A haunting cry faded into the dusk, the bird winging its way home. ‘She’s bound for the west,’ Nirmohi murmured, watching the flapping speck disappear into the darkening sky. ‘It is time for you to head back too.’
Saahas glanced at her, puzzled, ‘Go back where, mausi?’
‘To your kingdom, son. You have a duty to fulfil.’
‘Kingdom . . . duty . . .’ he repeated the words slowly, searching his memory for their echoes. She took the opportunity to study him, delighting in the sight of him. It was as if he had been born anew, the old Saahas swallowed, absorbed in the ever-expanding light that glowed from within him, his eyes larger than before, serene.
‘The Saade Saati is coming to an end,’ she added softly, ‘and Aum has to be restored. Only you can do it. That is why I am here.’
‘Restore Aum?’ Saahas shot her a quizzical smile and pulled on his chillum. ‘Aum is, mausi, and you know that better than anyone else.’
Stifling a sigh, she stepped up to him, her lips brushing his ear. ‘Saahasvajra,’ she whispered, ‘son of General Meghabhuti, heir of King Vasuket, wake up! Go rout your enemies, dispel the darkness of Aham.’
The names dislodged buried memories from a deep recess, and they hurtled back, playing out scene after lurid scene before his eyes. At first, he watched dispassionately, piecing the information together, like a historical record. But the cries of the wretched pierced him, filling his heart with pity. ‘Rrum,’ he whispered, closing his eyes, beckoning the rainbow fire. A single flame ignited within the quietude of his mind, leaping out and dancing before him.
He opened his eyes and caught it between his fingers. ‘I will return, mausi,’ he declared, consigning Rrum to a thin branch, watching it flare into a blazing torch. ‘I will bring this fire to the people. It will burn up their suffering, as it did mine.’
‘These people are your very own, son. Misled and misguided, they have lost their way. You, their true king, must save them.’
‘Bless me then and I shall take leave of Master Tathakim at once.’
‘I became certain then that Saahas could not escape me,’ Destiny says, shooting us a sly glance. ‘My will is supreme and he, like everyone else, had to bend to it.’
37
The sky was so low that it gave the appearance of the river splashing into it, in an attempt to submerge the sun. Turning often in his saddle, Saahas waved at Tathakim and Nirmohi, and even after they had receded from his view, he could still faintly discern a shock of red hair beside silvery tresses.
The sun sank like a copper coin in a lake, signalling the wind to blow. Saahas looked around, noticing a low crag jutting out over the beach.
‘We should stop here for the night,’ he said to Bhuma. ‘Camp under those rocks and start at the break of dawn.’
The servant quickly made arrangements for a meal, a plump fish leaping out of the water, offering itself up generously to his outstretched hands.
They fell asleep almost as soon as they lay down, one dreaming of fantastic adventures and the other floating on a wave of light. Slowly the wind turned into a stiff gale, carrying a sobbing lament from the river to the campsite. It tugged at the covers and Bhuma snuggled deeper, covering his face. But Saahas awoke, instantly alert. Grasping his sword, he was on his feet in one fluid leap, and walked into the deep blue darkness beyond Rrum’s firelight. The lament grew louder, animal howls of grief frightening the waves into stillness.
They hovered just above the ground, the bones of their feet shining white in the moonlight, two grotesque creatures waving their skeletal hands pathetically. Of the same height, they clutched at their tattered clothes, suddenly conscious of their hideous forms. Maggot infested entrails spilled out of their threadbare shirts and one half of their faces was torn away, as if mauled by a vicious beast, their teeth bared in a permanent grin. A foul stench emanated from them and Saahas fell back, his grasp tightening on the hilt of the khanda.
The creatures noticed and cried out, ‘He can see us! At last we are visible, after centuries. Praise the lord—’
‘Who are you?’ Saahas interrupted their incoherent chatter, his gentle tone taking the sting away.
‘A long time ago, we too were men, princes,’ answered one. ‘Princes of a wonderful realm.’
‘Then our misdeeds turned us into invisible phantoms,’ spoke the other, voice echoing in a hollow chest. ‘We have been roaming here, beside Mahanadi for centuries, praying for our deliverance.’
Saahas’s mouth went dry, a certainty knocking at his heart. ‘You were princes you say. Of which realm?’
