Saahas cocked his head considering her thoughtfully, ‘There are no failures, Dharaa, only lessons for the ever-hungry soul. So, think again. You shall not be blamed if you choose another duty, for the journey is yours alone.’
She drew a few steadying breaths, before replying, ‘I see it clearly now, sire, that everything that I have gone through in life was preparing me for this moment.’ She looked back at him, her gaze unflinching and resolute, ‘The purpose of my life shines before me. Tell me, sire, what is your command?’
‘I must leave with Bhuma and go into the iron hills before the fog lifts. Listen for my signal. I will blow the battle conch three times. That is when you storm the north gate.’
‘Sire, we have retained the smallest contingent here. Are you certain we will be able to push inside Aham?’
A tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘These hills are my father’s creation and he once told me, “As with all perfect things, there is a key, the key to the destruction of the entire structure.”’ His smile broadened into a grin. ‘You see, Dharaa, General Meghabhuti thought of everything. Perhaps he sensed a day would come when his son might need to mount an attack on Aham.’
Shunen checked on the threshold. Manmaani lay sprawled on the pearl throne, her skirts untidy about her, the crown of seven emeralds carelessly tossed aside. Empty bottles of madira rolled at her feet, clinking against each other. Of late, she had been spending more and more time in Nandan’s chambers, riffling through his things, dousing herself with his perfumes and drinking up his store of wines. Shunen’s mouth tightened.
‘This is quite unbecoming of you, mother. You are the queen, not a harlot.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ she snarled. ‘Have you come here to give me lessons in etiquette?’
‘No, mother. I bring you news of your renegade first born, Ashwath.’
Manmaani sat up, the pupils of her eyes dilating to cover the iris. ‘Where is he?’
‘Outside our borders. He has rustled up an army.’
‘You mean . . . are you telling me, that Ashwath is going to attack us?’ Her voice rose several notches, ending in a high-pitched shriek. ‘How can you be sure it is him?’
‘Well, who else could it be? Think, mother. It rankled him that you never favoured him to be king, so he made a dead man his idol and nursed rebellious thoughts,’ Shunen shot her a look from under his eyelids. ‘He has now returned with a ragtag bunch of soldiers to wrest the kingdom from you. It is him all right.’
‘Why didn’t the guards see his soldiers coming? What were they doing? Sleeping?’
Shunen raised an eyebrow. ‘If you hadn’t been so busy playing the goddess, you would have paid attention to their drills.’
‘Help me up,’ she grated, shooting him a scathing glance and trying to hoist herself up from the throne. ‘Get me to court. Call for an urgent meeting.’
‘No need for that. I have everything under control.’
Manmaani sank back, glaring at him. ‘How dare you? How dare you not discuss this with me first?’
‘You are getting into a lather for nothing,’ he snapped. ‘I have told the officers to send more troops to the east and south gates because Ashwath has large contingents positioned there.’
‘What about the north?’
He snorted, ‘His soldiers can’t do anything there. It’s a narrow road hemmed in by hills. Even so, reinforcements have been sent.’
Manmaani chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘This war can turn into a good diversion.’ She looked at him, a sudden gleam in her puffy eyes. ‘I want him captured, Shunen. I want Ashwath paraded in the streets of Andheri. The prince commander who went rogue. It will fire the people’s imagination and make them forget their silly miseries. I’m tired of their constant whining about the drought.’ She clapped her hands. ‘It will be just like a circus! Ashwath, the chained bear, tormented and teased. Yes, it will be a perfect end to his foolish dream.’
Weaving through the uneven terrain, Saahas headed for the low iron hills supporting the walled battlements and the gate. ‘The fog will lift soon, Bhuma, and that is the sign for all our contingents to attack simultaneously. But before that, you and I have to do something quickly. Find a certain key.’
‘A key, sire?’ Bhuma’s voice squeaked shrilly.
Squinting through the haze, Saahas pointed to the dark shape of an overhang above them. ‘It is there. I remember my father showing it to me.’
The path became slippery, loose rubble scattering underfoot, but Saahas ran sure-footed like a mountain goat, swirls of cool yellow mist shifting before him. The lamps on the gate flickered just as they reached the overhang, the light murky and dim, failing to catch the two silhouettes. Saahas lay down flat on the rock and after a moment’s hesitation, Bhuma joined him.
