The troops were resting in the shoulder of the hills bordering the village of Trehi. A few fires had been lit, and soldiers dispatched to Trehi to fetch provisions for a late lunch. The wounded were being tended to, while the dead were still being counted and laid out by the edge of the plain. As the horses grazed fitfully in the hills, the men sat around in small clumps talking in subdued tones, their expressions ranging from fatigue to relief to triumph.
“But how did you manage crossing the river?” asked Kalidasa, tying a crude bandage around his badly scraped knee. “The chariots just kept sinking in the mud when we crossed it.”
“We moved a little to the east and found a point where the ground was harder and the currents less strong,” Varahamihira explained, as he hobbled on his crutch and sat down beside Kalidasa. “Still, we had to abandon two of the chariots. That’s what delayed us.”
“I think you made it against the odds, and you made it in the nick of time.”
“Yes, though you almost got me killed with that first arrow. The slightest error in your aim and I would be lying there.” Vararuchi pointed to the row of bodies being laid out.
“The way I saw it, with your head almost inside the monster’s mouth, you were as good as dead,” Varahamihira said with an offhand shrug. “I figured being struck by Avanti’s arrows was a more dignified way of dying.”
As Kalidasa and Varahamihira exchanged cheeky grins, Vararuchi pressed a palm to his forehead in mock exasperation. Just then, a captain approached the councilors. “Your honor,” he addressed Vararuchi. “We have taken the final count.”
“So what are the damages like?”
“Two hundred and forty two men dead, and over three hundred and fifty injured, some fifty of them very grievously, your honor. A few of them won’t pull through, I’m afraid. We’ve also lost about seventy horses.”
Vararuchi stared at the row of dead soldiers somberly for a moment. “What about the attackers?”
“We have counted some four hundred and thirty pishacha bodies. Apart from that big one.”
Varahamihira opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut short by an agonized scream from one of the soldiers being lifted onto a makeshift stretcher. The soldier’s upper arm and shoulder was a mass of bloodied, mangled tissue, the white of the bone showing where a pishacha’s teeth had torn off a sizeable chunk of flesh.
Varahamihira winced, waiting for the scream to die down. Once silence was restored, he asked, “Have we captured any of the attackers alive?”
“None, your honor. They all managed to flee.”
“I want all the pishachas and that monster to be dumped into a pit and burned to ash,” instructed Vararuchi, his face clouding with rage.
“Yes, your honor. And... what about our dead?” the captain gestured to the line behind him. “Are we taking them back with us?”
“Ujjayini is just half a day’s journey,” said Vararuchi with a brusque nod. “Avanti’s fallen deserve to have their last rites performed on the banks of the sacred Kshipra.”
***
“From their manner, it is plain that they want to intimidate us into giving up the Halahala, or provoke us into a confrontation,” said Vetala Bhatta, glancing from the samrat to Kshapanaka. Dhanavantri was standing by the Acharya’s side, while Shanku, as always, hung back deferentially. “No kind words or sweet enticements of the kind Narada dished out the other day.”
The king and the four councilors were in a private chamber annexed to the royal court, holding a hurried consultation over the demand placed by the horsemen from Devaloka.
“With a force that’s just five hundred strong, I don’t think intimidation is a particularly good strategy to adopt,” Dhanavantri shrugged his fat shoulders.
“Well, if the idea is to intimidate, it’s not going to work, no matter what their numerical strength is,” said Vikramaditya hotly. “And if they are spoiling for a fight, they shall not return disappointed. Acharya, please inform the City Watch to barricade the gates and set up archers along the walls. And let the Imperial garrison know that I want a thousand cavalrymen and infantrymen each to ride with me into battle.”
“Surely you’re not planning to go out there yourself, samrat?” The raj-guru assessed the king with his shrewd eyes.
“Of course I am.” Vikramaditya looked at Vetala Bhatta in surprise. “By refusing to come to the court of Ujjayini and insisting that we go to them with the dagger, the Ashvins have issued a direct challenge to Avanti. I have decided to accept it – though I will give them one opportunity to change their minds and return in peace.”
