The Guardians of the Halahala (28 page)

The king appeared mollified at the mention of the contribution from Avanti. “That will definitely be of help to us,” he admitted. Pausing for a moment, he asked, “Now that Vikramaditya has decided to take on the might of the devas and the asuras, what does he want from his allies?”

Kalidasa abruptly got up from his seat opposite Harihara. Rising to his full height, he towered over the old king. “The samrat wants nothing, your honor,” he said, interpreting the import of Harihara's question correctly. “I came as an escort for the cart downstairs, and to give you the news of the Halahala. My work is done. I would now like to take your leave.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the giant bowed and left the chamber.

***

The Magadhan army was amassed on a broad, open plain on the western bank of the river Asya. Across the river lay another flat, treeless plain, receding into a ridge of gently sloping hills, beyond which lay the rich iron mines of Vanga and the mining town of Dandakabhukti.

As the shadows lengthened around them, the soldiers of Magadha cast their weapons and shields aside and eased their tired limbs by stretching themselves on the river bank. Quite a few of the men were already in the knee-deep water, washing away the dust and fatigue accumulated over the course of the long march. Behind them, tents were being pitched for the night, while large copper cauldrons were already perched on big wood fires.

Despite the vastness of the army spread on the river bank, the landscape was dominated by the twelve
mahashilakantakas
that towered over the tents. Made of hard ironwood, the lumbering catapults were drawn by teams of four elephants each, and were capable of hurling massive boulders over great distances. It was a different matter that the catapults were of little practical use in this particular campaign – Vanga had no formidable forts that needed siege weapons to breach. Yet, General Daipayana had insisted on bringing them along for effect; he knew the sight of the
mahashilakantakas
was often enough to instill fear and break the back of resistance.

“We shall cross the Asya and begin our eastward march at midnight tonight,” Daipayana announced, tapping his index finger on an embroidered map that lay spread out on a small table. He was inside a large pavilion, surrounded by half a dozen commanders and captains of the Magadhan army. To his left stood Kapila, who had ridden down from Girivraja to join the general in their opening assault on Vanga.

“My plan is to cover half the distance to Dandakabhukti before the hot sun is up tomorrow,” Daipayana continued. “And by reaching the base of those hills under cover of darkness, I also want to surprise whatever scouts and soldiers Vanga has stationed in the hills.”

“Vanga's scouts will be shocked to see the Magadhan army at their doorstep at daybreak,” leered Kapila, stroking his thick moustache as he studied the map.

“Indeed, your lordship,” the general agreed. Turning back to one of the captains, he began issuing orders. “Your job is to make sure there are enough fires lit along the river bank, and that there's someone here all night to tend to the fires. And of course, there'll be no dismantling of the tents. To anyone watching us, it must seem as if the army is still very much on
this
bank and has no intention of moving before dawn. Clear?”

Seeing the captain nod, Daipayana addressed two senior commanders. “You will divide the army into four groups and oversee the river crossing. Remember the bank will be lit with fires, so the crossing will have to happen further upstream and downstream, away from the firelight. Identify the crossing points beforehand – everything has to happen swiftly. I want to be in those hills at sunrise.”

“How do we go about the attack if we meet resistance in the hills, general?” one commander asked.

“I'm coming to that,” Daipayana replied. “Whatever happens, under no circumstances is the cavalry to engage in any skirmishes with Vanga's soldiers. That should be left to the infantry and archers. The cavalry's task is simple – once it is over the hills, it has to ride hard, fast and straight to Dandakabhukti and take control of the town's defenses. Next, it should secure all the mines and block all exit points toward the rest of Vanga. Nothing should be able to enter or leave the mines and the town without our consent.”

“What about the townsfolk of Dandakabhukti?”

“Who cares, as long as they obey orders and stay out of the way. But if anyone puts up resistance, show no mercy. We aren't here to take prisoners. We're here to take Vanga.”

***

Because he wasn't being able to make up his mind about anything, Amara Simha had resorted to curses and moody contemplation as he downed goblet after goblet of firewater.

His problems had started early in the day when he awoke with a sore throat, and since then things had gone progressively downhill. First, he and Commander Dattaka had made no headway in their investigation into the Huna scout's death, despite spending the entire morning interviewing the six guards who'd been on duty that night. No one appeared to have seen a king cobra anywhere near the command center, and all six guards categorically denied the possibility of any suspicious visitor to the scout's cell. Yet the mystery of the killer snake persisted, with no satisfactory explanation to the reptile's entry into and exit from the cell undetected.

Amara Simha was almost certain some of the guards weren't being entirely honest, but frustrating as it was, he knew he couldn't pursue the matter more forcefully without some form of evidence at his disposal.