‘You see this crevice?’ Saahas nodded to the narrow gap between the overhang and the battlement. ‘Concealed in it is the interlock connecting the wall to this rock and just above the interlock is a tiny magnet suspended in mid-air, held in place by the magnetic fields of the iron in the hill and a magnet in that stone wall. This is the key. Once it spins out of position or is removed, the interlock loosens, breaking away—’
‘—bringing the battlement and the gate down with a crash,’ Bhuma completed, his voice full of awe.
Saahas nodded. ‘Yes, and that is when we rush in, taking the Aham soldiers by surprise. But it all depends on you Bhuma, on your light fingers. You need to pick the key very carefully so that the magnet in the wall is not jolted.’
Bhuma gulped audibly. ‘Holy Skanda, sire! What happens if it is jolted?’
‘Its vibrations will set the bell tolling in the tower, warning the soldiers at the gate. Don’t think about it. Stay focused and I’ll take care of the rest.’
Muttering fervent prayers to Skanda, Bhuma’s slim hand slipped into the crevice, his fingers cold and clammy. He withdrew it almost immediately, cursing under his breath, wiping it vigorously on his shirt. ‘I have never been this nervous before, sire.’
‘Imagine yourself a few years ago,’ Saahas told him, his voice unhurried, ‘on a job. This is exactly that. Only, this time you are stealing from Aham.’
Bhuma exhaled his breath in a rush and closed his eyes, a closed door appearing underneath his lids. He pushed it open and slipped inside quietly, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. A large hound lay fast asleep in the middle of the floor, its snores pushing its lips back to reveal sharp canines. On a chain around its neck, dangled a gold key. Bhuma leaned over and grasped the key between thumb and forefinger, lifting it off the hound without stirring the fleas in its fur.
‘I’ve got it, sire.’ He held up the magnet between his shaking fingers. Saahas put his ear to the rock, listening carefully. A soft groan reverberated up to him. ‘The interlock is loosening,’ he cried, jumping to his feet, ‘and the bell has not rung! Well done, Bhuma! Now let’s get off this hill as fast as possible.’
They ran, slipping and tumbling, the fog around them beginning to thin.
‘Bhuma,’ Saahas gestured towards the road, ‘your work is done. Make sure to travel with the provisions caravan.’
‘But, sire—’
‘Just do as I say, please. You are not a soldier.’ Clasping the servant’s hand, he grinned, his crinkling eyes warming the former’s soul, ‘We’ll meet again soon, in a city called Andheri.’
41
‘The strange fog is lifting at last,’ a soldier on the battlement remarked.
‘That’s a pity,’ another sighed. ‘It kept the heat away, and the thirst.’
‘Look there,’ shouted a third, pointing his spear at a solitary figure in the distance. ‘What is he doing, just standing there staring at us?’ They leaned out over the low parapet, waving at the figure.
‘Hey you,’ they jeered. ‘Where is your mighty army?’ But the man didn’t move. With his feet planted firmly in the dirt, he seemed to be waiting, his gaze locked on the gate.
�
��Something is wrong,’ the soldier frowned. ‘We were told to watch out for an enemy force. It can’t just be this one man.’ He started towards the steps and then halted, ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘The wall! It’s shaking.’
With a monstrous snap, like that of a gigantic axe splitting a stand of trees, the battlement tore away from the iron hills, heaving the earth. The soldiers ran for the stairs, the ground giving way beneath them. Panicking, they scrambled, causing a stampede and some jumped off the parapet, falling like bits of debris along with the gracefully crumbling stones. As the wooden gate crashed, the bell in the tower clanged loudly, but one clear sound penetrated above the din, the sound of a war conch blown three times, short and sharp.
‘The war has begun,’ shouted the horrified officer, ‘fall in line. We must defend our border.’
Leaping up on their horses, they charged through dense, impenetrable clouds of dust, coughing and wheezing, swiping their weapons at the unseen enemy. All of a sudden, the horses squealed and reared up, iron-tipped lances stabbing them in the barrel. Dusty apparitions rose up from their knees, plunging their spears again and again into man and beast.