“But if you ride into battle, you’d be playing straight into their hands, Vikrama.”
The samrat considered the Acharya narrowly, even as the other three councilors exchanged puzzled glances.
“Those horsemen aren’t fools – they probably know we won’t surrender the dagger without a fight. What they expect, however, is that you will be provoked by their insolence and will ride out to meet them. If you do that, they would have succeeded in dictating the terms of the engagement. Without raising a finger, they would have got the king of Avanti to leave his palace and come to them, instead of the other way round.”
“Mind games...” the king nodded ponderingly. “I see what you mean, Acharya.”
“Yes. Your going there would mean that you concede that the Ashvins are important enough to merit your attention – we mustn’t give the Ashvin commanders that satisfaction. The message from the court of Ujjayini should convey that the king of Avanti cannot be bothered by a band of horsemen and their petty threats.”
“But the Ashvins have made the first move by ordering us to yield the dagger,” Vikramaditya contested. “It’s an open challenge, and not responding to it would be cowardice. We can’t just ignore the challenge by hiding inside the palace gates; we have to counter it.”
“I said nothing about ignoring the challenge,” the raj-guru pointed out. “I only said you shouldn’t be the one seen to be affected by it.”
A pregnant pause ensued, the stillness so intense that the hushed murmurs in the adjoining court magnified into a steady, monotonous drone. Vetala Bhatta looked at the four faces around him, his gaze finally settling on the samrat.
“With your permission, let the four of us deal with the Brotherhood of the Ashvins.”
***
The cavalcade from Kosala wound its way down the wooded hill, the gates to the palace of Magadha slowly receding from view.
Pallavan, who was seated inside a shuttered carriage, peeked through the curtains, observing the city of Girivraja through the breaks in the trees. The city appeared quiet and peaceful from these hilly heights, but the envoy knew things were always deceptive when viewed from a distance. And anyway, he could see smears of black smoke still rising from a few quarters of the capital – grim reminders of the crude justice that Magadha’s arsonists and lynch mobs had very recently meted out on the hapless population of Kikatas.
After his meeting with Shoorasena, Pallavan was left with no doubt that the killing of the Kikatas was taking the form of a systematic extermination, with the full backing of the palace of Magadha. What he wasn’t sure about was the cause behind this sudden animosity. He knew that the Kikatas were largely peaceloving, had integrated well into Magadhan society, and were, by and large, unresponsive to the few voices of dissent raised against Magadhan rule.
So, even if the late king’s bodyguard had been part of that lunatic fringe, there was no reason for Magadha to turn against all its Kikata subjects...
Pallavan was lost in his thoughts when his carriage drew to a sudden, unexpected halt. At the same instant, the envoy heard a minor commotion from somewhere up ahead. Pulling a curtain aside, he poked his head out and craned his neck to see what was happening; however, a bend in the road obstructed his view.
Sliding across the seat, the envoy pushed open the curtain on the other side and looked out. He saw five horsemen from his escort milling around a puny man, w
ho seemed to be making an entreaty of some sort. The escorts appeared to be arguing and pushing the man away.
“What’s happening?” Pallavan inquired of an escort who was standing by his carriage.
The horseman rode up to the group and exchanged a few words with one of the escorts in front. Pallavan noticed that the small man stood to one side, defenseless and miserable, his hands joined in supplication. Shortly, the horseman turned back.
“That man is obstructing our path, sir,” the horseman explained. “He insists on meeting you, and he won’t let us pass, even when whipped. He says his life is in danger and that you must save him.”
“Who is he?”
“He says he is a traveling musician, sir.”
Baffled, Pallavan looked at the man cringing by the side of the road. Then, obeying an instinct that even he couldn’t fully explain, the envoy raised his voice and addressed the escorts in front.
“Let him come.”
The horsemen reluctantly allowed the man to pass, and he immediately approached the carriage, cowering and trembling with fear.
“What do you want?” Pallavan asked kindly.
“You must help me, good sir. I am a musician. I heard you are from Kosala. My grandmother was from Kosala too. I have come running to you. You must help me, please.”