Both spoke together, their breath a pale blue mist, ‘Aum.’
‘Vilas and Preyas. Yajatha’s sons,’ he enunciated each word with great deliberation. ‘With you began the destruction of Aum.’ His voice dropped. ‘So, one wheel comes full circle.’
The apparitions crumpled at his feet, sobbing, ‘You know all about our despicable past. Have mercy on our wretched souls.’
He gazed down at their terrible faces, remembering Yajatha’s sorrow, the guilt confessed to Shami. Compassion swept over him, taking him by surprise. ‘Your father was as much at fault as you were, but his remorse and right actions released him from his sin. How can I be of help to you?’
They looked at him, nervously anxious, then at each other. After a long moment, one of them ventured to speak, his voice an uncontrollable quaver, ‘Only a citizen of Aum can end our suffering, one who, as the founding fathers had hoped, has become one with it.’
Saahas nodded. ‘Yes, I fulfil the conditions. Tell me, what must I do?’
Fresh tears overwhelmed the brothers, and blubbering their gratitude, they led him to the edge of the river. ‘Please sprinkle a little of her water over us.’
‘Is that all?’ Saahas instantly plunged his hands into the river lapping his feet.
The ghastly forms sizzled, quickly dissolving into white vapour, a fragrance replacing the repulsive odour. Saahas caught a glimpse of the two princes as they must have been a long time ago, handsome and whole. But he couldn’t be sure. All too soon, the mist melted into the clean, pure air, leaving behind only the faint scent of roses.
Two flashes arced the midnight sky, briefly flaring before fading away. Dyaut rose from his bed, a soft smile tugging the corner of his mouth. ‘Ah! You are on your way back. It will be a sweet reunion. You, me and Rabeera.’
The journey to the palace seemed longer this time, Saahas’s eagerness to meet Dyaut stretching the days. When he at last sighted the pink palace shining like a polished mirror, he could not contain himself and jumping out from the palanquin, ran up the wide steps to be met halfway by the king.
Bending down to touch the older man’s feet, Saahas beamed, ‘I have found the celestial weapon, Your Majesty. It destroyed my ignorance.’
Dyaut embraced him warmly. ‘I knew you would, son. Look at you.’ He held Saahas, appraising him. ‘You are glowing with the inner light. Come,’ he gestured towards the palace, ‘there is someone you have to meet.’
Ushered into a large room in the eastern wing of the palace, Saahas looked around, an exclamation of delight bursting from his lips. The room was completely bare, save for a column of sunshine that poured in from a round skylight in the centre of the high dome-shaped ceiling and extended all the way to the middle of the pale wooden floor. In this pillar of light stood a life-sized wooden image, its colour a bright peacock-blue.
‘Now do you understand why my soldiers and the Ugr forces thought you were Rabeera?’ Dyaut slid a glance at Saahas. ‘Smeared with the blue sap, you looked so much like him.’
Removing his shoes, Dyaut stepped reverently close to the image. Saahas followed suit, coming to stand beside his host. ‘Rabeera,’ Dyaut called out in a voice filled with tenderness, ‘our guest is here, sweet one. Please bless him.’
Saahas held his breath, a thrill surging up his spine. He looked up at the wiry figure and beheld a God. With the left leg bent slightly at the knee, Rabeera
had his head cocked to one side, a half-smile playing on his crimson lips. The almond eyes sparkling like two gems met Saahas’s gaze, warm laughter in their depths. ‘Serenity in strength,’ Saahas whispered, observing the muscles that seemed completely at rest, yet ready to spring into action.
Dyaut murmured in his ear, ‘Do you see what I see?’
Saahas gazed and in the twinkling of an eye, Rabeera towered over them, standing in a war chariot, his head almost touching the ceiling. The silk dhoti and shirt vanished, replaced by heavy armour, the two arms multiplying into six. Every hand grasped a weapon except for the one that held the reins of five plunging horses, controlling them with elegant ease.
Saahas sank to his knees, ‘Is Rabeera telling me something?’
Dyaut nodded, ‘He is blessing you for the war that you are going to wage.’ The vision began to fade and once again only the wooden image remained, shining blue in the yellow beam. Dyaut turned to Saahas, ‘My entire force awaits your marching orders. Tell me when you wish to leave.’