‘Retreat,’ screamed the officer and the soldiers began to flee, fear pumping adrenalin into their legs.
‘Attack,’ a feminine voice commanded, and a flurry of arrows found their mark, piercing hearts and puncturing lungs. The soldiers of the north gate fell, drowning in their own blood, a group of women warriors vaulting across their fading sight. More foot soldiers and riders appeared, looming above them like ghosts, before thundering through the breach, chanting an old, forgotten war cry, ‘Victory to Aum! Hail Aum!’
‘Aum?’ choked the officer, blood spurting from his mouth and even as he sank into darkness, his mind continued to wonder, muttering the word in a perplexed way. Then another name surged back to him, twanging his eardrums and his body convulsed in recognition.
‘Hail King Saahasvajra! Victory to King Saahasvajra!’
‘Saahas,’ the dying man expelled the word on his last breath, and went completely still.
Saahas patted his stallion and it slowed down to a trot.
‘We are back,’ he said, leaning over its neck. ‘Not exactly like old times, eh? Too many changes boy.’ Daylight had begun to fade, the weak sun casting undulating shadows on the barren landscape. The horse shied suddenly, snorting in alarm and Saahas noted two figures emerge from behind a large boulder, one taller than the other. He gestured to the regiment to wait and slipped off his horse, his sword unsheathed.
‘Sire, you cannot go alone,’ Dharaa called out urgently. ‘I am coming with you.’
The figures approached him diffidently, the older man, built like a wrestler, bowing his head as if in supplication. Saahas frowned, ‘They are unarmed,’ he told Dharaa in a low voice.
‘They could be spies,’ she whispered back, alert and watchful.
‘Who are you?’ Saahas asked. ‘And what do you want?’ The man sank to his knees, mouth quivering, tongue unable to form words. Despite the ragged clothes, his appearance was neat, the hair pulled back in a knot, the long beard tidy. ‘I feel I should know you,’ Saahas said, his voice kind, ‘but I’m afraid . . .’
‘I am a wretched sinner,’ the man muttered huskily. ‘Ashwath is my name, son of Manmaani, brother to Shunen and the deceased Nandan.’ Saahas heard Dharaa’s sharply indrawn breath and sensed the tensing of her muscles. ‘I do not ask for anything,’ Ashwath continued, ‘not even forgiveness, for my heart is too full seeing you alive and well.’ He pressed his trembling lips together. ‘Destiny is whimsical, my lord, rewarding me with the sight of you. Do I deserve this? No, not at all and yet she shows me mercy.’ His shoulders began to shake, tears trickling down his rough cheeks.
‘Baba,’ the lad standing beside him, tugged his arm, but Ashwath shook his head.
‘No, Prem, these are tears of joy. Let them fall.’
‘Prem!’ Saahas started forward, arms stretched out, his glorious smile embracing the two of them.
‘He never lost hope,’ Ashwath murmured, lightly touching the boy’s head, ‘and it was his faith that gave me strength.’
Dharaa looked on, a bright sheen in her eyes. It was the meeting of friends, old and the unexpected, of promises made long ago and fulfilled. ‘Who would have thought,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Who would have thought to see a falcon changed into a dove.’
‘Scatter the caltrops quickly,’ commanded an officer. ‘We did, sire,’ bawled the soldiers, watching in fascinated horror as the east gate splintered. ‘But they have vanished, and now their bloody elephants are bludgeoning us.’
‘How could that have happened, idiot?’
‘It was the fog, sire. The enemy must have removed the caltrops under its cover.’
‘And were you sleeping? Line up the flame throwers, the stone catapults, the crossbows . . . use everything we’ve got. Just stop them!’
The Aham army stared in dismay. Like soggy sheets of parchment coming apart, their defence had turned to shambles. Just a few hours ago, they had been laughing and jeering at the large, squat elephants outside their border, their confidence bolstered by the reinforcements of soldiers and the dagger-sharp caltrops scattered outside the gate.
‘That will stop them beasts,’ they had declared with satisfaction, ‘cut their feet right and proper.’
