The man was still behind him, driving his horse hard, rapidly narrowing the distance between the two horses.
He swung his head wildly to look at the fast approaching tree line, beyond which the forest grew, dense and green. Then back at the man pursuing him.
The man was now standing on his stirrups, balancing himself skillfully on his mount as he handled the bow and arrow. Nocking the arrow in place, the man raised the bow and drew the bowstring back.
Caught between the prongs of fear and fascination, he watched the bow bend and quiver under the strain as the man took aim, the arrowhead pointing straight at him… He saw the man’s sunburned face behind the bow, his curly black beard turning grey at the temples.
He saw the man open his mouth and shout at him…
“Commander, stop. Please stop.”
Kalidasa blinked and turned to see Angamitra jogging across the mud pit toward him. The captain of the samsaptakas had his sword drawn, the shield in his left hand positioned as if ready for combat, and judging by the alertness of his posture and the anxiety in his eyes, he appeared to be under a bit of stress.
“What is it, captain?” Kalidasa asked, suddenly aware that the sound of clashing swords had died all around him. Everything had fallen dead silent.
As Angamitra came to an uncertain halt, the giant turned to survey the mud pit that the samsaptakas used for their training. All around him, Kalidasa saw samsaptakas standing and gawking at him, the swords in their hands hanging limp by their sides. In their faces, he saw awe, amazement and fear – the last most pronounced when they switched their gazes toward his feet.
Following their line of sight, Kalidasa looked down to see the samsaptaka he had been training with lying on the sand on his back. A relatively new recruit, the samsaptaka was a sincere and enthusiastic cadet, one of those of whom Angamitra had high hopes. The young warrior now lay quiet, with his left hand thrown over his eyes. The sword that he had wielded lay in the mud a few feet away from his outstretched right hand – and a deep, red gash extended from under his right collarbone all the way to the extremity of his right shoulder.
Blood oozed from the wound, matting the hair on his chest and spilling down past his armpit into the sand.
Still, it wasn’t until he noticed the smear of blood on the tip of his scimitar that realization fully dawned on Kalidasa. His eyes growing wide in horror, he was about to bend down to check on the fallen form when the boy stirred. Moving his hand away from his eyes, the warrior pushed himself painfully up on his elbows, squinting up at his commander against the glare of the early morning sun.
“You’re okay?” Kalidasa was conscious of the tremor in his voice.
The samsaptaka nodded and smiled, the smile turning to a wince as the movement of a muscle snagged and stretched at the wound. “I am, commander,” he replied weakly.
“This is what happens when you lose your sword in battle,” said Kalidasa as he went down on one knee and placed an arm around the boy’s shoulder with the intention of helping him up. “You get cut down by the enemy. So never ever lose your grip on your sword. It’s all that keeps you alive.”
“I understand, commander.”
Three other samsaptakas immediately rushed over to assist, and within moments, the warrior was on his wobbly feet, propped up by his comrades. Coming over to the group, Angamitra inspected the wound.
“It’s deep but not serious,” he observed with relief. “Just needs some stitches and perhaps a poultice. Take him to the physicians.”
As the soldier was escorted out of the pit, Kalidasa looked around at the remaining samsaptakas, who were still standing in a daze.
“Let that be a lesson for all of you as well,” the giant said. “Hold on to your swords.” He smiled at the heads nodding at him in agreement, but deep inside, he felt chilled and scared with what had just happened.
“You heard the commander,” Angamitra barked at the samsaptakas. “Now hold on to your swords and get back to your training. C’mon, move!”
With the metallic ring of swords striking one another rising around them, Kalidasa and Angamitra made their way toward an outhouse that served to store weapons and other equipment for the samsaptakas. Once they were sufficiently out of earshot, the captain raised an enquiring eyebrow at Kalidasa.
“Is everything alright, commander?”
“Yes, of course,” the giant looked down at his deputy’s face, noting the concern plastered all over it. “Why do you ask?”
