Ashish hugged himself, trying to suppress his glee from spilling into his face and shot a covert glance at Manmaani and Shunen. They looked shrunken, their eyes standing out startlingly against their chalky complexions.
‘How is this possible?’ Manmaani barely moved her lips, her voice a mere whisper.
‘It cannot be him,’ Shunen snapped. ‘Must I remind you that I have seen his corpse?’
‘Perhaps you made a terrible mistake,’ she said. ‘Perhaps his sword misled you as he wanted it to, and you thought the corpse to be him.’
They stared at each other in silent horror.
A spasm distorted her face violently. ‘A lion defending his jungle,’ she hissed. ‘Aham is mine and no one can take it from me.’
‘This is all Ashwath’s doing,’ Shunen grated. ‘He has more brains than I gave him credit for, but don’t worry, mother, our soldiers will beat him back. Andheri will be defended.’
‘And how do you propose that will happen? Do you have a plan?’ Sunk in the innumerable folds of flesh, her small eyes glittered dangerously. ‘No, I thought not. Ashish,’ she looked towards the steward suddenly, ‘inform the officers to send their archers to the main square. The goddess will arm them with arrows of death.’
The sound of the raging battle filled the countryside, village after village wearing a deserted look. People trembled inside their homes, holding their children to their breasts as hooves thundered past their doors. But when shouts of ‘Aum’ pierced their walls, they looked at each other, as if awakening from a long sleep and ventured out, timorous, meek. Time smiled, slowing down, allowing them to look into the face of a warrior sweeping past them.
He came around a corner, at the head of a large force, one hand gripping the reins of his horse, the other holding his sword. A brightness shone from his face, like the pure whiteness of the moon, stilling their fears, calming their nerves. And when he glanced at them, it was as if their flood of sorrows seeped out of them into the grey earth.
‘Who is he? He seems like one of us, but only better,’ they marvelled, their astounded gaze following the rainbow flame behind him. Soon, another face caught their attention.
‘That is Prince Ashwath,’ a peasant cried, ‘and look, women! There are women soldiers in his army.’
Aranya followed after the Vijaya Dal, nosing her way under the fighting armies, cracking open the baked earth, the blood of the fallen soldiers soaking through. A fragrance, hitherto trapped beneath, released into the air, surprising the flocks of drongos and they took to the skies, circling overhead in fright. And as the blood fell thick and fast like rain, the fragrance grew, billowing up into the sky, denting the implacable murkiness, and making a small rent.
‘Blue,’ the people exclaimed breathlessly, faces upturned towards the sliver. It widened slowly, pouring down clean golden sunlight. But all too soon the sunshine vanished, swallowed in a swirling, dark mass.
‘Rainclouds,’ they laughed, and eyes, long emptied of tears, began to well up. ‘The first glimpse of hope in so many years.’
But the clouds held on to the moisture, watching the army below, following its progress from one dusty mile to the next, to the temple with the gold spire. Saahas called for a halt.
‘Wait for me here,’ he said, snatching up the torch with the rainbow flame. Then tossing Agraj’s khanda to Dharaa, he smiled, ‘This belongs to you now.’
He ran into the large, empty compound and raced up the steps. Standing below the spire, he whispered to the flame, ‘Now, Rrum, hear me well. Just as you are a part of me, there is another, locked up in a cage. Go find her and bring her to me.’
He closed his eyes, Ashwath’s directions in his ears, ‘Andheri, main square, glass case.’
A bit of Rrum fluttered to the top of the spire, a colourful little pennant, looking towards the city. Then it leaped into the muddy sky. It sailed into Andheri, over the heads of people and if they saw it, they mistook it for a stray butterfly that had wandered unthinkingly into their dismal city. But when a shattering sound split the air, they ran towards the main square. The glass case had exploded, a thousand dirty shards on the ground.
‘The sword,’ they yelled, ‘the sword is gone.’
‘Who could have taken it?’
‘Saahas’s ghost!’
‘Or Saahas himself?’
‘Go on,’ hustled the officers, urging the archers. ‘Dip your arrows in the pot as fast as possible and get back into position quickly. Fire away at the enemy. Aim for the one whose sword shines like the sun.’