Then, a little after noon, his mood took a turn for the worse when news of the pishacha and Ashvin attacks came in from Ujjayini. The reports of death and devastation had rattled everyone, and all afternoon soldiers were seen huddled in conversation. While there was obvious alarm in the soldiers' faces – and concern about the fate of loved ones in the capital - Amara Simha was also heartened by the awe and pride he saw when the men discussed the samrat and the manner in which the victories had been secured.

Strangely enough, the tidings from Ujjayini had left Amara Simha feeling both glad and depressed. Although he was relieved that the attacks had been repelled, the fact that he had had no role in either battle rankled. He had left Ujjayini with the prospect of action in the frontier, but all he'd done so far was behead a corpse and bully a scout. His fellow councilors, meanwhile, had been awarded with not one, but two opportunities to test the strength of their swords. And the Hunas, for whom he had come all this way, weren't even close to the border...

“It's just so unfair,” Amara Simha grumbled to himself as he emptied the goblet he was holding and looked around for the pitcher for a refill.

“Pardon me, your honor?”

The councilor turned to see Dattaka standing in the doorway. He shook his head.

“Nothing. Care to join me?” As the commander took a seat across the table, Amara Simha waved the pitcher around invitingly. “Call for an empty goblet.”

Dattaka looked out the window. The sky was fading to deep purple, but there was still enough light to tell the town of Sristhali from the shadows of the surrounding hills.

“In a little while, your honor,” he said, deciding it wasn't late enough to warrant a drink.

Amara Simha shrugged and splashed a generous helping into his goblet.

“Something's troubling the councilor?”

“It's this king cobra thing,” answered Amara Simha unhappily. “I can't decide whether I should spend more time here investigating it, or return to Udaypuri. It's been a while since I left the garrison in charge of Commander Atulyateja, and there's a lot of work to be done along the frontier. Yet, something happened here the other night, and I think it's important to find out who was behind it.”

“If it helps, I could continue investigating the matter for you,” Dattaka offered. “If I uncover something, I will let you know immediately.”

“Yes, perhaps you can,” said Amara Simha, taking another big gulp from the goblet. But the cheer didn't return.

The two men sat quietly for a while before the commander noticed a small pile of palm leaves and a stylus lying by Amara Simha's elbow. He could see the leaves were filled with Sanskrit words, arranged in tables in descending order.

“If I may ask, what are you working on, your honor?” For a moment the burly councilor looked nonplused. Then, as he understood Dattaka, he glanced down at the palm leaves. “I'm creating a vocabulary of Sanskrit word roots,” he explained. “It's a bit of grammar and a bit of poetry. I've been at it for the last two years.”

“Not many men who wear the sword can do that.” The commander's voice was filled with wonder. “You must be very learned.”

“This is nothing – you must see what Councilor Kalidasa writes. But yes, I have been fortunate to learn from masters like the late Srigupta.”

“You studied under Guru Srigupta of Bhojapuri?”

Amara Simha nodded, detecting a hint of excitement in Dattaka's voice. “You know of Guru Srigupta?”

“He was a distant uncle of mine... though I admit I won't be able to draw the family tree to prove it,” the commander smiled. “I have met him a couple of times as a small boy, when my mother took me to his house in Bhojapuri. I don't remember him too well – he was old and had a long white beard... But he had a daughter I won't easily forget. She was one of the nicest, kindest people I have ever met. Always smiling, full of laughter and sweets for us kids.”

“Yes, she was one of the nicest people I have ever met.” Amara Simha repeated. His voice had acquired a melancholy that Dattaka failed to notice.

“Of course, you studied under my uncle, so you would have known her too. Do you remember her name?”

“Swaha,” the councilor looked down at his goblet. “It's hard to forget the name of someone you dearly loved and got married to.”

“You're married to her? Oh, that makes us relatives!” Dattaka's eyes lit up, but then he paused. “Wait... why do you say someone you dearly
loved,
your honor?”

“Swaha died two years after our marriage, during childbirth. She and the baby, both.”

The commander dropped his eyes. The silence of the evening filled the room as the two men sat opposite one another, one not knowing what to say, the other left with nothing to say.

At last, Amara Simha raised the goblet to his lips and drained its contents. Rising to his feet, he began gathering the palm leaves together. “I have decided to return to Udaypuri tomorrow morning,” he said. “I will be taking the Huna scout with me. When Ghatakarpara returns from Dvarka, ask him to come to Udaypuri.”

“And the investigation?”

“I believe I can trust a relation by marriage to do what's needed to uncover the truth,” the councilor replied with a small smile.

