The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  The samrat met his mother’s gaze for the first time.

  “I heard how you refused Indra the opportunity to question me in front of everyone.” The Queen Mother’s eyes were suddenly moist and her voice shook. “You stood up... you saved me the humiliation. But now, you will have to do that again and again...”

  “What questions will people raise? Who my father is?” The samrat stuck his jaw out. “I have made it clear there is only one father I acknowledge — King Mahendraditya. I don’t care if people harbour any doubts beyond that.”

  “And you would shield me from them the way you did with Indra?”

  Vikramaditya took a moment to collect his thoughts.

  “I will shield you, mother,” he nodded. “Because you are my mother and nothing can ever change that. And also, because father would have wanted it no other way. It’s a promise I made him when he gave me his sword — to uphold your dignity to my last breath. You are right. He loved you very much, mother. I will not break my promise to him.”

  Vararuchi

  The glow from the dying sun illuminated Vararuchi’s face, turning his features golden and setting the red tilaka on his forehead on fire. His eyes, in contrast, were grim and glacial, gazing away into the distance as Sharamana, the commander of the garrison of Musili, recounted the standoff between Indra and Vikramaditya. Propelled by Indra’s scandalous claim, reports of the confrontation had spread everywhere, but it had taken Sharamana and his deputy Pulyama the better part of the afternoon to sift fact from fiction and distil the whole into a coherent narrative. The councilor listened without interruption, and when Sharamana was done, he stayed sunk in thought for a while. At last, he turned away from the window to look at the commander and Pulyama, who stood in the deeper shadows of the room.

  “The Samrat refused to call the Queen Mother to counter Indra’s assertions, is it?” With the sun now behind him, Vararuchi’s face was in silhouette, making it hard for Sharamana to judge his expression. His voice, lacking any intonation, was inscrutable.

  “Yes,” said Sharamana. “He flatly refused to involve the Queen Mother in any way.”

  “But the Queen Mother did happen to come there, quite by chance. Correct?”

  “Yes, your honour.”

  “And…?” The councilor paused, then, “Didn’t Indra seize the opportunity?”

  “From what we gather, there was a lot of confusion all around,” Pulyama answered. “There were crowds everywhere, as well as soldiers of the palace and the City Watch. The Samrat was quick to order them to take the Queen Mother and Princess Pralupi away. It seems Councilor Shankubala herself escorted them to safety. We don’t think Indra got the slightest chance.”

  “Interesting.”

  Vararuchi glanced out of the window again, where the sun was losing hold of the day and fast slipping towards the purple of the horizon. Then, as a new thought struck him, he turned back to the two men, whom he had come to trust more and more over the past few days.

  “This deva who came with Indra… what did he look like?”

  “The rumour is that he was very handsome, your honour.”

  “Ah, no… that’s not what I meant.” Vararuchi hesitated, almost as if he was ashamed of what he had in mind. “I mean… did anyone think he looked like… any mention of a resemblance to the Samrat?”

  Even though it was too dark to see, Sharamana and Pulyama looked at one another searchingly. They both shook their heads.

  “Not that we know of.”

  “What about the Queen Mother?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sharamana in confusion.

  “Following what happened, has she made an official announcement denying Indra’s allegations?”

  “We don’t know, your honour.”

  “And she and this deva… they never came face to face?”

  “Your honour… you don’t think Indra’s claims are true, do you?” The commander peered at the councilor, his tone a mix of doubt and apprehension. “It can’t be…”

  “I am trying to ascertain if they are, that’s all,” Vararuchi snapped. Instantly regretting his tone, he smiled and softened his voice. “You have both done well. Thank you.”