‘Yes, finish Saahas,’ Manmaani exhorted. ‘This mahavish will make you invincible against him. It is a gift from the Mother Goddess herself. On no account must Andheri fall. Aham is safe, if Andheri is safe.’
‘Mother,’ Shunen muttered in her ear, ‘are you sure it will work?’
Of no particular smell, the viscous, milky liquid in the pot appeared harmless, a gummy substance, like the sap of the rubber tree. Manmaani rolled her eyes, holding up an empty pouch. ‘I have thrown in every single one of the carefully collected poisons to make this mahavish.’ She ticked them off on her fingers, recounting them one by one, ‘The sting of wasps, scorpions and the venoms of the most dangerous snakes. Bukkal gave me this lethal recipe. Ghost or not, this will stop Saahas.’
But Shunen looked unconvinced. ‘There remains the woodland. Ashwath is bound to use it to enter Andheri. I’m going to have it set on fire. Dry as kindling wood, it will blaze in no time.’ He hastened to call the guards, his hawk eyes missing a sudden move by his side, of a royal steward stepping back into the crowd.
Fighting down panic, Ashish hurried to the palace, to the high wall at the back. It took a while before his trembling fingers located the loose bricks. ‘Please, God, let me warn His Highness,’ he prayed, jumping through the hole in the wall, ‘let the guards not see me.’
It seemed to him that his prayer was heard, for the patch of open, barren space that had once been a meadow, was deserted. He ran through it, looking over his shoulder frequently, many a time mistaking his heartbeats for the hard beat of hooves.
A painful stitch in his side made him stop to catch his breath but the acrid smell of smoke assailed his nostrils and he quickly looked around. The path he had taken had turned into a fiery trail, the burning trees raining down black ash. He didn’t stop running then, emerging on the main highway, his lungs on fire, his heart about to burst. Soldiers in black and gold uniforms rode urgently towards him, their faces tight, eyes feverish. A big horse reared up before him and he cowered, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for the fatal blow.
‘Ashish! Is that you?’ Strong hands lifted him up, a voice from the past reassuring him. ‘It is all right, you are safe.’
‘Your Highness,’ he gasped, staring at Ashwath, ‘I heard you are with my lord Saahas.’
‘As are these soldiers that you see on this road. When they recognized me, they switched sides,’ Ashwath laughed. ‘I’m taking them to Andheri, through the woodland.’
‘You can’t take that route anymore. It has been set on fire,’ he babbled, ‘and the archers at the gate, they’re using arrows dipped in mahavish. The queen prepared it with all the poisons in her store.’
‘Our soldiers must be warned,’ Ashwath extended a hand towards him. ‘Come with me. This Ugr horse can easily take our weight.’
Cannily swiping Shakti from left to right, Saahas warded off the arrows from above. No sooner did they touch his fiery sword than they burst into flames.
‘There is something the matter with these arrows,’ Tota told him, ducking under his shield. ‘If it’s poison, I haven’t seen anything like it before.’
‘Riju, Vijaya Dal,’ Dharaa yelled, slicing her sword under a man’s chin, ‘follow me. We can use the elephants to catapult up the walls into Andheri.’ As soon as the girls began scaling the battlements, the Aham archers turned on them, targeting them with their arrows. One by one they started to fall, twitching and foaming at the mouth.<
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‘Dharaa, get out of the way,’ Riju shouted. ‘They’re using something powerful on the arrowheads.’ But his voice did not reach her, intent as she was in swinging herself across the top of the rampart, her sword a whirling blur.
‘Dharaa,’ Riju screamed again, desperately scrambling after her, his eye on one figure to her left. With his arrow nocked, the archer waited for the right moment, the right angle to take aim at the woman. It came and his bowstring twanged loudly. Dharaa turned watching the arrow come at her.
‘Not this time,’ Riju swung hard, shielding her with his body, hurling his sword at the archer, even as the milky-white arrowhead pierced his chest. Dharaa threw down her sword, leaping back to the ground.
‘Don’t you die on me,’ she sobbed, cushioning Riju’s head on her lap. But his eyes had already glazed over, his breath becoming steadily shallow. She looked around desperately, her vision blurred with tears.
