The Guardians of the Halahala (29 page)

Listening to the prince, Angamitra missed neither the slight slur in Shashivardhan's speech, nor the distinct whiff of
soma
on his breath. Realizing the prince wasn't being entirely truthful about how the morning had been spent, the captain looked up at Yashobhavi, but the councilor squinted stoically to Angamitra's right.

“I can understand, your honor,” Angamitra returned his gaze to Shashivardhan. “How is King Chandravardhan now?”

“Not good, I'm afraid,” the prince heaved a sigh and leaned back. “The physicians aren't happy with his progress. And there are so many things to take care of in the palace, so much that demands attention...”

Shashivardhan passed a weary hand over his forehead, his worried eyes looking out over the river. Angamitra concluded that the prince seemed overwhelmed by the responsibility of having to make official decisions in the absence of the king. Suddenly, the captain was no longer sure if he should burden the prince with the news that had brought him to Vatsa, but the matter was decided when Shashivardhan addressed him.

“Anyway, our good councilor Yashobhavi says you came bearing an important message for father,” Shashivardhan looked at Angamitra inquiringly. “The message must be important enough for you to wait for me all morning – what is it?”

Sticking to his brief – and speaking almost by rote – the captain narrated everything of importance that pertained to the dagger that was now in Vikramaditya's keeping. Both Shashivardhan and Yashobhavi listened with keen interest, their mouths dropping in amazement as Angamitra told them about the encounters with the Ashvins and the pishacha army.

When the captain fell silent, the prince and the councilor turned what they had just heard over in their heads, their expressions full of wonder. Finally, after casting a brief glance at the councilor, Shashivardhan spoke.

“What you've told us is frankly amazing. It's no surprise to me that father holds Samrat Vikramaditya in such great esteem. But...” Here the prince's voice faltered a bit. “...is there something that the samrat wants from us? I mean, are you here for...?”

Angamitra shook his head. “The samrat only wants his allies to know the truth about the dagger, and I was deputed to come here to share the news with King Chandravardhan, your honor. There's nothing more to my visit.”

Shashivardhan nodded, his face and shoulders relaxing with relief. Angamitra sensed the prince was just glad that he wasn't expected to make an important decision on behalf of his father. But as the captain began mentally preparing to take his leave, Shashivardhan addressed him again.

“Nevertheless, Avanti and Vatsa have been allies for as long as I can remember. Father and King Mahendraditya were always on very good terms, and as I've already said, father has the utmost respect for the samrat. Our kingdoms have also forged ties of blood through marriage, so...”

The prince came to a fumbling halt, as if suddenly fearful of the fact that in the rush of good intentions, he was committing himself to something that would later incur King Chandravardhan's displeasure. He looked up at Yashobhavi with doubtful eyes, but seeing the councilor's imperceptible nod of encouragement, his face cleared.

“So it is Vatsa's duty to offer Avanti any assistance it needs,” Shashivardhan renewed with confidence. “Let Samrat Vikramaditya know we will be happy to extend help in whatever way we can – I'm sure father would not have wished it otherwise had he been here.”

“It is an honor to have trusted friends like King Chandravardhan and you, prince,” replied Angamitra, rising from his seat. “Now if you will permit me, I would like to return to Ujjayini with your pledge of allegiance.”

***

“I am known as the Healer, your honor. I hail from the misty valleys through which the mighty Lauhitya flows before it enters the kingdom of Pragjyotishpura.”

The man who had spoken stood in the center of Ujjayini's cavernous Throne Room, his strong voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling, making the ornate crystal lamps hanging overhead quiver faintly as if in fright. He was short but broadly built, with a thick gray beard and moustache covering his fair face. He also wore a black eye-patch over his left eye.

“You don't have a name other than the Healer?” asked Vetala Bhatta shrewdly.

“Isn't a man ultimately known by his deeds, your honor?”

The awkward silence that followed was broken by Vikramaditya.