***

Nearly half the night had passed by the time Captain Angamitra and four of his
samsaptakas
reached the city of Kausambi and made their way to the palace of King Chandravardhan. Kalidasa had entrusted his deputy with the task of delivering the news of the twin attacks on Avanti to Chandravardhan, and the young captain had diligently followed orders, resting sparingly through the long journey to the court of Vatsa.

The
samsaptakas
had been stopped at the gates of Kausambi, but once they proved their bona fides – and established the urgency of their mission – they were formally escorted to the palace, large but otherwise shapeless in the dark of the night. Dismounting from his horse, Angamitra divined that they were close to the Yamuna by the splashing of water against a stone embankment.

The soldiers from Avanti were shown into a large, almost empty room and told to wait for a palace official to attend to them. For nearly ten minutes, they were left to themselves, before they heard footsteps echoing down a corridor that gave into the room. Pushing aside the rich brocade curtain that hung over the doorway to the corridor, a thin elderly man entered the room.

“Captain Angamitra?” the man inquired, searching the faces in front of him.

The captain stepped forward and the man turned in his direction. However, on account of his pronounced squint, the man's eyes appeared to settle on the
samsaptaka
standing to Angamitra's right.

“Greetings,” the man said and took a step in the direction of the captain, continuing to look at the other
samsaptaka.
“I am Councilor Yashobhavi, minister to King Chandravardhan. I take it that you have a message for the king from Samrat Vikramaditya?”

“Indeed, councilor,” replied Angamitra. “We apologize for turning up at the palace at such a late hour, but the message is of considerable importance. We would like to deliver the message to King Chandravardhan right away, if that is possible.”

“I'm afraid that would not be possible, captain,” Yashobhavi said solemnly.

“Well...” Angamitra was a little taken aback. “Maybe we can deliver it to him in the morning then?” He found the minister's squint quite disconcerting.

“Even that wouldn't be possible.”

“The king isn't in the palace?”

“Oh, he is,” replied Yashobhavi. “But the problem is that earlier in the day, our king suffered a severe paralytic stroke. He isn't responding well at all, and the royal physicians say his condition is very critical.”

The
samsaptakas
looked at one another. They hadn't planned for such an eventuality, and it was plain they had no idea of what to do next.

“What I can do is have the attendants show you to your rooms,” Yashobhavi came to their rescue. “Rest for the night, for you must be tired. Meanwhile, Prince Shashivardhan is expected to reach the palace by dawn tomorrow. Perhaps you can meet him in the morning and give him Samrat Vikramaditya's message.”

Healer

S
tunned disbelief had taken permanent hold of Pallavan's face as he listened to Vetala Bhatta and Vararuchi recount the chain of events that had led to the Ashvin and pishacha attacks on Avanti. The diplomat's eyes strayed regularly to the windows of the council chamber, as if seeking validation for what he was being told, but Pallavan had seen enough of the battered city in his ride to the palace to know that it was the truth.

When the Acharya concluded his narrative, Pallavan sat in silence, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as he stared at the intricate patterns of the sun-crest embossed on the council table.

“We can show you the dagger, if you wish to see it for yourself,” Vikramaditya's solemn voice dispelled the quietness.

The diplomat raised his head and considered the king. He then shook his head hurriedly. “No samrat, I have no reason to disbelieve all of you. Pardon me if I gave you that impression – I'd never doubt your word. It's just that all this is... upsetting...” Pallavan's voice trailed away as the enormity of the situation reasserted itself in his mind.

“The suddenness of it all must be a shock to you,” the king nodded gently. “But we had no intention of keeping anyone in the dark about all this, believe us. Just yesterday, we dispatched an emissary to King Bhoomipala's court with the news. But you would have left Sravasti even earlier, so there is no way you would have known of any of this.”

“Indeed not, your honor. No...” Pallavan shook his head in bafflement.

Yet, when he addressed Vikramaditya again, the diplomat's tone had undergone a subtle change. Filled with awe, it was now almost deeply reverential. “Samrat, you are blessed. You saw the Omniscient One, which is rare for most humans. You have been chosen to fulfill a duty by the Omniscient One, which is rarer still. I consider it an honor to have even lived in your lifetime, and it is my king's immense good fortune to have you as a trusted friend.”

“I'm glad and honored that Kosala sees a friend in Avanti,” the samrat inclined his head gracefully. He had known Pallavan long enough to tell that the diplomat enjoyed the complete trust of Bhoomipala, and that Pallavan would never commit to something unless he was convinced that he would have Bhoomipala's full backing.