38
The raga had chased Amsha all morning, begging for an audience. A tiny, silky flake, it had settled on his shoulder just as he made to step into the court. ‘Not now,’ he had reprimanded it, brushing it off. Later, when he had settled down for an afternoon nap, it had tried humming into his ear, but once again Amsha had banished it. ‘Come at dusk,’ he had told it, noticing its doleful droop. It had perked up then, quivering all day just outside the door, waiting for the sun to set.
‘All right,’ Amsha snapped his slender fingers, beckoning it and it rushed in, opening its palpitating heart, the notes flowing in such a unique arrangement that the general sat up, alert. ‘You have been holding a message for me all day. Forgive me for dismissing you earlier, my friend. Play on then.’ Encouraged, the raga gave vent to its feelings and Amsha’s soul soared, suffused with an unusual longing.
It was the hour of gaudhool, when the cows returned from the pastures, their hooves churning up golden dust into the rose-coloured sky. He heard their plaintive lowing as they called out to their calves, their bells tinkling across the village green. He listened to the sweetness of wholesome voices raised in evening prayers, to the sputter of lamps twinkling in dusk-darkened windows. And when he heard a soft whistle, he smiled involuntarily. He saw him then, a tall figure holding a long staff across bare shoulders, his feet lightly pressing down the mud.
The cowherd stopped, brown eyes crinkling at the corners, the dipping sun a halo behind his head. ‘I am coming home, my friend,’ he said. ‘Look out for me,’ and whistling softly, he slowly faded into the haze.
Its work done, the raga fell silent, slipping back into the flute. Amsha opened his window to the loud chirrup of crickets and the twittering of birds preparing for the night. He looked up at the darkening sky, at the stars beginning to shine. ‘You are alive?’ He frowned, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Could the raga be mistaken?’ A hush fell over the garden, and in the sudden quiet, he heard the pounding beat of thousands of hooves, the strident war cry of an approaching army. ‘It is true then!’ His face broke into a smile. ‘But, of course! A pure raga is always right.’
Too distracted by spring, Yamathig did not notice the faint tremors vibrating gently through its ridge. The season had sprung out of Nirmohi’s cave, scattering a variety of flowers all over the trees and shrubs, their fluffy, bright heads nodding in the breeze. The mountains sighed, luxuriating in their velvety touch, prodding the Vijaya Dal and the brigade to settle down. And they obeyed, falling into a somnolent silence, stretching their aching limbs contentedly.
It had been a successful morning, scaling the tallest peak without ropes, using only handholds to hoist themselves up. The descent had been easier, urged as they had been by the happy gurgles of the baby echoing from below. They lay down now on the cushion of matted grass, the sun warming them, indulgently watching the infant crawl amongst the flowers.
The child tumbled, but even before Dharaa could get to her feet, Lushai reached the baby in one bound. Everyone leapt up. ‘The mountains are shaking,’ they said, feeling the vibrations coursing through the bedrock. The tramp of marching feet became audible as also the thunder of hooves.
‘I say it’s an army on the march,’ Tota shouted, running towards a cliff they had named ‘the lookout point’, ‘and if I am wrong, I’ll cook every meal this week.’
‘That is quite a large force,’ muttered an officer. Crowded on the cliff, they watched it raise a mighty dust. ‘Indeed, an impressive infantry,’ Tota observed, trying to assess the numbers of the never-ending columns of foot soldiers.
‘What is that?’ Every eye followed Riju’s pointing finger, to the rider in the front leading the army. Behind him, on his saddle, rested a flat plank bearing a torch burning with an unusual fire, multi-coloured just like a rainbow. The rider raised his hand, signalling a halt.
Tota peered around the rock face, narrowing his eyes to see better. ‘There are cavalry regiments too! And if I am not mistaken, those large shapes in the distance are elephants. This is an army going to war,’ he breathed. A loud whinny interrupted him.
‘It is sire’s horse,’ shouted Lushai from the makeshift stable, desperately hanging on to the reins. ‘He is trying to get away. I don’t know what has gotten into him.’ Rearing up, the stallion pawed the air with its front legs. Tota spun from the horse to the rider far below, a miniature man.
‘Do you think it’s him?’ the brigade clamoured. ‘Do you think he has returned?’
‘I am going down to see for myself,’ Riju announced, edging towards the narrow path leading off the cliff.