“And you say you can cure the queen of Avanti of her illness?” The king leaned forward in the royal throne, a large chunk of hewn and polished black marble, cushioned with rich velvet and satin pillows. The marble was heavily inlaid with gold and ivory, the white and yellow strands rising and intertwining to form a large sun-crest behind the king's head. Vikramaditya's eyes were keen as they appraised the stranger.

“I believe I could, your honor – though I can't say with any surety until I have had a chance to see the queen.”

“Are you a physician?” The Acharya fixed a suspicious gaze on the newcomer, before glancing briefly at Dhanavantri. “If I may ask, where did you master your craft?”

“Some call me a physician, some a healer... still others a tantric. What does it matter?” the Healer shrugged and gestured in the direction of Dhanavantri. “The honorable court physician would agree that the only thing that finally counts is faith in the remedy. The people of this city have a capacity for immense faith; else, none of my cures would have worked.”

“For someone of your talents, it is strange how we have never heard of you before,” remarked Vetala Bhatta, continuing to scrutinize the stranger closely.

“That is beyond my control,” the Healer gave a small smile of helplessness.

The raj-guru nodded. “What brings you to Ujjayini?”

“I am a traveler, your honor. Wherever I go, I try and bring succor to the ailing and the infirm. I happened to be heading west for the Anartas when I heard of the calamity that has befallen this beautiful city of yours. So, I decided to come here.”

“How did you learn of the queen's ailment?” asked Queen Upashruti

“The subjects of this kingdom love their king and queen dearly, mother,” the Healer replied. “Their concern for the queen easily finds words.”

“I hope you realize that the queen's illness isn't minor,” said Vetala Bhatta. “She has been in the care of our court physician for two years and has shown little improvement. And there's probably no better physician in Sindhuvarta than Dhanavantri.”

“I can but try where others have failed.”

Although the stranger spoke the words in a matter- of-fact manner, the raj-guru thought he detected a subtle attempt at putting Dhanavantri down. He also saw how the Healer had cleverly deflected every pointed question that had been posed to him. But before he could probe any further, the samrat spoke.

“I expect you would want to be rewarded if you are able to cure the queen. So what would your price be?”

“That would be premature, your honor,” the Healer answered. “I am still to see the queen. And even if I do think I can be of assistance...” he paused to look fleetingly at the Acharya. “...I think
you
would like to see some evidence of progress in the queen's recovery before you decide whether it's worth having me in the palace treating her. So it would only be fair to discuss this at a later time.”

Vetala Bhatta opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but he was beaten to it by the king.

“As you wish,” said Vikramaditya, rising from the throne. “Now if you will allow me, let me escort you to the queen's chamber. Dhanavantri, would you care to join us please?”

“Yes, samrat.”

The king and the Healer filed out of the Throne Room, closely followed by Dhanavantri. As the Queen Mother and the rest of the councilors and courtiers emptied into the hall outside, the Acharya stroked his beard thoughtfully. Though he couldn't put a finger to it, there was something smarmy about the stranger that the raj-guru found quite distasteful.

Making a mental note to keep a close watch on the visitor, the Acharya shuffled out of the Throne Room and joined the group making its way to Vishakha's bedchamber.

***

With the sweep of its glazed marble floor, its broad arched windows that let in the scented breeze blowing down from Mount Meru, and the sixteen massive columns holding up its domed ceiling, the central hall of the palace of Amaravati was by no means small. Yet, as Indra looked down from the head of the grand staircase, everything about the hall below appeared to shrink in size, dwarfed by the seven hulking rakshasas who stood at the foot of the stairway in a crude semicircle.

Tall and imposing though each one of the seven was, their size wasn't all that made them remarkable. What also caught the eye were the hard, bony exoskeletons that covered their bulky torsos, the ultramarine blue of their skins, and the four black horns that sprouted from their heads – two sweeping upward and back, two curving down toward their shoulders, pointing forward. Their handsome faces were dark and brooding, and their eyes were filled with the dull gleam of quicksilver.

Indra smiled to himself as he descended the stairs, watching the rakshasas go down on one knee and bow their heads in obeisance. It was the first time the lord of Devaloka had looked at ease since the Ashvins had returned from their disastrous outing to Sindhuvarta.

