.”

  “The barbarians are becoming more and more brazen every day,” said Harihara, studying the younger king’s face closely.

  Vikramaditya nodded, but in reply, he merely gestured to the seat placed for Harihara. The two men sat down and waited as a pair of maids served them a simple repast of freshly cut melons, rice pancakes dipped in honey and millet rotis with spicy coriander chutney. Once the maids had withdrawn, Vikramaditya took a bite out of his roti and looked across at Harihara.

  “If I may ask, what brings you here? Your visit is welcome but most unexpected.”

  Harihara took a sip of cumin-flavoured water before answering. “It has been a while since I came. Much has transpired — Vishakha, the serpent monster… Kalidasa. So, I thought… I’m told Vishakha is still… not…” he groped for words, “alright.”

  “She isn’t, but I’m grateful for the consideration you have shown. Thank you.”

  A brief silence ensued as the kings chewed their food.

  “This whole affair around Kalidasa is sad,” Harihara said finally.

  The samrat looked at his guest, but didn’t say anything.

  “I mean… the way he went away.”

  Vikramaditya was about to speak when there was a sudden flurry of activity outside — voices called out with a ring of urgency, a horse snorted and galloped past below, while a door banged and feet pounded up a pathway. The samrat paused to listen, his eyes sharp, but the sounds receded. He turned his attention back to his guest.

  “You were speaking about Kalidasa…” the samrat nodded and shrugged. “Indeed, it is sad, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “You didn’t stop him?”

  “No.”

  “And what if he comes back? You know he will.”

  “What of it?”

  Harihara looked at the face opposite him, the deep black eyes, the high forehead, the beard with streaks of grey. “Will you stop him?”

  “That depends on how he comes back,” Vikramaditya brushed back the hair that was falling over his face. “If he comes as a friend, why would I stop him?”

  “It doesn’t look as if he has left to return as a friend,” Harihara shifted uncomfortably.

  “Then he will be met like a foe in battle. With respect but without mercy.”

  “You will tell your troops to fight him? Our allies also? Is that the message you will send them?” Harihara looked keenly at the samrat. “You wouldn’t hold back because he was a friend once?”

  Vikramaditya looked back at the king shrewdly. He opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and continued looking at Harihara, who squirmed under the needle-sharp scrutiny. Finally, the samrat nodded.

  “If it is to protect Sindhuvarta, then yes. There will be no holding back.”

  “And the rest of your council?”

  “What about them?” Vikramaditya asked with a puzzled frown, reaching for the bowl of chutney.

  Before Harihara could explain himself, footsteps approached the terrace in a rush. As the two kings turned towards the door, Vismaya pushed aside the curtains and bowed.

  “My deepest apologies for the intrusion, Samrat.” He appeared uncharacteristically hassled, even overawed.

  “What is it?” asked Vikramaditya, the mild frown still on his brow.

  “Your honour, there are… you have visitors, your honour.”

  “Who?” The frown deepened a little, the voice hardening in suspicion.

  “Samrat…” the chief of the guards hesitated and stopped, then began again. “Samrat, the message from the City Watch says the visitors are led by Indra, lord of the devas.”

  The terrace fell silent. Nothing but the bubbling of a fountain was audible. Far away, someone issued what to Harihara’s ears sounded like a hurried set of commands.

  “At which gate are they waiting?” the samrat asked in a flat voice.

  “They came by way of the north gate, your honour… but they are not waiting there. They forced the guards aside and barged their way into Ujjayini. They are inside the city and are headed for the palace, Samrat.”

  There was a sudden snapping, cracking noise, and Harihara stared in wonderment at the wooden chutney ladle that Vikramaditya had been holding to serve himself. The ladle had broken into two, its bowl lying on the table where it had fallen amid a splatter of chutney, its handle still gripped in Vikramaditya’s fist, his knuckles waxy white with pressure. Harihara’s gaze rose from the broken shaft to the samrat’s face, which was impassive, except for the eyes, where anger flared without restraint.

  “How many of them?”

  “Other than Indra himself, there is a chariot and a lone horseman, Samrat.” Seeing the surprise on his king’s face, Vismaya licked his lips nervously. “It is Indra’s elephant, your honour. They are saying it is too intimidating. No one wants to come in its path.”

