The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “I don’t think we should seek aid from anyone — we will end up being disappointed,” said Kadru. Seeing the others looking at him in confusion, he added, “Our allies have all committed troops to the defence of Sindhuvarta, as we have, so I doubt any of them would have soldiers to spare for our fight with Magadha. We could try sending a request to Avanti, maybe asking if they could lend us Councilor Amara Simha or Councilor Vararuchi, but as they are dealing with deva and asura attacks, I don’t think our request will be entertained.”

  “Anyway, with Councilor Kalidasa supposedly leaving the court, Avanti is dealing with its own turmoil,” added Kirtana.

  “Any truth in that news, your honour?” one of the other courtiers asked nervously. “There are rumours going around that Councilor Kalidasa is a Huna spy, and that…”

  “If rumours are to be believed, one could believe anything,” Bhoomipala cautioned sharply, though at the back of his mind, he too was worried about the happenings in Ujjayini and their implications for everyone in Sindhuvarta. Still, he had to keep his men in check. “We don’t yet know how much of what is being spoken about is true, but it does seem that Kalidasa is not with Samrat Vikramaditya any more. Why this is so, what happens next… these are questions to which we don’t have answers yet. But I agree with the councilors,” he pointed to Kadru and Kirtana. “We can’t approach our allies for help; it looks like we will have to go into this battle alone.”

  The courtiers all looked at one another, suddenly dispirited.

  “We are not really alone, my king. We have the musician, who was witness to the murder of King Siddhasena,” Adheepa reminded them. “We must get his story into the open as soon as possible. Let the news spread to Magadha quickly to sow doubt in people’s minds. We must adopt any method that can potentially weaken Shoorasena. Which also brings me to the Kikata resistance. Ever since Shoorasena has used the killing of King Siddhasena to fan hatred against the Kikatas, the Kikatas have been regrouping to form a defence against attacks on members of the tribe. That regrouping has now taken the form of an armed resistance against Magadha, I am told. We can reach out to the leaders of the Kikata resistance and see how we can help each other.”

  “This is very good news, general.” Feeling a little relieved, Bhoomipala let out a huge sigh. “Do we know who the leaders of the Kikatas are and how we can get in touch with them?”

  “From what I have gathered, the resistance has taken root in the forests to the southwest of Magadha, along the base of the Riksha Mountains. I shall start making enquiries about their leaders, and try and establish contact with them.”

  “Do that, and yes, let us start spreading the news about what Gajaketu witnessed that morning on the steps of the palace of Girivraja.” Bhoomipala stuck his beard into the air in defiance. “Let us prepare for war against Shoorasena. Let us avenge Pallavan.”

  * * *

  “He made the demand while addressing a section of the Imperial Army at the garrison of Musili early this morning. There were three garrison commanders with him, and the men he addressed were under their command.”

  “What exactly did he say in his address?”

  Dhanavantri cleared his throat delicately. “According to the early reports that came in this morning, Vararuchi wants you to step down from the throne because you …” he paused, “… because he claims you are not an Aditya by blood, and only an Aditya can inherit the throne of Avanti.”

  The king looked away from the physician, his gaze going to the curtains flapping in the chill wind that was driving a drizzle over the lake, so that the lake’s surface broke into a dance between the raindrops and the ripples. There were just the four of them — the samrat, Dhanavantri, Varahamihira and Kshapanaka — huddled at the near end of the council table. In the absence of the other six councilors, the table seemed to expand in size, a lavish, barren, predatory expanse of bronze, gold, coral and lapis lazuli that dwarfed everything else in the room. Struck by the steady erosion of the council’s strength, a shiver went through Kshapanaka, and she crossed her arms against the wind whipping through the windows.

  “But his demand is conditional, Vikrama,” said Varahamihira. “He has apparently said he wants the Queen Mother to issue a public declaration, refuting the allegations made by Indra. As long as the Queen Mother will vouch for your Aditya bloodline…”

  “…I can continue as king,” the samrat finished the sentence for the councilor. He hadn’t turned from the window, and his eyes had a faraway look. “I know.”

  Vikramaditya remained lost in thought, and the three councilors said nothing. At last, Varahamihira broke the silence. “Perhaps the Queen Mother can be persuaded…”

  “No, she won’t.”