“Do let us know if Kosala can be of any assistance to you, samrat. It would be our privilege to help you honor your promise to the Omniscient One in whatever small way possible.”

“I shall not hesitate to seek Kosala's help, should the need ever arise,” Vikramaditya assured the guest with a smile. “But enough of our troubles... Do tell us, what do we owe this unexpected visit of yours to?”

Pallavan blinked as he remembered the errand that had brought him to Ujjayini. “I've come here bearing disturbing news – though I admit after what I've seen and heard this morning, I doubt your capacity to be disturbed any further,” he admitted.

“And this news is...?” the king prodded.

Swiftly and without digression, Pallavan gave Vikramaditya and his council an account of his visit to Girivraja, his encounter with the musician, their flight across the border of Magadha, and the musician's revelation of King Siddhasena's cold-blooded murder at the hands of Shoorasena.

“King Bhoomipala is right,” Vikramaditya observed solemnly, after having heard the diplomat out. “It is plain that Shoorasena is bent on invading Vanga, but the old king must have been a deterrent. By removing him, Shoorasena has not only cleared his path of all obstacles, he has achieved his goal of mobilizing public opinion within Magadha against the republic and the Kikatas.”

“My king thinks Shoorasena deserves to be punished for what he has done,” said Pallavan, appraising the faces around the table closely. His tone indicated that he had decided to throw the dice on the table. “King Siddhasena was a good friend of my king, and he was also dearly liked by the samrat's late father. My king believes Siddhasena's death shouldn't go unavenged.”

Vikramaditya leaned his elbows on the council table and fixed a keen gaze on the diplomat. “Would you be kind enough to tell us exactly what King Bhoomipala is proposing?”

“My king proposes initiating military action against Shoorasena and the royal council of Magadha. We must build a consensus with the kingdoms of Vatsa, Matsya, Heheya and the Anartas to bring Shoorasena to justice.”

Vararuchi and Kalidasa nodded vigorously in agreement, but the samrat looked circumspect. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully. “I agree we cannot allow Shoorasena to get away with this horrific murder, more so when he uses it as a pretext to orchestrate genocide against the Kikatas and invade a harmless neighbor like Vanga. Yet, we mustn't act rashly, for the kingdom of Magadha is still an ally of ours.”

“Hasn't Shoorasena virtually annulled all alliances with us by refusing to send his troops for the defense of Sindhuvarta?” Vararuchi protested.

“True. But the subjects of Magadha, who were until recently ruled by the benevolent King Siddhasena, are still our allies. We can't have the blood of Magadha's innocents on our hands. We owe that much to Siddhasena.”

“From what I could tell, there are hardly any innocents left in Magadha,” Pallavan observed bitterly, remembering the sights of plunder in Girivraja.

“You're right,” Vikramaditya conceded. “At this moment, the misguided subjects of Magadha are probably
supportive
of Shoorasena and the royal council. This makes it even more imperative for us to avoid rushing headlong into a military confrontation. Shoorasena will cleverly manipulate his people into believing their kingdom is being threatened solely because he refused to divert Magadhan soldiers to defend Sindhuvarta. He could go even so far as to show us siding with the Kikatas and Vanga. Then, for all practical purposes,
we
would become the aggressors in the eyes of Magadha's subjects, and he the hapless victim. We must deny Shoorasena the opportunity to gain more support from his people.”

The uncomfortable silence that briefly claimed the council chamber was broken by Kalidasa. “If open hostilities are not an option, we could send a handful of
samsaptakas
to Girivraja to secretly assassinate Shoorasena,” he offered. “No one would be the wiser for it.”

The samrat weighed the proposal carefully before shaking his head. “The situation here is quite different from the one in Heheya, when Kulabheda engineered his coup against King Harihara. Kulabheda had very little support in Heheya, whereas Shoorasena appears to have the full backing of the royal council – and his people. If Shoorasena were to be assassinated, he would easily end up becoming a martyr in the minds of Magadha's subjects. And by blaming his death on the Kikatas, the royal council can always exploit the people's hatred toward the Kikatas even more to serve whatever ends the council has in mind. That would be counterproductive. We mustn't do anything that adds to the misery of the Kikatas.”

“But samrat, if we don't act against Shoorasena, we would be giving a murderer the license to do as he pleases,” Pallavan argued a trifle testily. “Are we going to grant him the freedom to break the peace of Sindhuvarta?”

“No,” the king's voice was emphatic, commanding. “Shoorasena has to be reined in and he
must
answer for his deeds. But the course of action we choose shouldn't add to his glory in Magadha. By killing the old king and lying about it, Shoorasena has cheated his people – his punishment should come in a manner by which his subjects are exposed to his treachery. Shoorasena's downfall must be welcomed and celebrated by his own people. That's when true justice will be delivered to King Siddhasena.”