‘Wait!’ Tota smiled slowly. ‘I have a better idea. Lushai,’ he called out, ‘let go off the horse.’
Shaking his mane, the stallion charged through the thicket and galloped down the slope, snorting loudly. The miniature figure looked up and quickly dismounted, running up to the horse.
‘Easy boy,’ Saahas laughed, catching the reins. ‘You look very well! Hey, what’s the matter?’
The horse tossed its head, refusing to let him come near, fretting and stamping its feet. ‘You know it is me. Of course, you do!’ He stretched out a hand, but once again the horse snorted, turning its head away, eyes rolling dangerously. ‘Are you sulking?’ Dropping his voice to a murmur, he approached it cautiously. ‘I am sorry, boy. Sorry for leaving you but I couldn’t have put your life in danger.’ He caught one ear in a gentle grip, speaking into it softly, ‘I would have never forgiven myself had something happened to you.’ The stallion grunted, dropping its head, quivers running up its legs. Saahas caught its face between his hands and blew into the flaring nostrils. ‘All right, I won’t ride the Ugr horse anymore. Now, do be a good boy.’
‘It is sire!’ Overjoyed, the brigade jumped up and down on the cliff, throwing their arms around each other. ‘That’s his way of greeting his horse,’ they explained to Riju and Dharaa, their voices throbbing with emotion, ‘blowing into its nose.’
‘Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go and meet him.’ Riju turned and ran, the rest of them at his heels.
‘Wait for me,’ cried Lushai, stumbling, tears blurring his sight.
‘Sire,’ they shouted, careening towards the road. ‘You’ve come back to us, our lord, our king, you have returned.’ With their feet barely touching the ground, they vaulted over streams and sprang down knolls, their joyous screams resonating in Yamathig’s bones.
Spreading his arms out wide, Saahas waited to embrace them all and when they shot out from under cover of the greenery, pouncing on him like ecstatic puppies, he roared with laughter, eagerly looking into each face, noticing the sorrowing hope, the elation, the relief. The brigade caught him up, tossing him up into the air several times, as it had been wont to do in the past. There wasn’t a single dry eye, and Bhuma blinked away surreptitious tears. There wasn’t a single unsmiling face, the soldiers of Purvichi revelling in every moment of the grand reunion. And there wasn’t a single heart l
eft untouched, each person uplifted by the current of deep affection.
‘Hail King Saahasvajra,’ the brigade chorused. ‘Victory to the true King of Aum.’
The entire force picked up the chant, each soldier raising his weapon to the sky. ‘Victory to King Saahasvajra, victory to Aum,’ the trumpet of elephants punctuating every cry.
‘Hail Aum,’ Saahas intoned, over and over again, the rainbow flame growing taller with his every chant and when the reverberations of ‘Aum’ faded, the flame diminished, dropping back to its original size. A figure scuttled through the tight group, falling at Saahas’s feet.
‘Lushai!’ He hugged the weeping servant. ‘No more tears, dear fellow. This is a happy occasion.’
Sniffling into his sleeve, Lushai appraised his master keenly. ‘You are too thin,’ he remarked, his tone severe, mouth pulling down in its characteristic manner.
The brigade burst into merry laughter and Saahas, a naughty twinkle in his eye, introduced the two manservants to each other. ‘This means trouble,’ he muttered in Tota’s ear, wiggling his eyebrows at their bristling, wary faces.
‘You are to blame,’ Riju laughingly retorted and Saahas glanced at him appreciatively.
‘I want to hear all about how you came to be here. I am glad you did and found Tota and the brigade. You look—’ he stopped searching for words, ‘like a warrior!’
‘And so he should, bhaiyya! You have been our inspiration.’
Saahas spun around. ‘Dharaa,’ he exclaimed, his eyes widening. A band of women approached him, their leader lithe and strong, a wriggling bundle on her hip. Dharaa bent to touch his feet, the infant pushing out its arms and legs, trying to free itself from her firm clasp. ‘You both never fail to amaze me,’ Saahas declared, moving quickly to take the baby from her.
No more than six months old, the child tucked in its chin, holding itself back, all the better to look into the stranger’s eyes. ‘The confidence of a lion cub,’ Saahas chuckled, tapping a light finger on the button nose. ‘I am your uncle, young man. What name have you given him?’
The Crown of Seven Stars Page 20
