The Guardians of the Halahala (6 page)

He paused and drew a deep breath. “They all claim to have seen Saka horsemen roaming the hills that border my kingdom.”

Baanahasta's words were greeted with a shocked silence that seemed to last forever. It was finally broken by a short, stocky man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard. This was Bhoomipala, the king of Kosala.

“Have your border patrols reported any of these sightings?” Bhoomipala asked in his high, nasal voice.

“I'm afraid not,” Baanahasta coughed apologetically. “Like I said, these reports aren't official. It appears the Saka horsemen aren't present in large numbers. That's probably why my patrols haven't seen them.”

“Since when have the Saka horsemen been observed in your territory, your honor?” the Acharya butted in, fixing a piercing gaze on Matsya's ruler.

“The reports started coming in about two weeks ago. So the sightings could have happened... who knows... a month ago, maybe more,” Baanahasta shrugged.

“Do we know if the horsemen have ever attacked or even threatened any of your subjects?” It was Vikramaditya's turn to put a question.

“Some reports say they ransacked a farm or two, but it appears to have been solely for the purpose of obtaining food,” replied Baanahasta. “Provisions and livestock were stolen, but no one was threatened or came to any bodily harm.”

“Then perhaps they're there only to reconnoitre the locality,” Chandravardhan grunted. “Or they could be a small group that has broken away from the larger Saka tribe... Outcasts, if you know what I mean. Now they don't know where to go, so they've been reduced to scavenging the hills... It's possible.”

The council chamber acquired a meditative quality as everyone tried to grapple with the import of the revelation. It was cut short, however, when a husky voice drawled insolently from lower down the table.

“Is the samrat of Sindhuvarta going to take the reports of Matsya's lowly shepherds, farmers and brigands seriously?”

All heads turned to survey the man who had just spoken. In his early thirties, he was tall and broad-shouldered, his handsome face wearing a stylish beard and moustache that fenced his thin lips, which had a perpetual smirk at one corner. He had light green eyes, which were regarding Vikramaditya with poorly concealed arrogance.

The samrat stared levelly back at the man, taking his time to reply. When he did, his voice was firm. “Yes. Because dismissing such reports, however unreliable they may seem, would be immensely stupid. We all know that the Hunas and Sakas are cunning and fearsome adversaries, and we can't have them gaining a foothold in Sindhuvarta again.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the other man lolled back in his chair and looked lazily up at the ceiling. “I think we're all making too much of this.”

“You may be right, Shoorasena,” Vikramaditya's tone had undergone a subtle change as he met the challenge to his authority head-on. “But Sindhuvarta has suffered far too much under the occupation of the Hunas and Sakas. It took great sacrifices from all our kingdoms to rid our lands of the invaders. Your own father...”

The samrat paused to point to the frail, white-haired man sitting beside Shoorasena, his shoulders stooped with age. “...the respected King Siddhasena, lost two of his brothers in battle. King Bhoomipala lost a son, Vararuchi and I lost our father... We've all lost a lot to win that war. By taking this lightly, we will be insulting the memory of the martyrs who fought for Sindhuvarta. That is not acceptable to me.”

Shoorasena looked at Vikramaditya for a moment, then glanced quickly around the table, assessing the mood. On receiving hard, disapproving glares from virtually everyone, he dropped his eyes, nodded and retreated into a surly silence.

Vetala Bhatta took the opportunity to rise from his seat. “There is another good reason to believe that the reports in Matsya are correct,” his tone was grave. “A piece of news came in from our garrison at Udaypuri just this morning. I intended giving it to the samrat later in the evening, but now I might as well share it with everyone here.”

Quickly and without preamble, the raj-guru told the gathering about the Huna attack on the Frontier Guard outpost. As he spoke, the sense of disquiet heightened in the room, and worried looks crisscrossed in every direction.

“It's plain that the Huna-Saka Confederacy has renewed its interest in Sindhuvarta,” the Acharya concluded. “The Sakas are scouting Matsya, whereas the Hunas are eyeing Avanti's borders.”

“This is very distressing,” said Baanahasta, rubbing his chin through his beard anxiously, suddenly awake to the prospect of a genuine threat to his kingdom.