Angamitra jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “What happened there – for a moment I thought you were going to kill the boy.”
“Not at all,” Kalidasa threw his head back and laughed, his voice harsh and artificial to his own ears. Breaking out in cold sweat, he shivered mildly and wiped his palm surreptitiously across his thigh. “It was just training. I wanted… to push the boy a bit.”
“It’s been just over a year since he took the Death Oath, commander. He is still fresh and raw.” Angamitra waited to see how his words were being absorbed before continuing. “Seasoned samsaptakas would have struggled to fend off the moves and strikes you made against him. If he wasn’t half the fighter that he is, he wouldn’t have got out of here alive.”
“I didn’t realize I was driving the kid so hard,” the giant said after a long pause. “I suppose I owe him an apology for causing him that wound.”
“Oh, fear not, he will wear that like a badge for the rest of his life,” Angamitra answered with a smile. “How many samsaptakas can boast of a scar given to them by Kalidasa?”
After a slight pause, he added, “I am not worried about him. He will heal. It is you I am more concerned about, commander.”
“Me? I am alright.” Noticing the brotherly affection in his deputy’s eyes, Kalidasa smiled and clapped him on his shoulder. “Really, I’m fine.”
However, walking out of the training ground a little while later, heading for the stable to find his horse, the councilor suffered no illusions about things being fine with him. His face was tense, his fists rolled into tight balls, and he could feel fear and frustration mounting inside him.
Allow the visions to come to you and embrace them. Let what is yours come back to you, so you can become whole again.
The trouble was he was not becoming whole. He was going to pieces. And moments before, he had nearly taken an innocent samsaptaka’s life in the bargain.
Striding toward his horse, Kalidasa thought back to what the Mother Oracle had told him the other evening.
The oracle had been categorical that she would not be able to help in deciphering his visions. “I am a sign-reader and future-teller, not an interpreter of dreams,” she had explained. Then, when he had admitted to being afraid he was losing his mind, the old woman had shocked him with her words.
“I think the opposite might be true,” the oracle’s old eyes had held his in a steady gaze. “I am no expert at this, but you might actually be recovering your mind – or rather, your memory.”
The possibility had unnerved him. He had accepted that he would never learn about his past – that everything that had happened to him before he had been discovered hiding in that Kali temple by Avanti’s soldiers would forever remain shrouded in mystery. He had come to terms with the void in his life and made his peace with it, secure in the knowledge that what he did remember – his childhood in the palace, building a bond of friendship with Vikramaditya – brightened his days.
He had been happy not knowing the part of his life before the Kali temple. But now, if what the Mother Oracle had said was right, that life was pushing its way in through a crack in the door. A crack whose existence he had not even known.
“Learn not to resist what you see, councilor,” the oracle had called after him as he had taken her leave. “Allow the visions to come to you and embrace them. Let what is yours come back to you, so you can become whole again.”
Since that night, he had done as the old woman had advised, not fighting, not resisting, allowing th
e visions to play through his mind repeatedly, an infinite, tantalizing loop that concealed more than it revealed. Kalidasa realized there was more behind that closed door. More visions, more information, more past – pushing hard, trying to burst through the crack, trying to bust the door open. He had been prepared to wait it out, but not after what had just occurred in the training ground.
What was already on this side of the door was driving him mad. The desire to know what was on that side was driving him blind. Blind to everything that was happening around him, blind to the hurt he might be causing others.
That was something he would not accept.
Tightening the straps and buckles around his horse’s chest and shoulders, the giant decided he had to act. If Dhanavantri and the Mother Oracle could not sort the visions out for him, he would have to seek assistance elsewhere.
Fortunately, he knew just the person to turn to for help – someone who had proved to be an expert at unlocking lost memories.
