The Guardians of the Halahala (9 page)

As the councilors nodded in acknowledgment, Ghatakarpara spoke forcefully. “We should start by strengthening Ujjayini's fortifications. We should rebuild the moats, and have more guards manning the city walls and gates. We should deploy more forces...”

“And
where
exactly should we deploy these forces, young man?” asked Vetala Bhatta, eyeing the prince with severity. “We are talking about the possibility of being attacked by demons and demigods, not some kingdom from across the border. The attacks, when they do come, could come from anywhere – over land, by air, through water. They could materialize in any shape, size or form. Varahamihira is right... we have no idea what we will be up against.”

“Then how are we to prepare ourselves for what is to come?” asked Kshapanaka, even though she knew that the question had no satisfactory answer.

Another ripple of nervousness ran through the chamber. As if to allay it, Varahamihira said, “I shall begin some experiments, anyway. There are a couple of ideas that I had conceived some time ago that I have neglected... Let me get back to them and see what I can develop. If not against the devas and asuras, they might come in handy against the Hunas and Sakas.”

Another ripple of nervousness ran through the chamber. As if to allay it, Varahamihira said, “I shall begin some experiments, anyway. There are a couple of ideas that I had conceived some time ago that I have neglected... Let me get back to them and see what I can develop. If not against the devas and asuras, they might come in handy against the Hunas and Sakas.”

“Yes, with the Hunas and Sakas we at least know what to expect,” Kalidasa muttered with a mild shrug and a wry smile.

“Let's hope so,” Vararuchi added quickly.

“That's right,” said Vikramaditya, addressing the council in a tone intended to dispel the air of uncertainty and rally confidence. “Let us focus our energy on dealing with a real and immediate threat. We can figure out a way of tackling the devas and asuras later.” Turning to Vararuchi, he asked, “What progress have we made on the troop deployments?”

“The three thousand cavalrymen you had asked to be sent to Udaypuri left last night, samrat. The infantry units and archers will be on their way in the next hour. I have also sent a message to Atulyateja, the garrison commander of Udaypuri, informing him of the troop movements, and instructing him to begin establishing camps and command centers along the border. He has also been told to strengthen the Frontier Guard patrols and increase the number of scouts all along the Arbuda Range.”

“We should inform the provincial governors of Malawa and Gosringa about the troop movements as well,” reminded Kalidasa. “The local militia can then be brought in to aid the Imperial Army and the Frontier Guard.”

“I have already dispatched a message to Governor Satyaveda, as the garrison of Udaypuri falls under the jurisdiction of Malawa province,” said Vararuchi. “But I shall make sure the governor of Gosringa is also informed immediately.”

“Have the Royal Engineers been pressed into action?” asked the Acharya.

“They have, raj-guru. All the forts and outposts along the border are being fortified.”

“Good,” Vikramaditya nodded in approval. “Now let's decide who should go to Udaypuri to coordinate things.”

“I can go,” Kshapanaka and Kalidasa volunteered in unison, without a moment's pause.

“I'm ready too,” Vararuchi offered a moment later.

Ghatakarpara raised his hand and leaned forward, meaning to speak, but he was interrupted by Dhanavantri.

“I recommend we send our friend Amara Simha,” said the physician, pointing across the table and grinning. “He's just been sitting around here, complaining of boredom, and putting on weight. The exercise will do him good. And to be honest, I'm tired of seeing his sulking face around the palace. Sending him away would be a pleasant change of scenery – for him,
and
for the rest of us.”

Smiles broke out around the table and the mood lightened almost immediately. Amara Simha glared at Dhanavantri for a moment, then grinning self-consciously, he stood up.

“As long as there is a promise of a good fight ahead, I would be more than pleased to go, samrat,” he said, rubbing his hands and cracking his knuckles in anticipation of action.

“Well then, that's settled. You can leave tomorrow morning,” said the king. “One last thing...”

Vikramaditya's eyes sought Shanku out, who, as usual, had remained quiet and unobtrusive throughout the lengthy discussion.

“Did you meet the Mother Oracle last night?” the samrat asked.

