‘I doubt it is him, but don’t worry, I will ferret him out even if I have to comb every inch of Aham,’ Ashwath cracked his knuckles. ‘As a matter of fact, I did come across a khanjja, but I forget where.’
‘Yes, you look for him, and I shall send for Arigotra.’
Ushered into the pearl throne room, the astrologer stood quietly, calm resignation evident in every line of his body. ‘Tell me, how long will I reign over Aham?’ demanded the Raja, crooking his finger at him, beckoning him closer.
Climbing the steps to the throne, Arigotra glanced at Shunen’s tense face. ‘Your rule, Your Majesty, depends on your actions.’
‘I knew it!’ Shunen’s eyes gleamed. ‘It will be a long reign, am I right?’ The undercurrent in his voice chilled the space between the two men.
‘Your Majesty,’ he answered slowly, ‘your reign will last for another three years. It could be more, but, as I said before, it depends on the choices you make.’
‘You lie,’ he hissed, fear lurking under the hooded lids. ‘Who else can be king but me? You are a charlatan. You dare to fool me! Your punishment can only be death.’
Arigotra fell to his knees, ‘I could have lied to save my life, Your Majesty, but I know my time is up. For my son’s sake, I beg you, give me a quick death.’
The green shine of the emeralds in the crown reflected eerily in Shunen’s eyes. ‘I just hate that word, quick. It causes too many sloppy mistakes.’
When Arigotra didn’t return home that evening or the following day, Prem ventured out into the dark streets, asking passers-by if they had seen his father. The night was sweltering hot and the people brushed past him, eager to be home with their families. But one kindly soul stopped, hearing the boy’s desperate plea.
‘Go to the main square,’ he said, refusing to divulge anything more.
The guards had not bothered to keep watch over the astrologer or to wet his parched lips with one last cool drink. Alone in the silent square, he moaned, praying desperately for death. Then a heart-rending scream pierced the night. Prem stared up at him, eyes wide in horror, trembling at the sight of his father nailed to a wooden post.
‘Please, God,’ Arigotra wept, looking heavenward, ‘spare my child this suffering. Take me now.’
The beating of hooves on the cobbled road came like an answer to his prayer. His head jerked towards the sound. A man on a horse raced towards him, his sword raised high.
‘I am going to bring down the post and take you away from here,’ the stranger screamed, anguished urgency in his voice.
The astrologer shook his head violently, crying out, ‘Don’t do it, please. Don’t do it. I won’t last the night.’
‘We are wasting too much time.’
‘No, please, listen to me,’ Arigotra entreated. ‘It will be all in vain. I cannot outrun Destiny.’
‘Destiny be damned,’ growled the stranger, his sword glimmering in the moonlight, eager to hack the timber. Arigotra frowned. The distinctive pattern of the metal caught his attention. His gaze shifted quickly to the stranger’s face, assessing the eyes, the forehead. He made an odd sound, a sobbing laugh deep in his throat.
‘Only you have the courage in this godforsaken city to help me. To you I will disclose what I know.’ He paused to draw a painful breath. ‘Aum’s fate will change after seven years.’ To Prem he said tenderly, ‘Wait for Saahas’s return, son.’
‘Seven years,’ the stranger exclaimed. ‘Why will it take that long? Saahas and his brigade must return soon to reclaim Aum.’
Arigotra’s mouth twisted into a painful smile. ‘You will achieve nothing if you come back before the period ends. Besides, you will put your men in grave danger. The Saade Saati is upon you. It started for you, Saahas, on the day King Vasuket died.’
Saade Saati! Saahas stared at the astrologer in bewilderment.
‘You are Saahas?’ the boy shook his arm. ‘Then, please, save my father. You can do anything, anything.’
The astrologer continued in a frantic voice, ‘Hear me well. The Saade Saati is a period of seven and a half years that comes, at least once, in everyone’s lifetime, a period when all attempts end in failure. Eight months of it have already passed. Less than seven years remain. Go away, my lord, and only return when the time turns auspicious.’
The dying man’s words smote Saahas with the finality of a hammer. They laid bare his helplessness, making him acutely conscious that the hopes he had cherished on his journey back to Aham were laughably puerile.
