“So, Vikramaditya is Indra’s grandson,” he remarked.
“He is, my lord. The human king refuses to accept Gandharvasena as his father, though. He told Indra as much to his face before literally throwing him out of his city.”
“I would have loved to see Indra’s face when that happened,” Kubera said, grinning and smacking his thigh in delight. “Being shown the door by your own grandson — impressive.” His voice acquired a shade of respect and admiration at that last word, which could only have been for Vikramaditya.
“The human king has a will of iron, my lord.”
“Hmm. And all of this has to do with Veeshada’s dagger.” The yaksha lord shook his head in amazement. “The Omniscient One picked a human to protect the Halahala.”
“He is the Wielder of the Hellfires, lord,” the yaksha reminded. “I saw Diti’s devilish creations burning in his hands as he faced Indra. And his councilors are the bearers of the Nine Sacred Pearls.”
“The Wielder of the Hellfires who also has possession of the Halahala.” Kubera shook his head again, marvelling at what he was hearing. “The Hellfires and the Halahala — two things that both the asuras and devas have always hankered after, but to no avail. How it must gall them to see both in the possession of a human king! I’m not the least bit surprised that Shukracharya and Indra set their differences aside to plot Vikramaditya’s downfall.”
The yaksha did not respond, and for a while, Kubera was silent, still in thought.
“So, from what you have seen, is Shukracharya’s plan to break the power of the Nine Pearls by dividing the king and his councilors, taking effect?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord. One of the councilors has already left the king’s service and gone over to the side of Avanti’s enemies. And now, because Vikramaditya is really Gandharvasena’s son, the king’s half-brother has risen against him over the right to rule the kingdom — I was there in the central hallway of the palace, hiding behind some drapes, when the half-brother challenged the king. I overheard their argument and knew this would not end well for the human king. It didn’t.”
“Interesting.” Heaving a deep sigh, Kubera rose from the cushions and walked to the edge of the pavilion to lean on the railings and stare into the clear water. “Very interesting.”
The yaksha kept quiet.
“And where exactly is Veeshada’s dagger?” Kubera turned around, his eyes bright and sparking with possibilities.
“I don’t know, lord. It is a secret because no one in the council talks about it, ever.”
“Fair enough. You may go.”
In the solitude of the pool, Kubera went over everything that he had been told about the king and his councilors. The longer the yaksha thought about it, the more it seemed to him that the devas and asuras were likely to prevail over the human king; that in their fight for the Halahala, Vikramaditya would be the first casualty.
The time was ripe for the yakshas to make their own move, he decided.
* * *
The sun had been up for a while now, but it was concealed by the high cliffs that lined the northern bank of the Payoshni, so that the narrow pass that led from the garrison to the river was still in shadow. The small group of eight people walked through the pass, watched keenly by the soldiers of Heheya, who stood within the garrison, craning their necks to catch a last glimpse of the party that was setting out on what was plainly a hopeless endeavour, doomed to fail.
The eight travellers, accompanied by a boatman from the garrison, reached the river, where the boat had been drawn up on a spit of land. With help from two of the soldiers in the group, the boatman pushed the boat into the water, and everyone climbed carefully into the craft. At a signal from the young girl, the boatman picked up the bargepole and punted the boat away from land and into the currents.
Shanku looked away from the boatman at the six soldiers accompanying her on the mission, and then at Greeshma. The six soldiers were all young and eager, flawless examples of military discipline, whereas the fugitive was old and a little slovenly, slumped unhappily in the middle of the boat. From the time they had left Ujjayini, it had become clear to Shanku that the men did not like Greeshma, and in turn, the old bandit despised them. And her. And this mission that he had been forced into.
With a sigh, she turned to gaze in the direction of Payoshni Pass and the garrison beyond, but the massive wooden gates that had been erected at the pass — after the attack by the blind rakshasa and the pishachas, the head of the garrison had told her — were already shut; later, they would open a fraction to let the boatman back in. She raised her eyes to the sky, light blue with clouds like fine brushstrokes. That was the sky she was leaving behind, a familiar sky.
Use your gift, my child.
That was what the oracle had said when she had gone to seek her blessings.
Her father had cried big tears, afraid that he would never see her again. Cursing her for having volunteered to go, and cursing himself for having told the crown about Greeshma. Wanting to go along with her, and cursing her when she put her foot down.
He had given her his blessings all the same, and had told her that he loved her.
That was the sky she was leaving behind.
Shanku blinked and turned, and this time, she faced straight ahead into the thick wall of trees slowly approaching the boat. The trees grew tall and close to one another, and the spaces between them were dark and gloomy. A dank and heavy mist wound through those spaces, grey and ghostlike, coiling around the tree trunks and forming garlands between trees, creeping through the foliage overhead and seeping through the undergrowth, its finger-like tendrils beckoning the boat, luring them into the darkness.
Above all, there was the silence. Stale and deathly.
Listening to the muddy river slushing against the bargepole and the hull of the boat, Shanku stared at the Forest of the Exiles.
The Vengeance of Indra Page 36