‘Move them to safety,’ she heard Saahas’s urgent cry. Somebody lifted her up and she struggled but the arms held her firm.
‘Riju,’ she pleaded. ‘I want to stay with him.’
‘We have him, little sister.’
‘Tota, I can’t feel his pulse, his breath—’
‘Hush, hush. Let me carry you. Hush.’
Strange, soft murmurings, the tread of feet so careful as if anything louder might kill her. A cool touch of water on her lips. ‘Drink.’ Just one word, so sweetly tender that she shuddered, fresh sobs racking her.
‘Prem, oh Prem, my Riju.’ She felt his cheek rest against hers, his arms encircle her in a tight hug.
‘Poisons of many venomous creatures,’ she heard a deep voice and started, snapping out of the trance, her eyes finding Ashwath, seeing the anguish in his face. ‘My family is the cause of all your suffering.’
‘No, Aham is.’ It was Saahas’s voice and her head jerked towards him.
‘Where is he, my Riju? Take me to him.’
‘Dharaa please,’ her girls beseeched, tears streaming down their cheeks.
‘Let her go,’ she heard Saahas say, his hand pulling her up to her feet. ‘She has the right to see him.’
He lay wrapped in the white shroud of the dead, a still, unmoving body, his face drained of all colour. Dharaa stumbled.
‘Bhaiyya,’ she clutched Saahas, pitiful and scared.
‘Look at him, Dharaa, look upon his face. What do you see?’
Riju, her Riju, lay as if asleep. She fell to her knees, cradling his chin, his face in her hands. ‘Wake up,’ she whispered, ‘come on, wake up. We have a war to fight.’ She shook him hard, her voice rising in a scream, ‘It isn’t over yet. How dare you give up!’
‘What do you see, Dharaa?’ Saahas’s voice, calm and strong cut through to her.
‘I don’t understand,’ she murmured disjointedly.
‘Do you see a husband or a warrior?’
‘A warrior,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘Yes, a warrior.’ She drew long breaths, and slowly her breast calmed, rising and falling in a constant, steady rhythm. ‘Fight, I must continue to fight,’ she said at last, turning to face the group, her gaze strong. ‘Let’s finish this battle.’
‘Fire, fire!’ Panicked screams resounded in the palace. Flames from Yajatha’s woodland had leapt up the walls and bounded through the royal backyard, feeding on the wooden doors and silk drapes. Glass shattered and black smoke spewed into the rooms, quickly engulfing the interiors.
‘Run, run for your life!’
‘My pearl throne,’ Manmaani screamed, wild-eyed, clutching the pagdi to her breast.
‘No, Your Majesty, we must leave,’ the palace guards pushed her towards the front door.
‘Where is Shunen?’ she strained to look over her shoulder. ‘Where is he?’
Shunen stumbled up the steps to the throne, lurching into it. He caressed it, not with gentle fingers, but violently, as if he would scratch the pearls out of the oyster seat. Urgent footsteps rang across the marble floor.
‘Your Highness, please, we must go at once.’
He swivelled around, staring at the guards, at the wisps of black smoke creeping in from under the door.
‘Carry the throne out,’ he ordered. The guards hesitated and then shook their heads.
‘We cannot. It is too heavy.’
‘I said, carry it out,’ he yelled, thumping his fists on the arms of the throne.
A window splintered and a gigantic flame shot inside. Shunen sprang to his feet, hurrying down the steps. At the door, he threw one last backward glance. Orange flames consumed the golden pearl throne, soaring to the high ceiling, shattering the swinging chandeliers. Burning embers fell on the silk carpets and raced towards him. He ran then, all the way to the main square, pushing his way through the crowd, trampling over those who fell.
‘Saahas has returned,’ he heard Manmaani’s ringing voice and hurried towards the knot of people. Standing atop a wooden box, the Queen of Aham addressed the growing throng, the pagdi askew on her head. Even so, her dishevelled appearance failed to diminish her magnetic presence, the power of her speech. ‘He is no ghost, no ghoul, but a man of flesh and blood, a clever man who has used his oily tongue to turn my son, Ashwath, against me, our soldiers against me, against Aham. But . . .’ she shook her finger, ‘he is no match for the goddess. Her indomitable power will crush him the moment he enters Andheri and he will burst into flames like his statue and turn to ash.’
