“He came to me too,” said Dhanavantri. “He just couldn’t see that this was too petty an issue. Yes, you are right. He is the sort to nurse ill feelings.”
“If he could feel so severely slighted at a guard failing to greet him, imagine how badly he must have taken the fact that he had been passed over for a seat at this table.” Varahamihira tapped the heavy council table with a forefinger and looked from the physician to Vikramaditya. “With a grand-uncle who was a chief councilor and a father who was a councilor, Satyaveda probably imagined a seat would be kept vacant for him here. And when things didn’t materialize as he had hoped, he turned bitterly against the throne.”
“Does the message say how long he has been in the pay of the barbarians?” Kshapanaka asked from across the table.
The samrat shuffled through the small stack of palm leaves and shook his head. “This was sent by Commander Atulyateja at first light, as soon as the suryayantras became operational,” he said. “We will learn more once he starts interrogating Satyaveda and the rest of the ring.”
“By the looks of it, Satyaveda and this merchant... what’s his name?” Dhanavantri paused.
“Aatreya.”
“Aatreya. Satyaveda and Aatreya were running the ring. Satyaveda must have been sourcing information from inside the garrison, and Aatreya must have been passing it on to the Sakas. That’s how the savages would have known about Ghatakarpara.”
As the king and Varahamihira nodded, Kshapanaka spoke. “Atulyateja’s message mentions a girl who helped uncover the plot.”
Vikramaditya glanced down at the palm leaves again. “Yes, Aparupa.” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Apparently, she is Aatreya’s daughter.”
“What exactly was her role?”
“It doesn’t say,” the samrat replied. “But we must find out more about her. If she has helped in bringing the plot into the open, she must be rewarded.”
“The head of the Sristhali command centre, Dattaka, too,” Varahamihira added. “He’s the one who exposed Satyaveda’s hand in the murder of that Huna scout.”
“Yes,” Vikramaditya said. “Atulyateja’s note mentions that Amara Simha has already recommended Dattaka for a promotion.”
A short pause followed, broken by Kshapanaka.
“The message says that Amara Simha departed for the Saka settlement of Ki’barr this morning, and that the town is a two-to-three-day ride. I expect it will be a week before we hear about what happened at Ki’barr.”
There was apprehension in the councilor’s voice, which was understandable. Not once had anyone from Avanti ever set foot in the inhospitable Marusthali before; and here, a band of warriors was venturing into the Great Desert to take on the Sakas for whom the desert had been home for generations. The odds were heavily against Avanti’s raiders.
“I can tell you what will happen right now,” Dhanavantri flashed a smile aimed at lightening the mood. “Amara Simha will walk into the town and half its population will fall dead at the sight of him. The other half, unluckily, will try to offer some resistance and learn the hard way not to cross Amara Simha again — if they manage to get out of Ki’barr alive, that is.”
The samrat and Varahamihira smiled at the physician’s words, but Kshapanaka looked at Dhanavantri with a strange light in her eyes.
“I believe you,” she said, the anxiety no longer there. “If Amara Simha can do what he did when the serpent Ahi attacked me, he can tear apart the Saka township with his bare hands.”
There was something reassuring in Kshapanaka’s tone that topped even Dhanavantri’s lighthearted banter, and the tense atmosphere around the council table lifted. Vikramaditya looked at his councilors with the intent to speak, but the chamber door opened just then to admit Shanku.
“Greetings, Samrat,” the girl said with a bow. “I bring you news from the men who went to Lava in search of the fugitive Greeshma.”
“Ah yes, Greeshma,” the king exclaimed. “What’s the news, Shankubala?”
“He has been found, your honour.”
Vikramaditya’s face brightened and the councilors smiled at one another.
“First Satyaveda and now this. Finally, a day of good tidings,” said Varahamihira.
Not getting the reference to Satyaveda, Shanku glanced at the lame councilor in confusion, then turned back to the king.
“Yes. He wasn’t in Bhiwaha as fath— as we had been told, but the men asked around and discovered that he was hiding some distance down the Lava-Madhyamika road.”