  “Inform the council immediately and secure the palace.” Dropping the broken ladle, the samrat leaped to his feet. Outside, the first of the city’s alarm bells began pealing. As if to rival the bells, the strident, trumpeting blast that Harihara had heard on the terrace sounded again, more menac
ing and much closer. “Tell the councilors to be fully prepared to defend Ujjayini, and let them know I am riding out to stop Indra.”

  * * *

  Drawing his chair close to the table, Dattaka sat down and smiled at the elderly soldier seated across him. An amiable, non-threatening smile, the commander reckoned, though he had to modify his opinion when the soldier stared back anxiously.

  “I wanted to let you know that you have been awarded a promotion,” Dattaka said, closely observing the man opposite him. No brightening of the face at the suddenness of the news, no surprise, no sign of joy. It seemed as if the man already knew he was being promoted but was deeply unhappy about it, as if the promotion was too heavy a burden to bear. Or maybe he was just apprehensive, feeling the constriction of the small room like a noose tightening around him. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the soldier mumbled.

  “Recommended by the governor himself,” Dattaka looked awed. “Big honour.”

  The man blinked and glanced around the room nervously, as if seeking out exits.

  “You must have left the governor terribly impressed for him to do what he’s done.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “What did you do for him that’s made him such a big fan? Tell me,” the commander grinned, “so that I can try and do something similar to earn a garrison command in the next round of promotions.”

  The soldier gave a weak smile and shifted in his seat, eyes still darting to all sides.

  “You seem a little uncomfortable. What’s the matter? Is it the heat?”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “No, there is something. Tell me. What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing, sir.” Beads of perspiration flecked the soldier’s brow, and he licked his lips.

  “Okay.” Dattaka nodded. Realizing that he wasn’t making any headway, he dropped the affable tone and stared at the man with a serious face. “Tell me what you did for the governor that made him decide you were worthy of a promotion.”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “We both know these recommendations are rare. We also know that you would never have got a recommendation under normal circumstances. So, you might as well tell me what that remarkable circumstance was that won you this recommendation.”

  The soldier tilted his head to wipe a trickle of sweat on his shoulder, and shook his head in reply. “Only the respected governor would know, sir.”

  “Clever.” Pushing back his chair, Dattaka got to his feet. “You know I would never dare question the governor.” He started pacing the tight space, four steps this way, five steps that, his hands clasped behind him. The soldier’s eyes followed him, worried yet calculating.

  “I forgot to add that we both also know I have only my suspicions to go on, that I have no evidence. If I had any evidence, I would have slapped your face with it by now, you’re thinking. So, if you say nothing, admit to nothing, I can do nothing and you are safe. Right?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “Nice idea, this feigning of innocence.” The commander quit pacing and bent over the soldier, placing one hand on the man’s bony shoulder. “I really can do nothing to you. Except…”

  Dattaka paused and peered into the thin, bearded face staring back at him in sudden doubt. “Except that, you may recall, there were three of you that night.”

  “I don’t… I’m sorry, which night do you mean, sir?”

  “There were three of you that night, and all three have received recommendations for promotion from the governor’s office. Proves nothing, I know. But if you notice, I have put the three of you in three separate rooms, so you can’t meet each other. Any guesses why?”

  The soldier blinked in response.

  “I’ll tell you why.” Dattaka sat on the edge of the table, by the man’s elbow. “We both agree that I can do nothing to any of you, if none of you says anything about what happened that night to the Huna scout we had captured. You say nothing to me; I have nothing to prove my suspicions; all three of you get your promotions and are happy. Correct? But here’s the deal. There are three of you, and I will talk to each of you individually, asking the same questions. Now, if any one of you tells me what happened that night, that person gets lucky — he gets to keep his promotion, and he walks away unpunished.”

  The commander paused and looked down at the soldier, who was leaning forward, straining to catch every word. “But what happens to the two who didn’t confess?” Dattaka asked theatrically, enjoying himself. “I shall have to report them to the garrison and to the palace, and then I shall put them at the very front of the line that will meet the charge of the Huna and Saka hordes. At… the… very… front. If, by some divine stroke of luck, they survive that, I will petition our Samrat to have them sent to the Forest of the Exiles for conspiring against Avanti and its king. Thus, the one who confesses gets away scot-free, but the others…” The commander shook his head and pulled a sad face.

  “What if two people confess…?”

