The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  In the small, stuffy room, the seeds that Vararuchi had sown were taking root and sprouting in the silence. The sound of battle drills and practice fights came from the one open window.

  “What do you propose to do, councilor?” Suhasa asked finally.

  “As I said before, do I expect this new Samrat to speak up? No. This Samrat thinks he is not answerable to the people. The Queen Mother thinks she is not answerable to the people either. But they are. We are the people, and we insist on knowing the truth — the truth about the Samrat’s birth. The truth about who his father is. We want to know whether the man sitting on the throne of the Adityas is an Aditya. We want answers.”

  “And how will you get the Samrat and the Queen Mother to answer us?”

  “Here is what I propose to do, Commander Ajanya.” The councilor motioned with his hand for the men to draw closer. Dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “For this, I will need your complete support.”

  * * *

  When they brought Greeshma into the Throne Room, Shanku was struck by the man’s bulk. He was nearly a hand taller than the soldiers escorting him and had the girth to match. He was mildly disheveled, his scruffy grey beard and whiskers lending him a ferocious look. Shanku couldn’t help thinking of the frightening figure he must have presented to wayfarers in his days as a highwayman in the dense forests of Nishada.

  “Greeshma,” said Vikramaditya, leaning forward on his throne. “Greeshma the Wild.”

  “Yes… Samrat.” The old bandit looked at the men who had accompanied him with surly eyes. Catching one of them jerk his head sternly, Greeshma bowed and joined his hands in a pranaam. “Salutations, my king.”

  “Salutations,” the king replied. “So, you were once a highwayman, is it?”

  The Throne Room was occupied by the samrat, the four councilors and a select set of courtiers. Greeshma’s eyes darted from one face to the next as he wondered where the king’s question was leading him and what was in store for him.

  “I was, your honour,” the answer came at last. “But I was an honourable one.”

  “Honourable?” Vikramaditya smiled in amusement. “Where is the honour in robbery?”

  “I meant I had nothing to do with what happened to the woman, the bride… if that is what this is about. That was the work of the three depraved men I once thought of as brothers.” His mouth twisted in dislike at the thought. “Those three deserved to die for what they did, but not the rest of them.”

  “In the Dandaka, you mean?”

  “Yes, your honour. The others were sentenced for no fault of theirs. And they died for no fault of theirs.”

  Vikramaditya was silent for a moment. “Tell us about the Dandaka.”

  Shanku was certain she saw Greeshma turn a shade paler in the light of the countless lamps illuminating the Throne Room. He shuffled and cleared his throat nervously.

  “It is not a place I would ever want to return to,” he said at last.

  “Why is that?”

  The bandit looked around at the expectant faces staring at him. “I will get the hundred gold coins on offer, will I not?” he asked.

  “The throne will never renege on its promise,” said the samrat. “Now tell us about the Dandaka.”

  “It is a place of infinite terror. Miles and miles and miles of forest with death stalking you wherever you go. Tigers, leopards, wild boar, pythons, venomous cobras and vipers, crocodiles, scorpions… everything out to get you. And if not those, then the mosquitoes that are always swarming around, thick in the air. The forest is forever damp, and sunlight hardly ever touches the ground. Death and danger lurk in every bush and behind every tree trunk. I have seen one of my men being plucked from the ground by a python up in a tree. I have seen another being dragged screaming into the undergrowth by something that we later discovered had chewed his head right off. I have seen a man gored to death by a wild boar the size of a bull.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “It feels horrible to know you are being hunted as prey. You hear the tigers snarling in the night; you see a leopard disappearing into the bushes. And you know what you hear and see is watching you, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

  “Then you must have finally understood what the victims of your banditry would have felt while passing through the forests you terrorized,” said Varahamihira.

  “We hunted, but we never killed…” Greeshma looked at the councilor, and realizing he was addressing someone of authority, he added,“… your honour. We always spared lives. But in the Dandaka, every day was a struggle for survival. Every day, for four years, I fought to live for just one more day.”