His eyes blurred with tears, every cell in his body at one with Arigotra’s suffering. ‘I heard of the crucifixion and couldn’t bear to leave without trying to help you. But I haven’t been able to do anything for you.’
‘There is something you can do, my lord. The pain is unbearable. Please, release me from it.’
‘Father!’ Prem’s piteous cry shook his small frame, his hands clutching the bleeding feet.
‘Do not despair,’ Arigotra gasped. ‘Say goodbye with a smile. I’ll be able to go in peace.’
The sword found its mark, running through his heart, and the body jerked once before going limp on the wooden frame.
22
Benumbed, Saahas put one foot before the other, the reins of his horse slack in his hand, Prem following him timidly. Twice he told the boy, ‘Leave me, go back home.’ But the child continued, trailing him like a shadow. Soon they reached the woodland of copper pod trees, and Saahas stopped, shaking his fist at the palace lights in the distance. ‘You left this forest standing! Too frightened of the curse, are you? Cowards!’
The ruins of the monastery beckoned him and he hurried to it, seeking comfort. The walls were warm to his touch and leaning his forehead against the ancient bricks, he let his tears fall silently in the dark. At last, he drew a shaky breath and turned to the boy. ‘Now listen to me carefully,’ he said, beginning to unstrap the wooden leg. ‘You have to go back. I cannot take you with me.’
‘Go back where?’ the boy burst out, eyes large with fright. ‘I saw Ashwath kill Kurikas because he wanted the sword, the one Kurikas was forging for me. My father made a promise to Shunen that I wouldn’t tell a soul, but now my father is gone. No one can protect me from them, no one. Take me with you, please.’
The khanda vibrated at the mention of the metalsmith’s name and Kurikas’s face swam before Saahas, the one good eye twinkling at him. Despair threatened to overwhelm him again and controlling himself with an effort, he said in a quivering voice, ‘Your father was the bravest man in this kingdom. You must be like him. Shunen will not bother with you. A little boy cannot harm the powerful Raja or his brother. But if I take you with me, I will be throwing you in the jaws of death.’
Even in the light of the washed out moon, he could tell that the boy’s face had turned ashen. Prem turned away abruptly, stumbling in the dark. Saahas ran after him, pulling him kicking and screaming onto his lap, the small head pressed to his chest. When the sobs turned to whimpers, Saahas cupped the tear-stained face, ‘You have to grow up right now, at this very moment. Shake off your childhood and become a man. If I get out alive, I promise you we’ll meet again. Until then, stay here. These ruins will keep you safe.’
Leaving Andheri via the woodland, Saahas kept off the main road, riding cautiously through small villages. With the approach of twilight, he turned his horse back on to the road, and sticking to the long shadows, watched soldiers rush by. ‘They are hunting for one of their own,’ he whispered to the horse. ‘Fear has numbed them to all good sense.’
Over the next few days, he noticed the patrols heading to the east. ‘They think I will leave the same way as I did before,’ and he promptly turned north.
The miles were covered slowly, till at the close of the third day, he discerned the temple site. Leaning forward, he whispered to the horse, ‘Just a little more courage my friend, and we should be at the north gate in a day or—’
A loud wail cut him short, its anguish curdling his blood.
&
nbsp; Off the road, a hunched figure rocked back and forth, a bundle clutched to the chest. Swiftly dismounting, Saahas went up to the man and froze. ‘Riju!’ He called out the name again and again but the mason continued to sob as if his heart had broken. Saahas shook him gently. ‘Get a hold on yourself, Riju. What is the matter?’
Riju glanced up blindly and at last recognition dawned. ‘It is you,’ he gasped, ‘please help us. My Dharaa, she will die,’ and he opened his arms.
Saahas stared in horror at the unconscious girl, her torn, blood-soaked clothes, the cuts and welts on her body. He ran to his horse, pulling out the pouch of herbal oil that Nirmohi had given him. ‘Quickly apply this on her,’ he said, ‘and tell me what happened.’
‘They came four days ago, Prince Nandan’s men,’ Riju began, sobs escaping through clenched teeth. ‘And those of us not from here, migrants and outsiders, were told to gather. Then . . . then they grabbed our women. They looked at me and laughed. Your wife will be with the prince for a few days, they said and today, they dumped her here like a broken doll.’ He looked up, his expression suddenly fierce, ‘I curse this kingdom—’
‘No, stop,’ pleaded Saahas, ‘this is already an accursed land. Don’t make it worse for those who are blameless. Come, let’s find a place for the night.’