“I did. She told me that she will try and read the elements for news from the west. I am to return to her tonight.”

“When you meet her, thank her and the Wandering Tribe on my behalf,” the king inclined his head in a gracious gesture.

Vikramaditya was settling back in his chair as Shanku spoke.

“There is something else that she
did
tell me though, samrat...” Aware that all eyes were on her, the girl hesitated.

“Yes?” the king looked at her encouragingly.

“She told me that she had a vision. She didn't say what it was, but she asked me to warn you that the sun is on the wane, and that a great eclipse is coming to devour the sun.”

As silence descended on the room, Varahamihira shook his head. “That's not possible, girl,” he was emphatic. “My calculations show that the next solar eclipse isn't due in two hundred years.”

Shanku paused before answering, her words taking on a prophetic ring. “The sun my grandmother was referring to is the royal emblem of the Aditya dynasty, noble councilors. The sun-crest of Avanti...”

Nephew

T
he sky was a striking blue, stretched and washed clean, with not a speck of cloud from horizon to horizon. Nothing moved in the azure emptiness save for a solitary Brahminy kite, soaring high above the snow-capped mountain range, the cold air currents lifting its light body further and further up into the still, early morning sky. Down below lay miles and miles of glaciers, reflecting the harsh glare of the sun so that the ridged landscape was lit up in a bright, yellow-white glow.

The kite sailed in a northeasterly direction, heading toward the majestic bulk of Mount Meru, towering over its sister peaks like a giant among dwarfs. Nearing the large mountain barring its path, the bird gained altitude yet again, till it finally crested the summit and crossed over into Devaloka.

Almost immediately, the mountain of Meru fell away to reveal the breathtaking city of Amaravati, nestling amid the mist-laden hill slopes and valleys beneath, its spires and turrets shimmering in the sunlight like morning dew.

Descending sharply, the kite skimmed over the sprawling capital of Devaloka, making straight for a splendid, multitiered palace located at the heart of the city. Surrounded on all sides by a ring of rocky cliffs, the palace was built on an enormous rock of gray basalt that thrust upward from the center of a wide, bottomless abyss. The palace's colorful domes and turrets, fluttering with pennants, caught the bright sunlight, throwing the shadows of the yawning trench into stark contrast. To the north and south, two broad wooden drawbridges were thrown over the moat-like abyss, linking the palace to the surrounding hills and the rest of Amaravati.

As it drew near the palace, the kite began undergoing a remarkable metamorphosis. Its body enlarged in size and muscularity, the reddish brown plumage giving way to tawny fur-covered skin. The bird's legs simultaneously transformed into those of a lion, and a long tail sprouted from its rump. Only its head and wings retained their original form, though gaining proportionately in size to balance the rest of the body.

The beast alighted on one of the palace's many balconies, landing with a crouch, its wings beating heavily against the stone parapet. As it straightened, its face assumed manlike features – completing its transformation from kite to garuda, a member of the immortal scouts of Devaloka.

On entering the palace, the garuda strode through the halls and winding passageways with familiarity, none of the minor devas on guard duty challenging its progress. The beast made its way deep into the belly of the palace, till it came to a huge door made of sturdy wood, from behind which came muffled sounds of metal clanging against metal. Pushing the door open, the garuda entered a semicircular balcony that looked down on a spacious mud pit, where an intense fight was underway.

A dozen devas bearing swords and spears were circling a colossal figure standing in the center of the mud pit. The figure was incredibly muscular, his burly torso and powerful arms glistening with sweat as he crouched and watched the ring around him. His bearing was regal, his broad face haughty under a thick golden beard that almost reached down to his chest. His unprotected head was covered with long blonde hair that matched his beard.

As the garuda watched, four devas leaped unexpectedly at the giant, who fended off their blows with a bulky shield made of bronze. The giant then fought back, hacking at his attackers with a heavy sword, forcing them to fall back in haste. As the devas resumed circling him, the figure sneered at them.

“Is that the best you've got?” he mocked. “A dainty apsara can inflict more damage than all of you put together. Come on...”