But as soon as the mysterious fog had cleared, the enemy elephants had charged, unimpeded, the archers seated above them, taking flawless aim. The Aham elephants had been no match for the larger, more aggressive competitors from Purvichi, quickly overpowered by the latter, and wrestled to the ground.
With iron blades tied to their tusks, the enemy elephants cut through the Aham defence, battering the walls relentlessly, their metal armour shrugging off the shower of fire balls from the battlement. The first crack in the ramparts soon appeared, widening quickly into a breach and a horseman sprang through it, leading the way for others.
‘Do you see him?’ an Aham officer’s shaking finger followed the horseman. ‘The one on that bay horse with the hooked nose? I swear it is him, Tota, Saahas’s aide-de-camp.’
Hundreds of Purvichi fighters swarmed through the broken gate, agile as cats, springing on the thousands of surprised Aham soldiers, their assault brutal and quick.
‘Hail King Saahasvajra!’ roared the attackers. ‘Victory to Aum!’ The cry resounded up to the sky, descending on the south gate, searing every standing soldier and officer of Aham.
‘Saahas,’ they gasped, memories stirring within their breasts, ‘Aum! What army is this? Who are these men?’
‘We are one of you,’ answered the warriors racing through the melee, slicing, thrusting, stabbing, the blood flying around them in a red, red haze. ‘You drove us away, remember? Now we are back, with limbs of steel and minds hewn from the thunderbolt. We will not stop until Aham is routed. We are the Saahas brigade.’
‘Saahas brigade! They have returned, our officers have returned.’ The whispers scorched one contingent after another, the soldiers looking to each other, a strange emotion sparking their eyes.
‘They are traitors,’ screamed the commanding officers, ‘and if you dare to betray Aham, you will turn traitors too. Fear the wrath of the Mother Goddess. She’ll never forgive you.’
But some of them, impelled by they knew not what, broke away from their regiments, a little hesitantly at first and then more quickly, running after the brigade.
‘To Andheri,’ they heard the cry.
‘To Andheri,’ they chorused, their numbers swelling day by day.
‘When I look at the brigade, I feel I’ve been living a lie,’ a soldier confessed to others, walking taller, his steps widening into strides.
‘Yes, we signed up to be like them,’ they agreed, their eyes shining like those of a newborn.
‘Then let nothing stand in our way. Let us become like them now.’ They raised their blades, saluting their ne
w officers, quickly falling into position, their black and gold uniforms blending with the Purvichi red.
‘King Saahasvajra lives,’ the brigade declared. ‘Vasuket anointed him his successor, giving him his signet ring. Saahas is the rightful heir to the throne of Aum.’
‘Aum,’ the soldiers chanted, chins hardening with purpose.
‘Aham,’ screamed their former mates, charging at them and clashing swords.
‘Stay strong,’ commanded the brigade. ‘We will create history together or go out in a blaze of glory.’
42
‘Aham has been breached, Aham has been breached, Your Majesty,’ an officer from the north gate swayed on his feet, his bloodshot eyes wild and crazed.
‘Did you see him? My brother? Did he lead the charge?’ Shunen’s nostrils flared, his lips drawing back from his teeth.
A tremor shook the officer. ‘No, but I saw him, Your Majesty.’
‘Who?’ Manmaani leaned forward.
‘Saahas.’
‘You mean you saw a ghost? Is that what you came to tell us?’
‘No, no, Your Majesty. I swear on the Mother Goddess, he is real, as much flesh and blood as you and I. He . . . he rode past me on his steed, the white mane frothing like seafoam, the way it always did. And he fought like a lion defending his jungle, he—’
‘But Saahas without his Shakti is not Saahas,’ Shunen cut in triumphantly. ‘You are hallucinating, officer.’
‘I am willing to swear on the Mother Goddess, Your Highness,’ the man wrung his hands, ‘he is less than a week away from Andheri. The kingdom is on the boil. Our military is split down the middle. They have chosen their sides and are fighting each other. Shouts of “Hail King Saahasvajra, hail Aum” are drowning out cries for Aham. Soon all of Andheri will ring with them.’
‘Enough,’ Shunen thundered. ‘You have been drinking at your post. Get out before I have you hanged.’
The Crown of Seven Stars Page 22