  The samrat turned sharply on Varahamihira and shook his head. “I have given her my word that she will not be subjected to questioning.”

  “She only has to…” the lame councilor began, but he was interrupted once again.

  “She will not lie, and I will not let her demean herself in everyone’s eyes by telling the truth.”

  The councilors looked at one another as the full import of Vikramaditya’s words sunk in. The king turned and went to the window, where the drizzle slanted into the room. Leaning out, he let the fine droplets fall on his upturned face, stinging his flesh. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the wind and water to soothe his burning skin.

  “I do not care who my real father is. I consider none but Mahendraditya to be my father.” Wiping the water off his face, the samrat faced his councilors again. “But does that give me the legitimacy to rule Avanti, the legitimacy that Vararuchi asks for? Maybe not. If only an Aditya can rule Avanti, I can’t because I am not one.”

  “Please tell me you’re not thinking of agreeing to the demand,” Dhanavantri’s voice rose in apprehension.

  “Don’t take hasty decisions, Vikrama…” Varahamihira, for his part, began.

  “No, I am not stepping down,” the samrat clarified.

  He approached the table. “Under different circumstances, I would have. But now, there are far too many threats facing Avanti for it to be without a king, even for a short while. I have pledged to protect my people. With the savages and the devas and asuras due to arrive anytime, I will not abandon my people just because I am no longer rightfully their king. That is one reason.”

  Sitting down, the king waved his hand, inviting the others to sit as well. “Moreover, if I give in to Vararuchi’s demands, I virtually put the Queen Mother on trial and judge her on behalf of everyone else. In one stroke, I drag her dignity through the streets of Ujjayini; I can’t do that. I gave father my word that I would uphold mother’s honour. I have promised the Queen Mother the same.”

  “We understand, Vikrama,” said Varahamihira.

  “If I needed a third reason for not stepping down, it is the impropriety of Vararuchi’s actions — what he has done in Musili amounts to treason.” The samrat’s expression turned hard and uncompromising. “When he came to me demanding that the Queen Mother issue a rebuttal to Indra’s charges, I tried reasoning with him, but he wouldn’t listen. I understand he is upset; he loved father dearly, and Indra’s slur must have hurt. It hurt me too. It still does. But the situation called for a dialogue — not a rebellion.”

  “Which is why I wanted someone to go after him that morning, Vikrama,” said Dhanavantri. “Someone who could have spoken to him, addressed his grievance. But you wanted him to be left alone.”

  “He didn’t seem to want to talk that morning,” the king replied. “But you are right. Perhaps I shouldn’t have stopped you.” He was pensive for a moment. “Also, that day, I thought I knew Vararuchi well. The Vararuchi I knew is not this one. The one I knew would never think of challenging the palace by rallying troops in his support.”

  “Why Musili?” Kshapanaka asked curiously. “It’s not even a proper garrison.”

  “Perhaps because Sharamana is commander of that garrison,” the physician shrugged. “He is Vararuchi’
s old loyalist, as are Suhasa and Ajanya, the other commanders whose backing Vararuchi seems to have. All of them fought closely with Vararuchi in the campaign against the Hunas and Sakas.”

  “Is that the only reason why they have thrown their weight behind Vararuchi?” Kshapanaka asked, confounded by the possibility.

  “We don’t know,” said Varahamihira. “I suspect he must have played on their fears or pandered to their egoes in some way. We’ll know better once we get more information.” He paused and looked at his companions with raised eyebrows. “The question is, what do we do next? How do we respond to this?”

  “We should engage Vararuchi in a dialogue,” said Dhanavantri.

  “Not immediately,” said Vikramaditya, disagreeing before anyone could say a word. “We will first send him a message, telling him to take his demands back and disband the men he has assembled. Unconditionally. Only when he agrees will the throne engage in a dialogue with him.”

  “He is your brother, Vikrama.”

  “That thought doesn’t seem to have held him back.”

  Kshapanaka and Varahamihira exchanged unsure glances.

  “In my opinion, we should talk to him before the situation gets completely out of hand,” the physician dug in adamantly.