“Okay, but what do you want from me?” the envoy urged patiently.
“My life is at risk in Magadha, sir. I want you to take me to Kosala with you.” This time the man was a little more lucid.
“Are you a Kikata?”
“No sir. But I have seen something and I fear I will be discovered...” A look of terror eclipsed the man’s face as he looked around and shivered. “If they find out that I saw what really happened in the palace, they will kill me the way they killed the old king’s bodyguard.”
For a fraction of a second, Pallavan’s face froze as he processed the implications of the man’s words. Then, looking around swiftly to check if they were being observed, he swung open the carriage door.
“Get inside,” he said sharply. He knew that the cavalcade had diplomatic immunity and that it wouldn’t be stopped and searched without good reason.
Once the man had clambered onto the carriage, Pallavan looked up at his escorts. “We ride full speed here onwards. No slowing down till we are beyond Magadha’s borders.”
As the cavalcade gathered momentum, the envoy cursed and drew the flimsy curtains close together. He then looked expectantly at the man seated on the floor of the carriage.
“As long as you keep your head down, you are safe inside my carriage. Now tell me what happened in the palace... what you saw. Tell me everything.”
***
A shaft of golden yellow sunshine burst through the gloomy, westerly sky, drenching the plain outside Ujjayini in its fleeting exuberance, as the four councilors rode past the city’s eastern gate to meet the Ashvin cavalry. The Acharya’s horse was marginally in front, with Kshapanaka following him, flanked by Shanku and Dhanavantri. A small posse of soldiers brought up the rear.
Behind the cavalcade, high on the ramparts, archers of the City Watch crouched behind the fortifications, carefully observing the Ashvins clustered in the distance. Down below, Avanti’s infantry and cavalry stood in orderly lines behind the heavily barricaded gate.
Seeing the small group emerge from the city’s shadows into the sunlight, Nasatya, who sat astride his horse, leaning an elbow on his thigh, casually flicked back a lock of hair from his handsome face and looked across at his brother with a smirk.
It looks like the human king is here to negotiate a settlement.
Dasra returned a cold smile of triumph, his eyes on the approaching entourage.
It looks more like a case of abject surrender, brother. He appears to have come to us in the company of women – perhaps he seeks to appease us with more than just the dagger.
When they were almost within hailing distance of the Ashvins, Vetala Bhatta reined in his horse briefly. Raising his hand, he signaled the escorts to hold their ground, before nudging his horse forward. Shanku, Kshapanaka and Dhanavantri followed suit.
But having taken barely a dozen paces, the raj-guru halted once again as the other three councilors drew abreast. The four councilors and the Ashvins appraised one another across the brightly lit plain, shadows stretching long on the ground as the sun made one last valiant attempt at overthrowing the day’s murk. The stillness was broken only by the faint whistling of the wind, interspersed with the rasping shrieks of two mynahs foraging for food.
Seeing that the humans from Avanti were making no further effort at bridging the intervening gap, Nasatya reluctantly prodded his horse forward. Dasra fell into step beside his brother, and the twins drew closer to the councilors.
“I presume you are King Vikramaditya of Avanti,” Nasatya addressed the Acharya in a haughty tone.
“I’m afraid you presume wrongly, deva,” Vetala Bhatta replied with a thin smile.
Nasatya’s brows furrowed in confusion, his eyes flitting between the faces of the councilors. “Then who are you?” he demanded.
“I am Vetala Bhatta, and these are Dhanavantri, Kshapanaka and Shanku,” the chief advisor pointed to his companions. “We are councilors to Samrat Vikramaditya.”
“And your samrat...?” Nasatya shifted his gaze first to the knot of escorts waiting behind the councilors, then toward the city gates, searching for evidence of a royal personage.
“He is not here. Our samrat has more pressing matters to attend to in his palace.”
The raj-guru had the pleasure of observing the incredulity that overcame Nasatya and Dasra’s expressions. The Ashvin commanders had all along been expecting Vikramaditya to come rushing to them – instead, they were being told that the human king didn’t deem them worthy of his time. The Acharya knew his gamble had paid off.