“And he is in their custody?”
“Yes. He is being brought to Ujjayini. They should be here by this evening.”
“Excellent! Let’s just hope he can guide us to the danavas now.”
The samrat began pushing his chair away from the table with the intention of rising, but stopped on seeing Varahamihira sit up in his seat and look searchingly around the table.
“Where is Harihara?” the councilor asked abruptly. “I see he hasn’t joined us today.”
“He left for Mahishmati this morning,” the king said.
Varahamihira rubbed his chin in contemplation. “He had become a bit of a permanent fixture here over the last two days, I thought.” A pause, before his eyes travelled between Dhanavantri and the samrat, curious. “Why was he here in the first place?”
Everyone looked at everyone else, and nobody spoke. Finally, with a light shrug, Vikramaditya said, “A courtesy visit. He had heard about... all the developments in Avanti, so...”
The samrat let his words dwindle in the hope that the topic would end there, but the physician pounced on them with the ferocity of a cat pinning down its prey.
“So, he came to take stock of the situation for himself instead of depending on the rumours of traders and travellers,” Dhanavantri said hotly. “He kept hovering around the palace like a bee around a pot of honey. All greed, no shame. His behaviour was more in keeping with that of a scout than of a king. Useless fellow!”
The unexpectedness of the rant took everyone aback, but while eyebrows did rise, no one came to Harihara’s defence. In fact, everyone seemed to tacitly concur with the physician’s opinion. Seeing no one had anything else to add, Vikramaditya got to his feet.
“That’s all for now. I must go and inform Pralupi about the progress Amara Simha has made.”
Dhanavantri looked sharply at the king. “I could get someone to deliver the message to her.”
“I know.” Interpreting the physician’s gesture correctly, Vikramaditya offered a small smile of gratitude. “But I think she would appreciate it if I told her.”
Reaching Pralupi’s chambers and finding the door partially open, the samrat coughed and cleared his throat loudly. He then rapped on the door and waited for a response. When none came, he called out, “Sister? It’s me, Vikrama.”
Even after calling twice, when Pralupi did not respond, the king pushed the door open and stepped into an antechamber. From there, one door led to the right towards the bedchamber, while another gave way to a broad balcony to the left. Vikramaditya called once more at the bedroom door, then turned and went onto the balcony, which was cleverly landscaped to resemble a forest pond. Green grass grew underfoot and stretched all the way to a small pond that was fed by a small, bubbling waterfall, and where two ducks paddled silently. Overhead was a trellis of branches, housing cages with parrots, bulbuls and mynahs. A stone pathway cut through the grass and led to the far railing, which overlooked the palace lake.
Vikramaditya picked his way down this pathway, peering right and left to see if he could catch sight of his sister lounging on one of the stone benches. However, Pralupi was nowhere to be seen. The king was about to turn back when, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a figure stepping out from behind a clump of ornamental bamboo.
Believing it to be Pralupi, the samrat swung around — and saw that it was a young woman carrying a basket full of dried twigs and fallen leaves. Sensing that she was not alone, the woman looked up at the same time
, and their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments. The woman then dropped her gaze, her long eyelashes coming down like heavy curtains over her eyes.
“Salutations,” she said in a breezy whisper that carried only to where the king stood. Bowing her head at the same time, she draped her hands over the basket, which she hitched coyly to her waist.
“I... came looking for sister. Where is she?” Vikramaditya looked around, then back at the woman. “And who are you?”
“I am Mithyamayi, Princess Pralupi’s maid.”
“I’ve never seen you before.” The samrat raised one eyebrow. “A maid, you say?”
“Yes,” the woman blushed gently at the king’s words. “I’m new to the city, my king.”
“I see. And where can I find the princess?”
“I am here.”
Vikramaditya turned to find Pralupi leaning against the doorpost that gave into the balcony. Her manner was cold and remote, and she regarded him with a strange mixture of hostility and disinterest.
“What did you want?”
The samrat was about to speak, but he paused and glanced briefly over his shoulder towards Mithyamayi.