  “If their confessions match, they get promoted, while the one who didn’t confess will be sent to the frontline to stop the barbarians,” Dattaka replied in a snap, moving past the soldier’s defences, closing in for the kill.

  “And if all three confess, all three keep their promotions and walk away free?” There was the gleam of unexpected opportunity in the old man’s eyes.

  “Do I look like an idiot to you?” asked the commander. “If all three of you confess, none of you gets a promotion — ever again in your lives as soldiers of Avanti. And no, you do not walk away free. You serve in the Frontier Army and fight the savages. But you will not be sent to the frontline, and you will not go to the Dandaka, that much I promise. The frontline and the Dandaka are for those who don’t confess.”

  A long silence followed, punctured only by the shallow breathing of the old soldier as he tried to wrestle his options and priorities into a disciplined line. Somewhere outside on the parade ground, commands were being issued, and the drumming of soldiers’ feet came from the direction of the bridge leading into Sristhali’s civilian districts.

  “None of you confess, no problem for any of you,” Dattaka did a helpful recap. “One or two of you confess, good for them, but a big problem for those who don’t confess. All three of you confess, all three get punished, but to a much lesser degree than if you don’t tell the truth. Think about it.”

  “What if I tell you more than what the others tell you?” asked the soldier, fixing his greedy eyes on the commander, hardly making an effort to mask the tremor in his voice that showed how close he was to breaking. “As a reward, will I be excused from fighting against the barbarians?”

  Dattaka slid off the table and went around to his chair. Sitting down, he pulled the chair close to the table, then jostled and adjusted it as if trying to find a comfortable position, delaying deliberately, letting the soldier stew in suspense. When at last he looked up, the old man was pleading with his eyes.

  “A reward… mmm…” Dattaka seemed to consider the idea. “That depends entirely on how unique and useful that additional bit of information is. But there is only one way of finding out.” He planted his elbows on the table and leaned towards the soldier. “Stick to the truth and tell me what happened to the Huna scout that night…”

  * * *

  The ground trembled under the pounding of horse hooves, and the resulting roar felt like thunder to Harihara’s ears as he clung to his saddle and gripped the reins of his mount in fright. He desperately wished to be elsewhere, but there was no escape — he was smack in the middle of a crowd of two dozen riders of the City Walk and the Palace Guards, pressed in on both sides and from behind, so he had only one way to go, which was forward. He rode the torrent of hooves and windblown manes, a hapless branch snared in river currents, sweeping away towards its destruction.

  Muttering curses, he looked at Vikramaditya, who was leading the pack, leaping over ditches, careening around corners
, and driving his steed down vacant side streets with the aim of intercepting Indra. Once Vismaya had left the terrace, the samrat had turned to Harihara and asked if he had brought his sword along. Harihara didn’t know what had prompted him to say yes, but he guessed that even if he had lied, a weapon would have been procured for him, and he would still have ended up here, riding to his death at the hands of Indra or his infernal elephant, whose intermittent trumpeting sent shivers down his spine.

  It is Indra’s elephant, Vismaya had said. No one wants to come in its path. And here Vikramaditya was hell-bent on putting him straight in the path of peril.

  The city’s alarm bells could still be heard over the beat of the hooves, but there was a listlessness about them, as though the ringers were unsure of what they were meant to achieve. Yet, the bells had served their purpose — the morning traffic had scattered and Ujjayini’s streets had emptied, its citizenry hiding indoors, eyes pressed to the cracks in doors and shutters in dread and anticipation. Harihara supposed the recent spate of attacks had made the people adept at responding to danger.

  Now more than ever, Harihara understood this desire for self-preservation, but he was powerless to act on it, buffeted as he was this way and that, down one alley and then the next, by the swarm of Ujjayini’s riders. He didn’t even have an idea of where they were dashing off to — these side streets were alien to him, and all he had understood was that in order to minimize the loss of innocent lives, they were taking shortcuts to stop Indra’s advance before the deva turned into one of Ujjayini’s residential districts.

  The alley they were in opened quite unexpectedly onto a wide, arterial avenue. The samrat didn’t seem to have any doubts over which way to go, and like a flock of birds flying in unison, the rest of the group flowed out of the alley and turned right, swiftly and intuitively following their leader. Harihara allowed his horse to be led by the other mounts, not resisting, yielding to whatever lay in store for him down the road.