“Rise, sons of Diti,” commanded Indra with a wave of his hand.

The rakshasas, however, stayed on their knees until Indra came to a halt at the bottommost stair. They then got to their feet and stood with bowed heads, each a good two hands taller than their king.

“Greetings, my lord,” one of the rakshasas spoke in a low rumble. “What can we do for you?”

Instead of replying, Indra stepped onto the hall. Two of the giants immediately made way, allowing the deva to walk past them to one of the hall's windows. For a while, the deva stared out the window, arms crossed behind his back, his eyes on the cliffs protecting the palace. Then wheeling around suddenly, he looked at the rakshasas.

“I want you to destroy the city of Ujjayini,” he said, his voice cold with anger. “Destroy the city, kill its king, and retrieve the Halahala and the Hellfires for me.”

The figures by the staircase glanced at one another. “By the Hellfires you mean... our mother's swords?” the rakshasa who had spoken earlier asked.

“Are there any other by that name?” Indra frowned in irritation. With a slight shake of his head, he cleared his mind of the distraction. “Yes, Diti's swords. And the Halahala that is stored in Veeshada's dagger.”

“Who is this king who has possession of the Halahala and the Hellfires, my lord?”

“He is a human and his name is Vikramaditya.” Retracing his steps from the window, Indra began pacing the breadth of the hall. Over the course of the next few minutes, he gave the giants a sketch of the Halahala's narrative, culminating in the devas' failures at recovering the dagger.

“By fleeing the way they did, the Ashvins made a mockery of us devas in front of the human army,” Indra concluded, gritting his teeth. “It is now up to you Maruts to restore the pride of Devaloka by killing the human king and bringing me the dagger and the two swords.”

“As you command, my lord,” replied the leader of the rakshasas. “We shall proceed for Ujjayini right away.”

“Make sure the attack is swift and ruthless,” the deva raised a cautionary finger. “The Ashvins made the mistake of giving Vikramaditya's army time to strengthen the city's defenses.
You
will take them by surprise, when they are least expecting it. And while you're at it, make the humans pay for their arrogance.”

Once the rakshasas had lumbered out of the hall, Indra mounted the staircase to a balcony that overlooked the palace courtyard, pausing just long enough to pick up a goblet of
soma
along the way. Leaning against the parapet, he prided himself on his decision to send the Maruts to Sindhuvarta.

Conceived by Diti after severe penance and ritualistic sacrifices, the Maruts had originally been one single demonic entity growing in her womb. Endowed with immense strength and great magical abilities, the demon child was being borne by the sorceress with one purpose in mind – the destruction of Indra and Devaloka.

Indra, however, had got wind of her scheme and engaged a yaksha from Kubera's court to seduce Diti – in the hope that the yaksha's mystical semen would secretly poison the fetus. Diti expectedly fell for the virile yaksha's charms, and while they made passionate love, the yaksha tried destroying the demonic fetus inside her. But so great was its strength that his semen only managed sundering it into seven lesser parts – from each of which a Marut was born.

Distraught and enraged at seeing her plan of giving birth to an all-powerful rakshasa being foiled, Diti abandoned the seven babies, leaving them to their fate inside a draughty cave in the ridges of the Himalayas. It was in this cave that Indra had found the unwanted Maruts, blue and stiff from the cold, starved and barely alive. In a rare stroke of selflessness and compassion, the lord of the devas brought the babies to Devaloka, where they were nursed back to health.

As he raised the goblet to his lips and savored the
soma
, Indra smiled to himself once again. Bringing the Maruts to Devaloka had proved to be a masterstroke. Fed on a routine diet of hatred for their heartless mother, the seven rakshasa babies had grown up abhorring the asura blood that coursed through their veins. And now as powerful giants, they swore unflinching fealty to Amaravati and its ruler, leading the devas in many successful campaigns against their own brethren from Patala.

Tossing down the contents of the goblet, Indra wondered why it hadn't struck him to send the Maruts to Ujjayini the first time around. There was nothing any human army could do against the fearsome might and wizardry of Diti's seven rakshasa sons.