  Once again turning his back to the two men, he watched the last of the sun disappear, leaving a pink-red stain in its wake. A flock of birds, too far away to be identifiable, flew across this splash of light and colour, while down below, in the garrison’s courtyard, two bullock carts bearing rations for the men trundled in through the gate. After his brief but bitter encounter with Upashruti the previous night, Vararuchi had stormed out of the palace, bent on putting distance between himself and his stepmother. Instead of returning to his mother’s mansion, he had ridden straight back to Musili, where he was welcomed by Sharamana, Pulyama and a bunch of his old, faithful friends from the Imperial Army. He had passed the night between pitchers of firewater and vague nightmares, and on waking around midday, groggy and bleary-eyed, his mind was made up to ride to Udaypuri and join Amara Simha in the hunt for Ghatakarpara. He had decided to set out right after lunch, but when he returned from his bath, the first rumours of the happenings at Ujjayini had filtered in, causing a change in his plans.

  Gandharvasena.

  Turning the name around on his tongue, Vararuchi cast his mind back to the time he was six or seven, and tried to think of a person he’d known by that name. Of course, he failed — it was almost impossible to remember that far back into one’s childhood. Back then, he had spent much of his time in the isolation of his mother’s mansion and not in the palace, which he visited only when Mahendraditya was around. Later, of course, he had moved into the palace to train under the Acharya, but that was a year or so after Vikramaditya’s birth.

  Gandharvasena.

  How he had hated living in the palace, deprived of the love that Ushantha lavished upon him, and Mahendraditya hardly around to shield him from Upashruti’s jibes and barbs, which grew harsher by the day. He remembered once having dashed into her while rounding a corner. She had grabbed his arm in a fierce, vice-like grip.

  Who do you think you are, silly boy, she had asked, shaking him, breathing fire into his face. You are never going to be the king of Avanti, so stop treating this palace like it’s your own and learn to conduct yourself with the dignity expected from a soldier. If you can’t do that, go back to the gutter you came from.

  Afraid, guilty and all alone, he hadn’t immediately understood what the Queen Mother had implied, but over the years, he had learned to distinguish Upashruti’s unique brand of viciousness; on her part, Upashruti gave him ample scope to learn, rarely missing an opportunity to subtly snub him. She called him names when no one was around to observe them; she was partial against him when she had to decide on his behalf; she made her displeasure clear to him, in private, but without once making it obvious to the rest of the world. The woman had been a creature straight out of hell those first few years he had been in the palace, and she was the reason he began spending more and more time in the training ground, which ultimately moulded him into the superb fighter that he was. Something he owed her, he thought with a wretched little smile.

  Your nephew has been kidnapped by the Hunas, Amara Simha is halfway to the frontier and you just show up saying I’m always available for the palace. Sure, I believe you.

  Her son, the samrat, hadn’t cared to let him know about Ghatakarpara’s kidnapping, but Upashruti had made it look like he was at fault. Like the time when the six-year-old Vikramaditya had sneaked into the Labyrinth and couldn’t find his way out, and it had taken a platoon of Palace Guards to find and bring the boy back, sobbing and terrified. When asked why he had ventured into the Labyrinth, Vikramaditya had said that he had heard Vararuchi mention the place, so he had decided to explore. Upashruti had summoned Vararuchi and scolded him, blaming him squarely for what had happened.

  Why would you talk to a kid about the Labyrinth? she had demanded. You know the boy could have died of fright in there. Is that what
you had in mind, so you could get him out of the way, you devious little cheat?

  Devious little cheat, she had called him.

  Gandharvasena.

  The way it looked now, someone else had been up to some cheating in the palace. Someone else hadn’t known how to conduct themselves with dignity. Someone else had come to the palace from a gutter.

  The time had come to put that person in her place. The time had come to repay all the insults.

  Vararuchi looked over his shoulder to see if Sharamana and Pulyama were still there. Two dark shadows in the increasing gloom.

  “I would like my horse saddled and ready at dawn,” he said. “I intend leaving for the palace at first light.”

  * * *

  “Are you asleep yet, grandmother?” Shanku asked softly, poking her head through the old woman’s door.

  The oracle lay on her side on the straw mat, motionless, a dark shape in the light of the lamp that had burned low. It was impossible to tell whether she was awake, but on hearing her granddaughter, the oracle stirred and raised her head to the door.