  “Rallying troops and making inciting speeches against the throne is an act of treason,” the king looked at the three councilors closely. “Vararuchi was aware of that, and of its consequences, yet he went ahead. He needs to be reminded that such acts will not be tolerated. We must make it clear that the throne will not be bullied or threatened into a dialogue. Vararuchi has to put a stop to his rebellion — anything less is unacceptable to me as king of Avanti.”

  Escape

  The broad stone terrace offered an unobstructed view of Uttara Tosali, which sloped gently towards the bay where the little lights of boats and fishing vessels bobbed in the swell of the incoming currents. The city itself stretched out on both sides of the palace, the left arm curving outwards into the sea to form a headland, marked by the pinnacle of a temple dedicated to Uttara Tosali’s presiding deity.

  All this Vetala Bhatta took in with a sweep of his eye as he leaned into the cool night breeze and sipped soma from a flagon made of a dark, aromatic wood that lifted the flavour of the wine. He had washed and bathed for the first time since crossing the Riksha Mountains, and he was attired in a clean set of clothes that gave off the scent of sandalwood. Yet, for all the creature comforts at his disposal, a frown was pinned on the Acharya’s face, his shoulders under the shawl were bunched with stress, and he shifted from one leg to the other in a growing display of impatience.

  They had finally ridden into Uttara Tosali just as the sun was setting, and much to the chief councilor’s relief, the guard master at the city’s gates had been warm and welcoming, making their transit through the city and into the palace an easy affair. Even at the palace, they were treated with the utmost respect, and the Acharya was beginning to hope for a successful meeting with Abhirami when he learned that the queen was not in the city — she had left for Tosali five days ago to celebrate a harvest festival with her brother Veerayanka, and it would be a couple of days before she returned to Odra.

  Vetala Bhatta’s solution to this was simple. He was willing to take the road to Tosali and meet Abhirami there, and if he encountered the queen on her way back somewhere midway, so much the better. But the good ministers of Odra had patiently explained to him that their queen was making the journey by sea, so it was best if the Acharya awaited her in Uttara Tosali. So here he was, sipping a fragrant wine and grinding his teeth at the unforeseen delay, while cursing every precious moment they had lost inside the Ghost Marsh.

  On hearing a door open to his left, the councilor turned to see a figure come out onto the terrace. The Acharya was expecting an official of Odra or a palace hand, so he was surprised to note that the approaching figure seemed vaguely familiar to him. It was when the man smiled and raised a hand in salutation that Vetala Bhatta finally placed him, staring at him in complete astonishment.

  “Greetings, raj-guru,” the man smiled, bowing.

  “Chancellor Sudasan, what are you doing here?” Vetala Bhatta blurted out.

  The chief of the old republic of Vanga didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked up to the Acharya and bowed formally once again. “I was told that you were here,” he said. “You arrived in the evening, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” The raj-guru stared at the noble face in front of him, full of dignity, yet bearing the weight of all that Vanga had endured in the recent past. “You were the last person I expected to see here.”

  “Hah, it is a long story,” Sudasan sighed. “You must have heard about the massacre in Tamralipti.” When Vetala Bhatta shook his head, the chancellor said, “Once Bhadraka and the other two chiefs switched their loyalties, Vanga fell easily to Shoorasena’s forces led by Kapila. The Magadhan general Daipayana then rounded up seventeen members of our Grand Assembly with Bhadraka’s help, and had all of them hanged in the main market of Tamralipti.”

  “Coldblooded murder,” the chief councilor stared, horrified.

  The chancellor nodded. “The rest of us fled Tamralipti. We hid in the marshland to the east, but when we learned that they were searching for us, we realized we would eventually be discovered. We decided to seek asylum somewhere, and the only choices we had were Pragjyotishpura, the kingdoms of Sribhoja and Srivijaya, or here. So, here we are.”

  “And Queen Abhirami has granted you asylum?” The Acharya’s face was hopeful. He knew that if she had, it meant Odra and Kalinga were thawing to outsiders, which was a good sign.

  “Not yet. Like you, we arrived after she had left for King Veerayanka’s court. We too are waiting for her to return, so that she can decide our fate.” Sudasan licked his lips nervously. “I do hope she takes a sympathetic view of our situation.”