* * *
The town of Raivata had not changed in all these years, Vararuchi concluded as the road to Dvarka dipped into the valley. It still looked the same, serene in the valley’s floor amidst lush green fields of paddy and millet, protected on three sides by a high wall and backed up on the fourth against the Raivata Mountain, from which the town drew its name. The town had always appeared to him to be in gentle slumber, and even now, the sight of the town’s banner, flapping in the cool morning breeze atop Chief Manidhara’s residence a quarter of the way up the mountainside, lulled him into a welcome calm.
“The place has remained the same for as long as I can remember, your honour,” a gruff voice spoke at Vararuchi’s shoulder, surprising him.
Turning around, the councilor saw Udayasanga looking in the direction of Raivata. Strongly built and perhaps not much shorter than Kalidasa himself, the samsaptaka had a large face to accommodate the huge moustache that curled all the way up to his cheekbones. He also sported a finely combed beard that ended in a chiseled point under his chin.
“The only addition is the wall,” Udayasanga added. “I often get the impression time comes to a standstill at Raivata.”
The tranquility about the town dispelled quickly, however. Even as Vararuchi and the small band of samsaptakas were descending to the valley’s floor, Raivata’s main gate opened to disgorge over three hundred armoured riders. The horsemen, bearing the town’s banner, assembled quickly before taking the road west toward Dvarka.
The town’s guards matched the urgency displayed by the riders when Vararuchi’s party announced itself at the gate. The gate was thrown open without preamble, and while the rest of the samsaptakas were shown to the barracks for bath and breakfast, Vararuchi and Udayasanga were escorted directly to Manidhara.
“Vararuchi my friend, welcome, welcome,” Manidhara threw his arms wide to embrace the councilor. “Good to have you visiting us after so many years. I just wish we didn’t have other pressing matters at hand – we could have sat and discussed music way into the night over cups of soma.”
“You have my word I shall make time for that as well once we have peace, chief,” Vararuchi replied with warmth as he disengaged from the hug.
“And you – I remember you,” Manidhara wagged a stern finger at Udayasanga. “You are the fellow who almost murdered the five men who tried to break into that ivory caravan the night it was camped in town, isn’t it? I remember the mess you created. So what’s this – Avanti rewards you for that by making you a soldier?”
Despite the severity of his words, there was an undercurrent of levity in his voice.
“I realized that as long as I wore a uniform, I wouldn’t get punished for getting into fights and breaking people’s heads, chief,” the samsaptaka grinned. “But you have my deepest apologies for what happened that night.”
Manidhara waved a hand, dismissing the matter and inviting his visitors to breakfast. As they settled down around a table filled with fresh fruits, pancakes and jars of fresh, frothing milk, Vararuchi eyed Udayasanga.
“I guess you were the reason the wall was put up around the town.”
Accepting a cup of cooling coconut water from Manidhara, the samsaptaka grinned again. But at the mention of the wall, the chief’s broad, fair face grew grave under the traditional multicoloured turban of the Anartas.
Vararuchi observed the change in the chief’s expression. “We noticed riders leave for Dvarka as we were approaching. Is there something we need to know?”
“We received a message from cousin Yugandhara just before daybreak,” Manidhara replied. “The Huna ships have been sighted.”
Vararuchi stared at the chief, the cup in his hand frozen halfway to his lips. Exchanging an alert glance with the samsaptaka, he asked, “Where? How far from Dvarka?”
“A couple of our ships espied their black sails moored a few miles to the north of the salt marshes of Kachcha.”
“That means they are still some distance away,” observed Udayasanga.
“Yes, but this news was from yesterday afternoon,” Manidhara eyed his guests. “If the ships have set sail, the Hunas won’t be far from Dvarka. in fact, they might already be in Dvarka. That’s why the rush.”
“We must leave immediately,” Vararuchi exclaimed, emptying the cup. Dvarka was almost a full day’s ride from Raivata. Grabbing a pancake, he tore it in two and thrust one of the halves into his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier, chief? We could have dispensed with breakfast and simply carried on.”
“Battles are not fought and won on empty stomachs, my friend,” said Manidhara, helping himself to another pancake while placing one each on his visitors’ plates. “Eat well, for if the Hunas are at Dvarka by the time we reach, there is no saying when we will sit in front of a meal next.”