  “What do you know of Janasthana and the danavas?”

  Vikramaditya had thrown the question suddenly, without warning, and Shanku saw the old bandit reel. He blinked and swallowed.

  “If you were inside the Dandaka for four years, you must have come across them.”

  “They…” Greeshma turned even paler. “They are worse than the beasts I told you about. They are fast like the wind and ruthless like lightning. And they are fiercely protective of their city. Once, we ventured too close, and they attacked us. We fled, but they managed taking two of us captive. We returned a week later, hopeful of rescuing those two somehow, but the sight that greeted us was of them nailed to the trees by the city gate. Nailed with arrows, and half-eaten by wild animals and birds. They are savages.”

  “Is there anything you learned about the danavas… their city, their ruler…?”

  “We once met an old man from Kosala, another exile who, god knows how, had survived in the Dandaka for years. He had built a hut for himself high in a tree, maybe that’s how. But he was very ill — you can’t escape disease by climbing a tree, you see. He was happy to see us, and we spent a few days with him before he died.”

  Greeshma stopped talking and stared glumly in front of him, his mind on the old man. The samrat didn’t prod the bandit out of respect for that death from so many years ago; instead, he sat on his throne, waiting for Greeshma to return on his own accord.

  “According to the old man, the city of the danavas is run by magic,” the bandit spoke at last. “It seems that the danavas are masters of magic. They can make trees and stones do impossible things, he said. The old man also told us there is no magician among the danavas greater than their king, Shalivahana.”

  Shalivahana, Shanku whispered to herself, committing the name to memory.

  “And the way to Janasthana… can you find it through the jungle?” asked the king.

  “It is not easy, but it can —” Greeshma stopped suddenly, looking apprehensive. “Why do you ask, your honour?”

  “Because you will guide us to the city.”

  “No, no… No, your honour.” Waving his hands in protest, Greeshma began backing away. His face was now white, his eyes wide with fear. “I am not going back into the Forest of the Exiles, please… I won’t go.”

  He ran into the drawn swords of his guards and stopped short. Turning back to the samrat, he spoke in a pained voice.

  “I thought this was about the gold coins, your honour,” he complained. “Nobody told me I was supposed to go back into the Dandaka. I am being cheated here…”

  “No one is cheating you, Greeshma,” Vikramaditya’s voice cut through the rant. “You will get the hundred gold coins, as promised. In fact, you will get the coins before you take us in. All we want from you is to be our guide to Janasthana. Take us in, and bring us back out.”

  “What use are the gold coins to me if I die there? No, your honour,” the bandit gave his shaggy head a stubborn shake. “I cannot do this. Going into the Forest of the Exiles is insanity. Why would you want to go in there? I don’t want any gold coins. Find someone else to lead you to Janasthana.”

  “You refuse?” the samrat asked shrewdly.

  Greeshma shook his head again, leaving no doubt regarding his refusal.

  “Very well. In which case, you will be sent back to the Dandaka anywa
y.” Seeing the startled look on the highwayman’s face, Vikramaditya smiled thinly. “You were sentenced to the Forest of the Exiles for life, but you managed to escape. Now that you have been caught, you will be sent back there to complete the rest of your sentence — which, in your case, will be until the day you die.”

  “No, your honour, please,” Greeshma entreated. “Please don’t do that.”

  “I am offering you a way out,” said the samrat, suddenly reasonable. “Take us to Janasthana.”

  Seeing the bandit shake his head, Vikramaditya continued, “One way or the other, you are going into the Dandaka. If you take us with you and bring us back, you come out of there alive and you have a reward of a hundred gold coins. Otherwise, you go in, you stay there and you die there. So, what do you say?”

  “This is so unfair…” Greeshma began, but the king snapped at him, cutting him short.

  “This is the only way, Greeshma. Yes, or no?”

  With a great deal of reluctance, the bandit finally nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Good. One more question. Do you know what language the danavas converse in?”