For a long moment, silence reigned as Nasatya scrambled to regain his composure.
“Have you brought us Veeshada’s dagger?” he demanded gruffly, desperate to wrest the initiative back.
Vetala Bhatta considered the two devas for a moment before shaking his head. “I think we had made it quite clear to Narada that we do not intend parting with the dagger,” he said. “Where does the question of bringing it to you arise?”
“You refuse the Brotherhood of the Ashvins at your own peril,” Dasra scowled, his eyes shifting to the thin, long spear that the Acharya carried in his right hand. He felt there was something forbidding about the two skulls that decorated the weapon. He also noticed, for the first time, the shield that Shanku bore, and the rows of throwing knives that she wore around her narrow waist.
“We request you to leave us in peace, deva,” the Acharya answered in a civil tone. “But should the need arise, we are prepared to defend Avanti and the dagger to the last man.”
“It looks to me as if Avanti is already down to its last few men,” Nasatya chortled, casting a sidelong glance at his brother. “See who’s here to defend Veeshada’s dagger – not the king, who prefers to hide in his palace, but an old man, a fat man and... two women.”
Vetala Bhatta sensed Shanku and Kshapanaka stiffening at the deva’s mockery. But before either woman could respond to the barb, Dhanavantri spoke from the Acharya’s right.
“Forget about our king for the moment... First test your competence against this fat man, this old man and these two women here.” The physician’s voice was calm and cheerful, his face alight with amusement. “But whatever you do, make sure you don’t get beaten by the women. That wouldn’t make a very inspiring tale for the children growing up in Devaloka.”
Watching Nasatya and Dasra’s faces harden as the taunt hit home, the raj-guru knew the die had been truly cast. As if to confirm this, Dasra’s hand went to the hilt of the sword dangling at his waist.
“Let’s settle this straightaway then,” he muttered darkly.
Out of the corner of his eye, the Acharya sensed the Ashvin cavalry ranged in the distance st
raighten on their saddles and reach for their scabbards.
“Don’t do anything foolish, deva,” Vetala Bhatta raised a cautioning hand. “At the slightest sign of aggression, Avanti’s archers will let fly their arrows.”
The Ashvin commanders raised their eyes to the top of Ujjayini’s walls to see a long row of archers standing with their bows drawn, arrows pointing downward in their direction. Nasatya smiled inwardly in mild admiration, realizing that by holding his ground and refusing to come further into the plain, the old councilor had cleverly drawn him and Dasra into the archers’ range.
Gesturing toward the ramparts, the raj-guru continued, “There are more than ten thousand soldiers behind Ujjayini’s walls. I believe the five hundred horsemen you have with you will find them more than a match. So, for your own good, I urge you to return to Devaloka in peace.”
The sun chose that moment to slip behind the heavy clouds, and the dark pall of dusk fell over the plain. The Ashvin commanders sat on their mounts, mirthless lips sealed tight, glaring at Vetala Bhatta. Then, quite inexplicably, a cunning smile appeared on Nasatya’s face, spreading slowly till it touched his eyes.
These humans know and suspect nothing, brothers... How about giving them a surprise?
The Acharya frowned, troubled by the same sly smile now playing on Dasra’s lips. But before he could give it more thought, Nasatya addressed him.
“You will not part with the dagger and we will not leave without it – I can see only one way around this problem,” the deva shrugged, still smiling. Turning his horse around, he cast one final glance over his shoulder. “Councilors, prepare to defend your city from the wrath of the Brotherhood.”
With that, the Ashvin commanders rode back to their ranks in a thunder of hooves.
Siege
W
hat do you think they are doing, raj-guru?”
The question came from a senior captain of the City Watch, a short man with a neatly trimmed gray beard and a broken nose. The captain was in the company of Vetala Bhatta and Dhanavantri, who were standing on the walkway behind the battlements, looking out into the eastern plain. Light was failing rapidly over Ujjayini, and a fine powdery spray fell from above, gradually dampening their clothes and hair, adding to the discomfort.
The Guardians of the Halahala Page 18