  “I have nothing for you from the desert, child,” she said in a frayed and weary voice. “Neither clouds nor birds nor the breeze have anything of significance to say. Tell your king I am sorry.”

  “It’s alright, grandmother,” said Shanku, stepping into the room. If the oracle wanted to be left alone, it wasn’t going to happen.

  Reaching the oracle’s side, the girl kneeled, picked up the old woman’s hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring pat. “The king didn’t send me here — I came on my own accord. I would have dropped by in the day as well, or at least come earlier in the evening, but there have been so many things to attend to and…”

  “Hush, child. How much you talk,” the Mother Oracle smiled and squeezed Shanku’s hand. The smile drove away some of the exhaustion from the wizened face, but the dark circles from sleep deprivation, visible even in this dim light, hung around the eyes like stubborn spectres.

  “No, I know I ought to visit you more regularly, more often,” the girl protested unhappily. “You are lonely here, the palace is so big, and no one comes…

  “Shhh.” The oracle squeezed the girl’s hand again. “Come when you can, child. I understand. I know you are busy.” The woman’s face turned grave. “I heard about this morning… The deva’s coming, and all that happened between him and the king.”

  Shanku looked at her grandmother and nodded. There was nothing to say about that.

  “Sit,” the old woman said, patting the mat and shuffling to one side to make some place.

  Once Shanku had made herself more comfortable, she tenderly took the oracle’s hand again. The two women exchanged fond smiles, nurturing the bond between them as they soaked in the calming late-night silence. Shanku’s mind skimmed over the day’s events, and she couldn’t help thinking how beleaguered the samrat suddenly was, pushed and challenged and harried relentlessly from all sides. Downright nothing was going in their favour, and she fervently hoped help would come soon in one form or another.

  “I met father,” she said, abruptly and self-consciously. “Two days ago. He insisted on a meeting.”

  The oracle propped herself up on an elbow and eyed her granddaughter closely. “I thought you did, but it’s becoming hard to read the signs these days. But I’m glad you did.” A slight pause, then, “How is he?”

  “Old.” Shanku burst into a laugh. The laughter melted what was stubborn and afraid inside her, liberating her in such a way that her eyes smiled at the oracle. “I mean he has aged. Otherwise, he is fine.”

  “You have forgiven him.”

  The words were not framed as a question. The Mother Oracle knew, and even if she didn’t, she had guessed. The girl nodded all the same. The oracle lay down again.

  A comforting silence settled around them. It was as if neither felt the need to say anything more. The oracle looked strangely at peace with herself, a small smile on her lips.

  “I am glad you did,” she repeated. “Glad for both of you.”

  This time, it was Shanku who squeezed her grandmother’s hand and smiled. “There is relief in forgiveness,” she said, her voice choking a little. “It’s only after I met him that I realized that I too was a prisoner of that dungeon all these years. I was a prisoner because I was holding him there. He couldn’t come out, but neither could I. There was no escape for either of us. But now… now I think we are both free.”

  The Mother Oracle nodded. “What happens next?” she asked a moment later. “I mean, is the king going to pardon him?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t seem keen on a pardon — father, I mean. He seemed happy staying in the dungeons as long as I visit him now and then. He didn’t even want the gold coins being offered as reward for himself. He said he wanted the money to be given to the Warden of the Stables to purchase more horses. I think he really repents what he did. He told me to tell you that he is sorry for what happened to mother.”

  The oracle was silent for a long moment, lost in the past. At last, with a sigh and a nod, she said, “When you meet him, tell him I have forgiven him, and he must also forgive himself.”

  “I will.”

  “What is this reward that he didn’t want?”

  “Oh, it’s your idea.” Seeing her grandmother’s eyebrows rise in surprise, Shanku said, “Not the reward, but looking for people who can show us a way to Janasthana.”

  “Ah, the search for those who have escaped from the Forest of the Exiles.”

  “The palace is offering a hundred gold coins to anyone who can prove he or she has escaped and returned from the Dandaka or to anyone who knows such a fugitive.”