The three men were quiet for a while as they made their repast.
“How many ships are the Hunas using to make the crossing?” Vararuchi asked.
“Our ships didn’t stop to count, but the guess is about thirty or thirty-five of them.”
“That’s all?” The councilor sighed with obvious relief. “First of all, that is a guess,” Manidhara replied. “And even if the guess is right, we have no idea how many more Huna ships are lined up all the way up to the mouth of the Dark River, ready to sail south. Your oracle spoke of a thousand, didn’t she?”
“She did, though that may have been just a way of saying many,” Vararuchi said.
“Even so, if there are just thirty ships, those thirty are longboats.” There was an inflection in the chief’s voice, a grimness that forced the councilor and the samsaptaka to look at him. “A longboat can easily carry up to two hundred and fifty men.”
Manidhara’s fingers took a tight grip along the edge of the table.
“Which means there are at least seven thousand five hundred ruthless barbarians from the Marusthali out there, all set to attack and destroy Dvarka.”
* * *
“The way I see it, we don’t have a choice, Vikrama. King Harihara has come around to our point of view. It is our turn – and in our interest – to make a concession.”
Vikramaditya nodded, but his eyes were troubled as he stared down into the leafy atrium two floors below. The samrat and the raj-guru were in a private terrace, soaking in the early morning sun as they sipped freshly crushed sugarcane juice spiced with cinnamon.
“His wish to marry the princess to a king is understandable. What I don’t get is why he is insistent on a formal announcement.” Vikramaditya looked over his shoulder at the chief councilor. “Does he think there’s a possibility that Shashivardhan would not become king?”
“It appeared so to me,” the Acharya shrugged.
“How do we take this to King Chandravardhan? We cannot possibly go to him saying it is time Shashivardhan was made king of Vatsa.” The samrat’s tone made it plain that he found the whole affair quite distasteful.
“It will need tact,” Vetala Bhatta conceded. “I don’t even know if King Chan
dravardhan is well enough for the matter to be broached with him. Perhaps the people who first need to be convinced and won over are Councilor Yashobhavi and the rest of the council of ministers.”
The samrat said nothing as he leaned on the parapet and frowned unhappily into the atrium.
“I know this makes you very uncomfortable, Vikrama,” the raj-guru stepped forward and placed an understanding hand on the king’s shoulder. “But I have told Harihara that we will assist in this matter. For us to get something from him, I had to give him something in exchange.”
“I appreciate that, raj-guru. You did what the occasion demanded. As always, you only have Avanti’s interests in mind.” Vikramaditya paused. “By when would we need to send someone to Vatsa?”
“As early as possible. The thing is, even before I reached Mahishmati, Harihara had already dispatched Rukma’s proposal to Shoorasena’s court.” Vetala Bhatta eyed the samrat meaningfully. “If Shoorasena accepts – and I see no reason for him not to – and his reply reaches Harihara before we can confirm Shashivardhan’s coronation to him. well, both of us know what Harihara would do.”
“In that case, someone should leave for Kausambi without delay.”
“I shall prepare for departure right away.”
“No raj-guru, not you.”
“Who then, Vikrama? Vararuchi isn’t here. And for all his experience, Amara Simha is not one to be trusted in dealing with tact.”
Vikramaditya was quiet for a while, stroking his moustache in thought.
“Dhanavantri,” he said. “We all agree he’s a master of wit and words. In addition, he has a very good reason to make a visit to Chandravardhan’s court – the king’s illness. The visit will look natural enough, and he can use the opportunity to get everyone in Vatsa around to declaring Shashivardhan as Vatsa’s next king.”
“A clever idea, but what if we are suddenly in need of the physician’s services?” Vetala Bhatta warned. “Ujjayini can no longer take that chance – not with the devas and the asuras still in the hunt for the Halahala.”
The Conspiracy at Meru Page 18