They camped in a deep ditch, Riju watching over Dharaa anxiously. Sometime in the middle of the night, she stirred, whimpering painfully. ‘You have saved her, bhai,’ he wept. ‘Now help us leave Aham.’
‘Three of us together will draw attention,’ Saahas sighed. ‘Let’s sleep now. Maybe the morning will bring an answer.’
Barely had he fallen asleep when the khanda, quivering furiously, woke him up. In the pale moonlight, the blade’s luminous pattern flowed like water over pebbles. His thumb traced the words on the wooden hilt, ‘Truth at any cost’, and a shiver ran through the steel up his arm. ‘What is it?’ He frowned in painful thought. And then the howl of animals brought him to his feet.
He followed the sound beyond the ditch, the stench of rotting flesh assailing his nostrils. Glowing eyes watched him warily, circling what appeared to be a carcass. Saahas unsheathed Shakti, and like a blue flame, she sprang at the animals, sending them yelping into the night. Approaching the corpse, he peered at it, pity welling up within him. It was a man. He had been dead some hours, and the heat had bloated his bearded face, disfiguring it beyond recognition. Shakti vibrated again, and Saahas closed his eyes. ‘I understand now,’ he caressed the blade, his throat tight. ‘I understand everything. The time has come to bid each other farewell.’
At the first light of day, he woke Riju, ‘I have something to give you. It will help you . . . us . . . buy freedom.’
The supervisor welcomed Riju with a snarl that quickly turned into a smile when he saw the khanda.
‘Do you recognize this?’ Riju asked him. Jokat snatched the sword, staggering under its weight, eyes narrowing against its light. ‘Who cares? This will buy me a fine horse.’
‘This is the key to a vast treasure. You show it to the Raja, and he will know the value of what you have brought him. But, if you sell it, not only you but the buyer of this sword will also lose his head.’
Alarm replaced the greed in Jokat’s face, and he thrust the sword back at Riju. ‘Is this thing bewitched?’
‘This sword belongs to Saahas,’ Riju explained as if to a dull-witted child. ‘The man wanted by the Raja. I recognized Saahas’s corpse because this was clutched in his hand. Look for yourself. It has the famous motto engraved on the hilt.’
‘Truth at any cost,’ Jokat’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, this is the famous Shakti.’
Riju nodded, adding regretfully, ‘If I could get an audience with the Raja, I would take it to him myself, but who would listen to a poor migrant?’
‘You did the right thing by bringing it to me,’ Jokat once again grabbed the sword.
‘But first you must accept my conditions. I want to leave Aham with my wife.’
‘You dare to put conditions? Are you out of your mind? You have wasted enough time. Now take yourself off to the site and get back to work or else I’ll crack your skull open with the power of Shakti.’
Riju’s soft voice halted his steps, ‘You’re forgetting something. Without the corpse you cannot prove that Saahas is dead.’
Two days after Jokat left for Andheri, Saahas sneaked into the camp, and in the first watch of the night, the bullock cart rolled out of the temple site. At the same time, hundreds of firecrackers lit up the sky over Andheri. The palace was celebrating. It had received the news that Aham’s most wanted man was dead, his decomposing corpse found in a ditch like a shunned mongrel.
23
Hussuri glanced up from her scribbles. ‘I would have felt bad for him if the dear old king hadn’t loved him so much.’
Ashwath shot her a curious look. ‘Did you like him? Saahas?’
Tilting her head to one side, she considered the question. ‘I’m not sure. I feared that he would find out the truth about us.’
Ashwath cracked his knuckles. ‘All’s well that ends well. And now it is time for me to claim the khanda.’
He ran all the way to the court and when he arrived panting, his gaze was instantly drawn to the gleaming steel blade on a table.
‘It awaits its new master, brother,’ Shunen nodded towards it. Ashwath swallowed, wiping his sweating palms on his shirt. He approached it carefully, as if the sword might vanish if he made a sudden move towards it. When at last he stood over it, he breathed a sigh of exultation, drinking in every detail of the exquisite blade.