  “The time we got too close to Janasthana and they attacked us, they were screaming… in Avanti.” Despite himself, Greeshma looked up in surprise, as if the novelty of that discovery had just struck him. The colour drained from his face at the memory. “I understood them. They were screaming and urging each other to kill us all and spare no one.”

  “Thank you. You may leave now.”

  Watching him hang his head and drag his feet as he was ushered out, Shanku reckoned that in his mind, Greeshma was already a man condemned to his death.

  When they had the Throne Room to themselves again, Vikramaditya took in the councilors and courtiers in a sweeping glance. “That’s done,” he said with a mild note of triumph. “Now to decide who will undertake the journey to Janasthana.”

  Before anyone could say a word, Kshapanaka stepped forward. “I will,” she offered.

  The samrat looked at her, but Dhanavantri spoke first. “I was thinking this would be a good time to call Vararuchi back,” he said, casting a quick look at Vikramaditya. “From what Greeshma tells us, the forest is full of dangers…”

  “Pardon me, but are you saying because it is full of dangers, I shouldn’t be the one going in?” asked Kshapanaka. “Is it because I am not equipped to deal with dangers, or is it because I am a woman, and you somehow think a woman can’t be trusted to do this?”

  “That is not what I meant at all, Kshapanaka,” the physician’s shoulders sagged in dismay. “I know you are more than capable of doing this…”

  “Good,” Kshapanaka interrupted and looked at the king. “Then that’s decided.”

  Vikramaditya was still considering her decision when Shanku took a step forward. “I never ask for anything, Samrat, but I am making an exception now.”

  As the king turned to her in surprise, the girl drew a deep breath. “The thought of approaching the danavas came from my grandmother, the oracle. The lead to Greeshma came from my father. Something tells me that destiny has linked my family and me to this journey. Allow me to go and meet Shalivahana and enlist the help of the danavas.” She turned to Kshapanaka. “Give me this one, sister, please.”

  Placing a hand on Shanku’s shoulder, Kshapanaka smiled and looked up at the samrat. “I trust Shanku’s ability to tackle the dangers of the Dandaka,” she said. “I propose that she go instead of me.”

  “We owe the Mother Oracle and your father our gratitude, Shankubala,” Vikramaditya said. “They have both earned the throne’s respect. The throne now entrusts you with the responsibility to go to Janasthana and strike an alliance with the danavas on its behalf. You will have a garrison at your command.”

  “I don’t need a garrison, Samrat. I need no more than six hardy men and Greeshma.”

  Eyebrows rose in surprise around the room. “Councilor,” one of the elderly courtiers intervened. “You heard what Greeshma had to say about how vicious the danavas are and how they protect their city. What protection can six men offer against a city full of danavas?”

  “If you are going in peace, why would you take an army along, sir?” Shanku asked. “The Acharya has gone to Odra with a dozen men; why should it be different for the danavas? If the danavas see an army marching at them, they are bound to feel threatened and will attack us. We will have to defend ourselves and there will be unnecessary bloodshed. No, the smaller the group, the better. Six men with courage in their hearts and faith in me. That’s all I need.”

  Vikramaditya looked over to Varahamihira. “Have the six best men handpicked for this mission.” Turning back to Shanku, he asked, “When do you propose to leave?”

  “Tomorrow, if it can’t be earlier.”

  Rebellion

  The ground along the margins of the road and in the open spaces between the barracks, stables, armouries and outhouses was covered with a heavy sprinkling of frost, but the road itself was muddy brown, churned by horses’ hooves and the tramp of soldiers’ feet. A wet chill hung in the still, early morning air like an invisible pall, weighing down miserably on the shoulders of King Baanahasta and Shashivardhan as they rode into the garrison of Kasavati on the northwestern fringes of Matsya.

  Hunched inside a crude cloak made from the pelt of a large animal, Baanahasta cocked a weary eye at the moody sky and shivered, already missing the warmth and cheer of Viratapuri. Such was the desolation of the northwest, it felt as if they had journeyed to the other end of the earth. And if he felt that way about Kasavati, he wondered how Shashivardhan, born and bred in the sunny plains of Vatsa, would respond to the place. Baanahasta was inclined to think that the prince might be harbouring second thoughts about volunteering to serve on Matsya’s frontier.