Goaded by the challenge, the devas collectively hurled themselves at the giant, but he stood his ground, deftly parrying their assault. And when he counterattacked, some of the devas lost their swords, while a few more were knocked flat on their backs. The devas retreated yet again, leaving the giant standing in the middle.

“That's better,” he said, catching his breath. Throwing down his sword and shield, he added, “Tomorrow, I will practice barehanded combat. You may go.”

Once the devas had withdrawn and the giant began toweling himself, a palace official approached him and whispered softly in his ear. The giant turned and looked up at the garuda, his blue eyes sharp and calculative. He nodded, indicating that the garuda had permission to join him.

The garuda walked into the mud pit, its wings folded respectfully. “My salutations to Indra, mighty king of the devas,” it said, bowing deeply to the towering figure.

Indra acknowledged the beast with another nod. “What news do you bring?”

As the garuda began speaking, Indra listened with growing interest, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Are you absolutely certain about this?” he asked, once the garuda had fallen silent.

“Yes, master of Devaloka. I saw the Omniscient One give Veeshada's dagger to the king.”

“Samrat Vikramaditya, king of Avanti,” Indra wondered aloud. “A human being in possession of the Halahala. a
puny
human being...”

Forcing himself back to the present with a shake of his head, the king of the devas looked down at the garuda. “You may leave,” he said, before turning brusquely to the palace official who stood a little distance away.

“Request Guru Brihaspati and Narada to meet me in my chamber,” he ordered.

***

“I didn't make a mistake by agreeing to protect the Halahala, did I raj-guru?”

“No you didn't, Vikrama. It is man's dharma to accept his destiny with grace and courage.”

The samrat and the Acharya were alone, standing by a detached dovecote located on a wooded hillock on the southern shore of the palace lake. The privacy that the place afforded gave Vetala Bhatta the freedom to address the king intimately – just as he always had before Vikramaditya ascended the throne of Avanti on the day he turned eighteen.

“Besides, you have already given your word to the Omniscient One,” the raj-guru smiled gently, to take the sting out of a mild rebuke. “So, now is not the time to ask such questions.”

The king nodded quietly, chewing his lip as he scattered handfuls of grain on the ground, which was teeming with cooing and fluttering pigeons.

“I just wonder if I should have taken you and Vararuchi and the rest of the council into confidence first,” he said at last. “I feel that by accepting responsibility of the dagger, I have forced a decision on the council.”

The Acharya appraised the samrat for a moment before answering. “You do yourself and the Council of Nine great injustice by believing so, Vikrama. The council swears its unquestioning allegiance to you, not because you are the king of Avanti, but because you are a man of integrity and honor. The council trusts you to do what is
right
– not what is
convenient.
We respect that in you, Vikrama, and are proud to be your councilors. You and the council are one, and your decision is the council's decision. Always remember that.”

“I will, Acharya,” promised Vikramaditya, his voice flooding with relief and gratitude.

“And I can assure you that had the responsibility of guarding the Halahala been placed before them, the council's decision wouldn't have been different from yours. The honor that comes from fulfilling a duty imposed by the mighty Shiva outweighs every threat under the sun.”

The two men turned away from the feeding pigeons and began retracing their steps. Their conversation drifted to the threat from the Hunas and the preparations underway to secure the frontier from attack. But on reaching the top of the hill, the samrat spied a caravan of chariots and horses wending its way in the distance, heading northward beyond Ujjayini's gates. He stopped to watch the procession through the trees.

“King Siddhasena,” said the raj-guru, as he joined the king. “The last of our royal guests returning home.”

Vikramaditya was silent for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice was dry and hard.

“Did you manage speaking to the old king about Magadha's campaign against Vanga?”

“I spoke to him briefly about it over dinner last night,” the Acharya replied. “He was very vague in his answers – I almost got the impression he didn't want to talk about it.”

“What did he say?”

“He just said that the decision to wage war against Vanga was made in consultation with Magadha's royal council.”

“Did he say
he
made the decision?”

“No,” Vetala Bhatta shrugged. “As I said, he was very evasive.”