  “Your father said no to a hundred gold coins?” The Mother Oracle stared at the girl in shock. “He has changed. And he knows someone who fled from the Dandaka?”

  “So he says.”

  “Who?”

  “A highwayman by the name of Greeshma, who hails from north of Lava. Soldiers have already been sent to find him and bring him to Ujjayini, if possible.”

  “A highwayman…” the oracle’s expression was one of dismay. “Look at the kind of company your father kept.”

  “I thought you had forgiven him,” Shanku said sternly, but her eyes were playful.

  “I have,” her grandmother said. “I was just remarking…”

  “I know,” Shanku laughed. “I was joking.” Then, as a new thought occurred, she peered at the old woman. “A little while ago, you said it is getting hard for you to read the signs these days. Why is that?”

  The Mother Oracle’s face crumpled as the levity went out of it. Her expression became strained and the circles around her eyes seemed to widen. “What can I say, child?” she said. “There is… there are just too many confusing signs to read.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, in the palace. There are shadows that shouldn’t be here, footsteps that come out of nowhere and go nowhere… even the breeze that blows through the halls and doorways is corrupt and whispers lies.” The oracle stopped, then tightened her grip on the girl’s hand. Her eyes were uneasy, and her voice held a panicked edge. “Child, there is something bad inside this palace. There are omens everywhere, but I can’t read them. And I feel something terrible is about to happen. Something much worse than everything that has happened so far. I am afraid, child — I am afraid for your king.”

  * * *

  Kalidasa was awake and conscious of the approaching footsteps long before those coming for him had even set foot on the landing outside the sparse room he had been given to sleep in. As he blinked in the dark and made an assessment of the number of people — judging by the footfalls, he thought there were three — he took note of the fact that it was still night. His hand instinctively crept to his side, where he always kept his scimitar. But he stopped, realizing the sword would not be there; he had been asked to surrender it before sitting down to dine with Khash’i Dur. The shy’or had said parting with the scimitar would be a me
asure of the trust that he, Kalidasa, placed on his hosts, and that trust would be reciprocated with trust. Khash’i Dur hadn’t been lying; no guards had been posted outside his door, which had also stayed unlocked.

  However, men coming to his door in the dead of night didn’t bode well, so Kalidasa threw off the sheepskin blanket and rose to a crouch. Because he didn’t quite know what to expect, he didn’t quite know what to do either. He decided it was best to weigh the situation before reacting. He counted the footsteps — definitely three men — until they came to a stop outside his door. Seeing torchlight seep through the gap between the door and the floor, he let his breath out; the torch said they were not here to assault and kill him swiftly in the dark. They were here to fetch him.

  That, of course, didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to kill him wherever they took him.

  The door swung on its hinges with a loud squeak and a rattle, reinforcing Kalidasa’s assumption about the men’s intent — no attempt at masking sounds. Light flared in the room as the man holding the torch entered, followed by the other two. All three stared in surprise at Kalidasa, who was still crouched amid the sheepskins; they had been expecting him to be asleep. All three bore spears, but Kalidasa saw their stance was non-threatening.

  “Gy’e,” the one with the torch said, motioning with his hand, asking Kalidasa to come with them.

  “Kohor?” Kalidasa asked. ‘Where?’

  “A gy’e,” the man said, a trifle impatiently. He jerked his spear in the direction of the door and again motioned with his hand.

  Deciding there was no point in arguing with the men, Kalidasa rose and accompanied them outside. He noticed that none of them even came up to his shoulders and that they didn’t try to herd him, instead allowing him to walk casually with them.

  It wasn’t until they crossed an open verandah that faced east that Kalidasa realized it wasn’t as late in the night as he had imagined it to be. The horizon was a distinct line, with the sky above it a lighter shade of black, hinting that daybreak was not far away. This surprised him — why was he wanted at such an early hour? He was tempted to ask his escorts, but guessing he wouldn’t get a very helpful answer, he kept quiet.