Manmaani paused. Lightning flashed overhead followed by a low rumble. And then it thundered, both in the sky and on the earth, the thud of hooves matching the advancing clouds above.
‘Hail King Saahasvajra! Victory to Aum!’ The rallying cry swept through the square, and the people hastened to step aside.
‘Saahas! Look, it is Saahas,’ they cried out, ‘and Prince Ashwath! They have brought rainclouds with them.’ The white stallion charged into the main square, halting before Manmaani.
Saahas looked at her, his gaze shifting to Shunen, seeing the fear and hate in their faces.
‘Another life beckons you,’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘A life in Aum. Won’t you choose it?’
Manmaani took a step forward, ‘Aum is dead,’ she spat. ‘It doesn’t exist anymore.’
‘Then let the people decide,’ and turning his horse around, he stood up in the stirrups, raising his glowing blade high above his head, ‘Truth at any cost. Truth is Aum. Do you want this truth? Are you willing to sacrifice your all for it?’
‘Yes,’ answered the people, their shout reverberating through Andheri.
‘Liar, murderer,’ Manmaani and Shunen rushed towards him, holding a large pot between them, their faces distorted, malevolent.
‘Dharaa,’ Saahas shouted, leaping off his horse, ‘the moment has come to slay Aham.’
The iron pot came flying towards him and Ashwath leapt before it, catching it on his chest. White liquid spilled out, searing his flesh, and at the same time, two khandas flashed, their aim impeccable. Manmaani and Shunen choked, the swords burying deep into their throats, pinioning them to the ground.
Shakti hissed, a lightning bolt arcing out from her blade, striking the black clouds, the flash of blue blinding all of Aham. The clouds submitted and a thunderclap tore them apart, releasing all the pent-up water. It came in torrents, keen to wash off the grime of seven years, and the people stood silent, prayerful, soaking in the wetness, the rain sweetening their salty tears.
‘Why is it so dark, mother? I can’t see anything, neither you nor myself.’
‘Welcome,’ wheezed a familiar voice. ‘Welcome, Nandan. Is your dear mother here as well?’
‘Chakrawaru!’ Three voices exclaimed at once.
‘Bhabhiji and Shunen, just like old times,’ he said. ‘Welcome, welcome.’
‘Why can’t we see you? And where are we?’
‘We’re phantoms, doomed to roam blind and invisible, equal at last in all respects. But where is Ashwath? I didn’t hear him.’
&nbs
p; No one answered.
‘So, he took the chance, unlike us,’ he sighed, ‘and saved himself.’
43
It is the summer of new beginnings, of renewals of a bright, green blanket covering the earth
It is the summer born anew, of ripe mulberries and blue skies filled with singing birds
It is the summer on a song, of sunbeams dancing in streams and rivers
It is the summer of waking up with a smile the laughter of children a joy to the ears
It is the summer of welcoming nights sitting under the stars and spinning fine tales
And, it is the summer of love, of kisses stolen under the shade
Saahas looked up, ‘You write good verse, lad,’ he said to Prem, his gaze resting on the earnest face. He felt a pang in his heart, for Prem had mourned Ashwath as he had his father, building a monument in the main square and dedicating it to all those who fell in the battle for Aum.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us exercise our horses. They are beginning to get lazy.’
The summer days rolled lazily by and Saahas persuaded Dharaa to put aside her grief, to meet the dazed citizens and offer them tender succour as only she could, for she understood loss and renewal differently, as only a woman, a mother, a warrior could.
Striding through fields, a sheaf of corn tucked in his belt, Saahas laughed and smoked with the farmers, racing Tota’s little daughter in the meadows. He watched over little Saahas, tickling him under the chin until the child gurgled and when Lushai and Bhuma bickered, he deliberately sang out of tune, for it was the one thing that united them, both clapping their hands over their ears, begging him to stop.
When Amsha brought down the invisible wall, he cheered the loudest and helped Ashish draw up plans for the new palace to rise from its charred remains.
And when summer glided into burnished autumn, he took Dharaa to the temple, whistling merrily through its vacant shrine. ‘We should tear it down, sire,’ she remarked.
The Crown of Seven Stars Page 23