  The king sneaked a glance at Shashivardhan, who sat awkwardly on his saddle, sniffling and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his woollen tunic, his face red with the cold. Baanahasta still couldn’t believe the prince was serious about joining in the defence of Matsya. Even if he was, the king didn’t think it was such a good idea — he didn’t want his best friend’s only son, now also the king designate of Vatsa, dying in this stretch of hilly wilderness populated by opium and saffron farmers and bands of wandering outlaws. But then his eyes strayed to the bulk of Piyusha, the prince’s bodyguard, and the nine other soldiers who formed Shashivardhan’s escort. Baanahasta conceded that the prince might have a chance of returning to Kausambi as long as he didn’t do anything terribly heroic or utterly foolish.

  Picking a haphazard course between military buildings and the few houses and establishments owned by the townsfolk of Kasavati, the cavalcade reached an open square, at one end of which sat the squat headquarters of Kasavati’s garrison commander. News of their arrival had reached the garrison belatedly, and as they made their way across the square, a flurry of activity ensued as squires and servants rushed out to meet them from all directions. Baanahasta and Shashivardhan had almost reached the garrison commander’s quarters when the man himself stumbled out, bleary eyed and red faced.

  “Salutations, my king,” he said, shuffling down two short steps and bowing deeply. “I was up until late last night, and I didn’t expect to see you so early in the day. Had I known…”

  “We decided to ride through the night rather than spend it in a cold, flimsy tent,” Baanahasta interrupted as he alighted from his horse. Handing the reins over to a waiting squire, he stretched his lean frame and cast a critical look around the garrison. Then, turning to Shashivardhan, who had climbed off his mount, he said, “Prince, this is Commander Adri, in charge of the garrison. Commander, as you know, the prince is joining you here. I hope you have taken steps to make his stay comfortable.”

  “Indeed, your honour, indeed,” the garrison commander said, bowing hurriedly to Shashivardhan. “The garrison of Kasavati is honoured by your visit, Prince. Your first trip to these parts, if I’m not mistaken?” He stepped forward to take the reins from
Shashivardhan.

  Shashivardhan joined Baanahasta, who continued with his inspection of the garrison. The king’s gaze settled on a rabble of hastily erected tents jutting out into one corner of the square.

  “Our allies’ troops, I presume?” he asked.

  “Yes, your honour,” Adri answered. “From King Bhoomipala’s court, a hundred units of Kosala’s heavy cavalry.” Waving his hand around, he added, “We also have five hundred of their infantry and a few hundred more from the Anartas.”

  “Make sure they are all fed well and properly looked after,” Baanahasta indicated the tents as he began climbing the steps to the building. “Provide them with extra rugs and furs. They come from warmer climates and are unused to this cold. They may be soldiers, but they are also our guests.”

  Nodding vigorously, the garrison commander ushered his king and Shashivardhan into a square room where a log fire burned in one corner. The room was dark and smoky but relatively warm, which was all that mattered. Casting his damp cloak aside, Baanahasta lowered himself into a chair, and Shashivardhan followed suit. His bodyguard, Piyusha, entered and stationed himself at the door, and in a moment, they were joined by three officers of the garrison. As one of the officers unfurled a map of blue satin on the table, the garrison commander pressed jars of firewater into the visitors’ hands. Taking a long pull from his jar, Baanahasta felt the liquid light up and warm him. Clearing his throat, he looked sharply at the men.

  “What’s the latest?” he asked, the fire playing across his dark, angular features.

  “Three watchtowers were attacked and burned down to the north…” one of the officers began, but the king cut him short.

  “Wait, this was last week, right?”

  “No, your honour,” a second officer answered, placing a finger on the painted map of Kasavati and its vicinity. “The watchtowers that were destroyed last week were here, to the southwest. The three to the north were attacked over the last two days.”