“How are we to achieve this, your honor?” Pallavan asked, this time with more respect.

“There have to be loyalists of King Siddhasena somewhere in Magadha,” the samrat answered. “Even one or two men of influence who stood by the old king would suffice. Maybe in the royal council, maybe in the Magadhan army... We have to find these men quickly and let them know the truth about their king's death. With their help, we can turn public opinion against Shoorasena.”

“I might know a couple of such men.” The diplomat sat meditatively, but his eyes sparkled as he warmed to the idea. “I can begin by...”

Pallavan was, however, interrupted by a knock on the council chamber's door. Looking up, the men saw the door open to admit Queen Upashruti. As the men rose from their seats out of respect, the queen walked into the room, but on catching Pallavan's eye, she drew to an abrupt halt.

“Greetings from King Bhoomipala and the subjects of Kosala, queen mother,” said the diplomat with a formal bow.

“My greetings to you and your king,” replied the queen. “Do accept my deepest apologies for barging in like this. I had no idea you were here.” Motioning with her hand to resume their seats, she added, “Please continue. I shall come back later.”

But even as Queen Upashruti turned around to depart, Pallavan spoke again. “No mother, it is nothing,” he protested. “I presume you are here for something that demands the samrat and the council's attention. I shall wait most willingly. Please don't leave.”

The queen paused and looked at Vikramaditya, who gave a small shrug and nodded. The envoy's words had clearly ruled out any further debate over the matter.

“Thank you,” she smiled at Pallavan. “This won't take long.” Returning her eyes to the king, she said, “You have heard the news about the one-eyed Healer, I suppose.”

Mystified, Vikramaditya stared at his mother for a couple of moments, before turning to Vetala Bhatta and Vararuchi for illumination. The two councilors, however, looked just as confused.

“You know nothing about the Healer?” The Queen Mother's tone was of surprise and exasperation in equal measure as she cast her eye around the room. Seeing the blank expressions and shakes of the head, she said, “The whole city is talking about him.”

“No mother, I'm afraid the talk hasn't reached our ears,” the samrat said a shade stiffly.

“Well, this man has recently come to Ujjayini – by all accounts, he is very new to these parts. It seems he has been treating our citizens for all sorts of ailments, and word is his cures are almost miraculous. They say he has even brought relief to those affected by the Ashvin attacks; apparently he has administered remedies to some of our soldiers as well.”

“Who is this man?” Vikramaditya knitted his brows and glanced at Dhanavantri, but the physician returned an expression of complete bewilderment. “Where has he come from?”

“No one seems to know,” said the queen. “He's a stranger to these parts... He's only being referred to as the Healer. Or the one-eyed Healer, for he is blind in one eye.”

“If I may ask, why have you brought him to our notice, queen mother?” asked the Acharya, speaking for the first time in long while.

“A son of one of my palanquin bearers overheard the Healer say something, raj-guru. The Healer claimed he might have a cure for the young lady in the palace.”

Queen Upashruti paused to let the words sink in. Then, looking straight into Vikramaditya's eyes, she added, “You must invite this man to the palace. He couldn't have been referring to anyone but Vishakha.”

***

For over three hours, Angamitra had been sitting in a room overlooking the Yamuna, watching the boats and barges plying on the swollen river. While the smaller boats scuttled between the two banks ferrying passengers, the big barges, laden with goods, floated sluggishly upstream and down between Matsya and the minor principalities of Surasena and Chedi to the west, and Magadha and Vanga to the east. With every passing hour the sun had climbed higher in the sky, and was now almost directly above Kausambi, but its heat was tempered by the cool river breeze. The breeze, working in combination with the boredom, had lulled the captain into a light doze, so it was with a start that he awoke on hearing a voice accompanied by a rush of footsteps.

“Please do pardon me for keeping you waiting so long, captain.”

Angamitra looked over his shoulder to see a young man hurrying across the room, Councilor Yashobhavi following two steps behind. The man was in his early thirties, tall and willowy, with long brown hair that fell up to his shoulders. His thin face was adorned with a trim beard, while his large eyes had an expression of perpetual sadness about them. The captain couldn't help observe how different Prince Shashivardhan and his father were when it came to build and physical appearance.

“Your honor, it is perfectly...” The captain began rising to his feet, but the prince waved him back into his seat.

“I know this is no way to treat a guest from Avanti – father would never approve of it,” Shashivardhan dropped into a vacant chair opposite Angamitra. “But what could I do? I just got back this morning, and I've practically been with the physicians ever since.”