“How many men did we lose in the attack?” Amara Simha asked, his voice bristling.

The raj-guru looked inquiringly at Ghatakarpara, who shrugged to indicate that the rider hadn't made any mention of this.

“Those border outposts are small, so maybe a dozen men,” the Acharya hazarded a guess.

“We need to start moving troops to the border immediately,” Vikramaditya spoke decisively. “Brother Vararuchi, please ensure that ten thousand infantry units, three thousand archers and three thousand cavalrymen of the Imperial Army are dispatched by tomorrow morning, with instructions to set up camps to the north and south of Udaypuri. And notify the commander of the Royal Engineers to start reinforcing all border defenses and secure them against attack.”

“Would you want me to travel to Udaypuri as well to oversee the troop movements, samrat?”

“Someone from the palace would have to go,” Vikramaditya conceded. “Let's consult and decide on that shortly. For now, let the troops leave immediately.”

Vararuchi acknowledged the command, and the king turned to Kalidasa, who had been standing impassively to one side all the while, his massive arms folded across his chest. “I would like you to start preparing your
samsaptakas
for deployment at short notice.”

“All two thousand of them are fully ready for battle, samrat,” said the big man. “They only await an order from you.”

“Good,” Vikramaditya nodded in satisfaction.

King Harihara stood up. “I shall have three thousand of Heheya's best soldiers and a thousand horsemen at your disposal in two days, Samrat Vikramaditya,” he volunteered.

“Thank you,” the samrat bowed.

“I shall send you five thousand soldiers as well,” pledged Chandravardhan, before looking across to Baanahasta. “And to help guard Matsya's border, you will have another five thousand of Vatsa's best, along with my elite heavy cavalry brigade.”

A turbaned young man seated lower down the table got to his feet. Well over six feet tall, he was lean and handsome, with soulful brown eyes and a small, clipped moustache. “I speak on behalf of all the five chiefs of the Anarta Federation, samrat,” he announced. “Each of us shall send three thousand troops to be shared between Avanti and Matsya.”

“The kingdoms of Sindhuvarta are much obliged to all of you, Chief Yugandhara,” replied Vikramaditya, making it a point to acknowledge all five Anarta chieftains with a bow.

It was King Bhoomipala's turn to rise. “I commit to send eight thousand troops and two thousand archers to Matsya,” he said. “King Baanahasta will have them under his command in a week.”

Once the king of Kosala had resumed his seat, all eyes were directed toward Siddhasena, who sat hunched in his chair, staring weakly at the table with watery eyes. When no sound came from the old king for a while, Vikramaditya addressed him gently.

“Your honor, can we expect some support from the kingdom of Magadha in the event of an attack from the Hunas and Sakas?”

Siddhasena raised his head to the samrat and opened his mouth reluctantly. But before he could frame his reply, Shoorasena interrupted his father.

“The army of Magadha is preparing for a big campaign against the republic of Vanga. We're afraid we won't have enough troops to spare you.”

As eyebrows rose in surprise around the table, Vikramaditya scrutinized Siddhasena closely. “But why are you going to war against Vanga, King Siddhasena? They are a peace-loving people.”

“They are challenging the sovereignty of Magadha,” Shoorasena again answered for his father. “Vanga is encouraging the sedition of the Kikata tribe from Magadha by supporting the Kikata rebels.”

Before anyone else could utter a word, Vararuchi leaned forward and addressed Shoorasena. “The samrat's questions are directed at the king of Magadha, not you,” he said, his tone simmering with hostility. “Allow the king to answer them.”

“Our king is not answerable to others on affairs that pertain to the integrity of the state of Magadha.”

This time, the speaker was a dark man seated to Siddhasena's left. He was in his late twenties, and had truculent, beady eyes and a thick black moustache. This was Shoorasena's younger brother Kapila, although they bore no physical resemblance to one another.

“Enough!” Chandravardhan thundered, rising from his seat. Leaning his hands on the table, he stared at the brothers. “We are not here to listen to you boys talk. Vararuchi is right. Let your father speak for himself.”

The atmosphere in the council chamber was charged as fierce stares were exchanged, but King Siddhasena raised a placatory hand before more damage could be done.