“It’s alright,” said Pralupi. “She’s just a maid.”
Vikramaditya took a deep breath. “I’m here to tell you that Amara Simha reached the garrison of Udaypuri last night. They have learned that Ghatakarpara is being held by the Sakas in a fortress in the town of Ki’barr in the Great Desert. Amara Simha and the samsaptakas have left for Ki’barr this morning to rescue Ghatakarpara.”
Pushing herself off the doorpost, Pralupi nodded and walked up to her brother. She walked past him without a word and headed for the pond, where she stood gazing into the depths of the water.
“Anything else, brother?” she asked pointedly.
The samrat frowned, shook his head and was about to turn and leave when Pralupi spoke again.
“You haven’t changed your mind?”
For a moment, Vikramaditya looked puzzled, before comprehension dawned. “No, and I am not going to.”
He strode away before he could be engaged in another exhausting argument.
Her mouth twisting with the sour taste of disappointment, Pralupi sat on a bench by the pond. Glancing up at Mithyamayi, the princess was surprised to see her maid eyeing the retreating figure of her brother. Mithyamayi stared boldly after Vikramaditya until the king had walked out of the door and disappeared from her line of vision.
Observing her maid with narrowed eyes, a ghost of a smile crept across Pralupi’s lips as an entirely new possibility slowly dawned on her.
***
The sun was a great bangle in the sky, a quarter of the way up and burning down on the small procession of a dozen horsemen making its way across the flat desert. Draped in cotton shawls to protect themselves from the sun and the hot wind, led by Kalidasa and chief Khash’i Dur in front, they made slow, trudging progress to conserve energy and keep the precious water in their horses’ bodies from burning up too quickly.
In the Marusthali, the elements were unrelenting in their severity, Kalidasa thought to himself, forcing his mind to remain active lest he fall asleep to the monotonous plodding of his horse’s hooves. The day’s heat was always punishing; the nights were invariably cold; wind and dust continually scoured the land and its people, and rain was a rarity. On his way to Mun’h, he had seen evidence of the harshness that the desert inflicted on its people, but he had assumed conditions would be better in the larger urban settlements. In this, he had been proved wrong — life in towns like Mun’h was just as hard, and if anything, with larger populations, the shortage of water was even more acute. Despite wells being guarded fiercely and water rights being enforced vigorously, fights over water were routine, constantly testing the leadership skills of the shy’ors. Water theft, Kalidasa had learned, was severely punishable, with offenders being exiled into the desert to die of dehydration.
Thinking of the innumerable women he had seen traversing miles of desert to fetch two miserly sheepskin bags of water from a faraway well, the giant couldn’t help observing how unfair life was for Huna women as compared to the one led by the womenfolk of Sindhuvarta. In Sindhuvarta, water was in such abundance that women had all the time to indulge their passion for the arts. Here, the only time the women had to themselves was during their long treks in search of water; they put this to use by composing songs that were laments to dashed dreams. Kalidasa could easily see why the Hunas were obsessed by what they called zaa’ri ulla — the land of plenty.
“We discovered the land of plenty maybe a generation ago, when someone decided to go east,” Khash’i Dur had said as they had sat around a fire the previous evening, partaking a meal of steamed rice and lentils. “It took courage to cross the mountains, but whoever it was came back to tell of a land that was green with grass and blue with water.”
That early pioneer’s account of Sindhuvarta inspired a handful of Huna households to follow in his footsteps, and they eventually came and pitched their tents in what were then the principalities of Salwa and Gosringa. Even while living on the fringes, the settlers thrived, and their tidings brought more Huna families into Sindhuvarta. But as their numbers swelled, they became more conspicuous, drawing the attention of the native rulers of the land.
“We did not mean them any harm,” the shy’or had spoken through mouthfuls of rice. “We only wanted to live without scrounging for water every day. They had so much of it and we had so little, yet they were unwilling to share. The people of zaa’ri ulla despised us, called us names, and the kings sent their soldiers to harass us and drive us out of our settlements.”