“I don't think King Siddhasena is in control of Magadha any longer,” said Vikramaditya. After a short pause, he asked, “Is there a serious threat of a Kikata uprising against Magadha?”

“Not that I know of,” the raj-guru shook his head doubtfully. “The Kikata tribe is too small and insignificant to revolt against the might of Magadha. I shall ask for reports from our spies anyway.”

The king nodded in agreement. “Even assuming the Kikatas are restive, would the republic of Vanga lend them support against Magadha?”

“The idea seems farfetched. Vanga has always maintained neutrality in such matters. The republic is known for its noninterference in the territorial disputes of other kingdoms.”

“Precisely. So the question we need answered is this.” Vikramaditya narrowed his eyes shrewdly at Vetala Bhatta. “What is Prince Shoorasena's real motive behind engaging Vanga in a conflict?”

The king and his chief advisor stood watching the procession slowly disappear over a far hill, when they heard footsteps scrambling up the path. Turning around, Vikramaditya's eyebrows rose in surprise on seeing Ghatakarpara appear over a rise. At the same instant, the young man saw the king.

“Uncle, I was told I might find you here,” panted Ghatakarpara. “Please, can I have a word with you?”

The king nodded as his nephew drew close. But at that moment, Vetala Bhatta, who was hidden from sight behind a tree, stepped into Ghatakarpara's line of vision. On seeing the Acharya, the prince stopped short and looked around waveringly.

“Yes?” said the samrat.

“It's not... nothing urgent,” Ghatakarpara fumbled awkwardly. “I... we can talk later.”

Sensing the reason behind the boy's hesitation, Vikramaditya said, “There's no better time to talk than now.” Inclining his head toward the raj-guru, he added, “You are among friends, and among friends there are no secrets. Speak boldly, young man.”

The prince fidgeted for a moment, stealing glances at the Acharya. Then, summoning up his courage, he said, “I mean to... I mean, I
want
to go to Udaypuri.”

The king and the raj-guru stared at one another in surprise. “What for?” asked Vikramaditya.

“To fight the Hunas,” Ghatakarpara blurted out. “I want an opportunity to go to the frontlines. I want to volunteer to oversee the war preparations. I want...”

“Hold on, hold on,” the samrat quelled the outburst with raised hands. “There is no battle happening anywhere with the Hunas – at least not right now. And Amara Simha has already volunteered to go to Udaypuri.”

“Then please let me go with him, uncle... please,” the prince pleaded.

The king once again exchanged a glance with Vetala Bhatta. “But you still need to complete your training here.”

“Uncle,
please,”
Ghatakarpara was now virtually on his knees, begging. “My best friend is already a garrison commander. If Atulyateja is fit enough for battle, why not me? The Acharya knows that I've trained well...” He petitioned the raj-guru with beseeching eyes. “Please tell the samrat what you told me the other day.”

Vikramaditya looked at the Acharya, who merely nodded once. But the king also noticed the faint, indulgent smile on Vetala Bhatta's face. Turning back, the samrat considered the prince for a moment.

“Fine, you can go.”

“Yes!” Ghatakarpara almost leaped in elation, his eyes alight with joy. Immediately, the king raised a cautionary finger.

“But... but... you have to promise me that you will stay close to Amara Simha and follow his orders. If I hear you have been doing otherwise, I will come and yank you back here by the ear.” Vikramaditya smiled to take the edge off his words.

“I promise, uncle. I promise. Thank you.”

“Good. Prepare to leave with Amara Simha. I shall send word that you will be joining him.”

The prince bounded down the hill, unable to restrain his excitement. As the king watched him fondly, he sighed and addressed the raj-guru. “Another of your wards is ready to leave the protection of his nest.”

“Yes,” the Acharya smiled with pride. “He is desperate to win your approval, which is natural at his age.”

“Are you sure he is ready for whatever is to come?” Vikramaditya asked with sudden concern.

“Oh yes,” the chief advisor's tone was confident. “He has a few soft spots and some rough edges – but nothing that life at the frontier can't remedy. Between Amara Simha and a couple of battles, Pralupi's son will discover the stuff he is made of.”