“Calm down, please. Calm down,” he entreated in a quavering voice. “Pardon Shoorasena and Kapila, King Chandravardhan, for they are young.”

The king of Vatsa snorted in disgust, but sat down out of respect for the older king. Siddhasena meanwhile glanced at his sons flanking him.

“Let me speak,” he said, before turning to Vikramaditya. “Samrat, I request you to pardon my sons for their indiscretion as well. But they bear you no ill will. As proof of that, the kingdom of Magadha promises to allocate troops for the defense of Sindhuvarta.”

As Shoorasena and Kapila stared stonily at the table, Vikramaditya inclined his head. “We are grateful for that, good king,” he said, deciding against pressing the matter. “We would never doubt your word.” Looking up at the gathering, he added, “Well, that takes care of things for the time being. Let us return to the banquet.”

“About time,” Chandravardhan grumbled to Harihara, as everyone began filing out of the chamber. “But I dare say, the last half hour has wholly ruined my appetite,” he added without cheer.

***

Night had fallen over Ujjayini, and the palace was quiet after the day's hustle-bustle. The royal guests had retired to their rooms after a light dinner, though no one partook in much food or conversation – the combined effect of the afternoon's rich banquet and the sobering meeting in the council chamber.

In the eastern wing of the palace, two figures walked down a wide passageway, conversing in undertones. The taller of the two was Vikramaditya, while the other was Dhanavantri, his bloated shadow bobbing behind him in the light of the flickering lamps.

On reaching a carved wooden door at the end of the passage, the king raised his hand and knocked lightly on the wood. A moment later, a young girl opened the door, bowed reverentially, and made room for Vikramaditya to pass. Dhanavantri followed, struggling a bit to squeeze his expansive middle through the gap.

The room was a bedchamber, in the center of which stood a large, four-poster sandalwood bed. The lace curtains veiling the bed were drawn aside, and a woman lay propped up on the satin bedcovers. Two maids stood on either side of the bed wielding large fans, with which they stirred the still air over the woman's head. An elderly matron sat by the side of the bed, and as Vikramaditya and Dhanavantri approached, she stood up and moved respectfully some distance away.

Walking up to the bed, the king looked down at the woman. She was of about thirty, her face thin and pale white. The face had once been attractive, but now it wore signs of waste, with heavy dark circles under the eyes that stared ahead blankly, showing no acknowledgment of the activity around her.

Vikramaditya sat down beside the woman, gently picked up her frail hand and stroked it lovingly, but the woman remained unresponsive in her vegetative state. Turning to the matron, he asked, “Has she been fed?”

“Yes, your honor. Princess Kshapanaka personally came to feed her this evening.”

“Did she eat well?”

The matron, who was clearly a nursemaid, hesitated. “Yes... a little, your honor. She... she eats less and less...”

Dhanavantri came around to the other side of the bed. “Is she being administered her medicines as I instructed?” he asked. There was none of the usual flippant joviality in his voice.

“Without fail, sir,” replied the nurse.

The physician bent down and felt the woman's pulse. Next he checked her pupils, before drawing back to stand patiently, while the king sat looking at the wan, expressionless face.

At last, the samrat slowly placed the woman's hand back on her lap. He then caressed her forehead for a while, before sighing deeply and rising. He nodded to the matron who bowed in return, cast one more lingering glance at the woman on the bed, and walked out of the room.

The king and Dhanavantri retraced their steps down the passage in silence. On arriving at the end of the passage, where it forked, Vikramaditya stopped to consider his companion with sad eyes.

“Do you think her condition is worsening?” he asked.

“It's hard to say, samrat.”

The king was quiet for a moment. “But we can be reasonably sure she isn't ever going to get better, right?”

Dhanavantri looked away, not having the heart to answer the question.

Interpreting Dhanavantri's silence correctly, Vikramaditya swallowed hard and stared vacantly at the opposite wall. “I wish I could reach out to her... somehow. Speak to her and tell her I love her and that I am waiting for her...” He turned to Dhanavantri once again, his eyes pleading. “She's been like this for two years. Isn't there some cure for this, somewhere?”