  “I see.” Vetala Bhatta tried not to let his disappointment show. He was about to sip his wine when, noticing that the chancellor’s hands were empty and remembering his manners, he said, “Where’s your flagon? Shall I call for some soma for you?”

  “No, no, I am fine,” Sudasan shook his head. Then, looking curiously at the raj-guru, “What brings you to Odra?”

  “Like yours, a long story,” the Acharya replied. He then told the chancellor about the growing shortage of iron in Sindhuvarta, Ahi’s attack on the ironmongers’ colony in Ujjayini and the fears of a severe crunch in iron ore supplies. “The Samrat wants to establish a trade treaty between Avanti and Odra and Kalinga to purchase iron ore as well as use the ports of Tosali and Uttara Tosali to keep up the trade with Sribhoja and Srivijaya.”

  “I see.”

  Sudasan was silent for a while, gazing at the city’s lights and the moon reflected in the bay. At last, he turned to Vetala Bhatta. “What makes you think Abhirami and Veerayanka will agree to a trade alliance with Avanti?”

  There was a challenge in the chancellor’s tone and a note of skepticism, which suddenly angered the raj-guru. “The same thing that makes you think they will agree to grant you political asylum — hope.”

  The words hit hard and Sudasan dropped his eyes, looking crushed. Regretting his harshness, Vetala Bhatta placed a hand on the chancellor’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that. The idea was not to hurt you. I think it was the fatigue and stress talking.”

  “It is alright, raj-guru,” Sudasan smiled. “I asked for it, so please don’t apologize.”

  The Acharya finished the soma and turned back to look at the bay. Watching him chew on his lips and drum on the parapet with his fingers, the chancellor asked, “Is something else troubling you?”

  “I must get back to Ujjayini. The city is under constant threat, the people are living in great fear, and the Samrat and his council are under a lot of pressure. I was hoping to sort out the trade alliance swiftly and get back, but it looks like I will have to wait for a few days now.” He smacked the parapet hard with the flat of his hand.
“I wish I could go to Tosali to meet the queen, but these people don’t seem keen on it.”

  It was Sudasan’s turn to place a comforting hand on Vetala Bhatta’s shoulder. “It can be frustrating, but time and destiny travel at their own pace, raj-guru. We can only be patient and accept whatever is outside our control with grace.”

  The Acharya was silent for a long time before he finally sighed and nodded at the chancellor. Both men turned back to the watch the moon turn molten silver and come ashore, riding on the tides.

  * * *

  Everything is crafted in the mind before it is crafted by the fingers.

  Ghatakarpara remembered the old woodcraftsman’s instructions to him and Atulyateja as they had sat hunched in his little shop that hot summer many years ago, knives in hand, learning how to whittle bamboo flutes and carve ironwood birds’ nests, while the Kshipra flowed passively outside.

  If you can’t see it in your mind, having the nimblest of fingers is useless. That is the problem with him… pointing to Atulyateja … he doesn’t see, so he can’t make.

  Feeling the weight of the key in his palm — hard and ice-cold, but already starting to melt from the heat transmitted by his hand — the prince wondered if he had seen it right in his mind. He hoped he had. His escape depended on it.

  He picked up the slippery key delicately with his other hand, its icy chill numbing his fingertips. Squinting at it by the moonlight coming in from the high window, he reworked the water melting off it, fusing it back onto the key as ice. Once the key had been reconstituted to his satisfaction, he slid it carefully into the lock that chained his wrists to one another and the wall bracket.

  Since the morning of his confrontation with his captors — and since discovering that he could do some deft tricks with water — Ghatakarpara had spent nearly every waking moment trying to gain mastery over this new skill. He hadn’t the faintest idea how and from where this mysterious talent had surfaced, but he quickly realized that the more he worked on it, the better he got at moulding water. By the afternoon of that first day, he was being able to design wobbly models of simple objects like jars and small saucers, and by nightfall, he had graduated to creating crude but identifiable animal shapes. Resuming at daybreak, he worked through the morning, achieving the breakthrough of fashioning water into ice or steam, and then turning ice and steam back into water. From afternoon onwards, he had focused solely on making, unmaking and then remaking the three tools he needed to break out of captivity.