‘My khanda,’ he whispered, his voice rough with longing. The engraved motto on the hilt caught his eye, ‘Truth at any cost. ‘I will have the hilt changed with my motto carved in it—Victory at any cost.’
Just for an instant, the blade seemed to turn an angry red, and Ashwath shrank.
Shunen laughed. ‘Scared of a dead man’s sword? This is your prize. Go on, pick it up.’
Ashwath reached for the blade, and just as his fingers grazed the hilt, he yowled in pain, his hand bent at the wrist. ‘That accursed khanda,’ he screamed, ‘it has burned my hand.’
Shunen frowned, gesturing to a royal guard, ‘You there, pick it up.’ The soldier nervously prodded the hilt with the tip of his index finger. The wood felt warm and smooth to his touch. Smiling in relief, he hefted the sword high over his head, turning around in a circle. Ashwath glowered, holding his smarting hand with the other, the pain jarring up to his shoulder.
‘I think your morbid fascination with it has addled your brains, dear brother,’ Shunen smirked.
‘Give it to me,’ Ashwath barked and the soldier presented the sword to him, hilt first. Reaching out with his left hand, he hesitated. The steel seemed to turn red again. Ashwath froze, fear paralysing him.
Shunen shook his head, ‘Let it be, brother. I shall have it installed in the main square—a warning to all traitors.’
The citizens flocked to the glass cage, craning to read the sign beneath the blade. ‘Here lies the traitor’s sword, to remind you all of your once glorious general-turned-outlaw. The man who was driven by his own hand to an ignominious death. Be warned, swift punishment lies in store for those who consider themselves above the laws of Aham.’
Squeezing through the crowds, Prem pushed himself to the front, pressing his face to the thick glass. Shakti appeared dull, lifeless, far from the gleaming steel he remembered from that terrible night. But as he stared at it with unwinking eyes, he caught a tiny twinkle at its tip. It slid down the blade’s broad surface, sparkling like a dewdrop. A wave of warm comfort enveloped him, and then quite suddenly the light went out, turning the sword lifeless again.
Prem turned away, a conspiratorial smile on his lips. ‘Saahas lives,’ he whispered, hugging himself, ‘and we will meet again.’
Another keen eye had discerned the twinkle. Ashish blinked away tears, ‘Yes, you are alive and we are certain to meet again.’<
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Riju’s bullock cart trundled out of the north gate on to an empty road. A bright sun in a clean, blue sky dispersed the last vestiges of the grey fog seeping out of Aham.
Flinging off the rug under which he had hidden himself, Saahas gulped in fresh air, his tense muscles beginning to ease. Riju rolled a smoke, allowing the bullocks to trot at a comfortable pace. There was peace in him, for his Dharaa had fallen into a restful sleep the moment they had left Aham. He glanced at Saahas’s profile. Despite the beard, he could tell that the mouth was tightly pursed. ‘I am sorry,’ he began, ‘for the loss of your sword. I know you’ll miss it. That was a big sacrifice.’
Saahas stirred, ‘No, it isn’t my sacrifice, it is Shakti’s. She knew that only she could save us.’
The highway forked into two, one carrying on straight ahead to the north and the other a narrow dirt track going west to nobody knew where. Saahas pulled at the slackened reins in Riju’s hand, and the bullocks slowed to a stop.
Jumping off the cart, he went to unhitch his horse from the back. ‘Our journey together ends here,’ he told Riju. ‘If God wills it, maybe we’ll cross paths again.’
‘Wait, general,’ Riju leapt to the ground, ‘we are coming with you. We’ll serve you, take care of you.’ Saahas shook his head.
‘But don’t you understand?’ he stammered. ‘I, I want to be with you, with your men.’
‘But I’m not returning to my brigade,’ Saahas held Riju’s hand in a tight clasp. ‘How can I face them? What will I tell them? That in less than a year, the kingdom we knew has changed beyond recognition? That people have turned into self-serving rats, the mettle knocked out of them?’ He passed a hand over his tired eyes. ‘Dharaa needs good care urgently. Go to Swarus. You will need to retrace your steps, for we have overshot it a bit. It is the safest place in the world for you.’
The Crown of Seven Stars Page 11