Still, the lure of water and a gentler life goaded more Hunas to cross the Arbudas, and slowly, their population increased and spread to the erstwhile kingdoms of Nishada and Kunti. But the influx of a Huna populace only served to threaten the natives even further, fuelling their antipathy, and the conflict of cultures resulted in incidents of violence.
“They mocked hriiz and attacked our people. We were forced to retaliate,” Khash’i Dur had explained. “Then their soldiers started committing atrocities on our women. They took our women as slaves and put the heads of our menfolk on stakes in the mountain paths as a warning to those of us who intended crossing over. Our children were orphaned and left to die of cold and starvation. Some of the survivors brought the dead children back, and when we saw their small, shrivelled bodies, we knew there was no space for compromise, no room for mercy.”
The account was a familiar one. A clash of outward differences in language, customs and religion; a deeper conflict over control of land and power; a sense of victimhood on both sides, leading to a hardening of stances — Kalidasa understood that perpetrator and victim were interchangeable here, depending on who was telling the story. But the outcome was that the Hunas and Sakas, who had suffered similar persecution in Sindhuvarta, struck an alliance and took to the warpath to seek vengeance against a common enemy. And thus, the first organized raids on the kingdoms of Sindhuvarta had begun, culminating in the conquest of zaa’ri ulla.
“With the blessings of hriiz and your help, we will take zaa’ri ulla again,” Khash’i Dur had said with confidence. Smiling secretively, he had added, “This time, we also have the yah’bre to help us in the noble fight.”
“You mentioned the yah’bre before. What are they?” Kalidasa had been curious.
“Tomorrow morning, Thra’akha,” the shy’or had chuckled. “Tomorrow morning, we will join the droiba and you will see for yourself.”
Thus, here they were, labouring through the morning heat, bound for wherever the droiba was at the moment. They had left Mun’h right after daybreak; but as far as Kalidasa could tell, they were still nowhere close to anywhere. Whichever way he looked, all he saw was baked and scarred desert.
“Now that you are back among us, you should take a Huna as your wife.”
Kalidasa stirred from the depths of his ruminations and turned to find Khash’i Dur by
his side. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he had failed to notice the chieftain ride up to him.
“What kind of a woman would you want, Thra’akha?” the shy’or asked.
Kalidasa gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Mmm, you are choosy, I see. Or are you just shy?” Khash’i Dur threw his head back and laughed. “Never mind, we will find someone suitable for the son of Zho E’rami. I am sure there won’t be a dearth of prospective brides.” He winked and laughed again. “Huna women are the best women under the sun.”
The giant offered a polite smile and turned away.
He had never quite known how he had taken a liking to her. For a long time, he only knew her as the Warden’s daughter, and it wasn’t until the Acharya spotted her talent for throwing knives and chakrams, and included her among the children being tutored at the palace, that he came to know her name — Shankubala, though she preferred just Shanku. Even after she came to the palace, they hardly spoke to each other, and he guessed that was how things would have been had Vikramaditya not opted to make Shanku a councilor. Despite being together in the council, they spoke sparingly, finding their comfort in silences, and Kalidasa wondered how they had understood so much about one another while saying so little.
I would ask you to come with me, except that I know you won’t.
All these years and you choose this moment to bring that up? Shanku had answered as they had ridden side by side on the day he had left Ujjayini and the palace.
He realized that he should have brought it up a long time ago. If he had, she might have been here, with him. Instead, he had stayed silent, and she was in Ujjayini.
Kalidasa turned back to consider Khash’i Dur.
“You are obviously very proud of your Huna heritage,” he said. “Then, if I may ask, why do you insist on speaking to me in Avanti instead of our native language?”
Khash’i Dur studied the giant as he rode alongside. “By speaking in Avanti,” he said, “I am making myself proficient in the tongue of the people I will rule when I have invaded and conquered Sindhuvarta. When you know the language of the people you have conquered and subjugated, you rob them of their ability to plot and conspire against you. Because language, my friend, is information, and information is power.”
The Vengeance of Indra Page 29
