The Conspiracy at Meru

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Taking a firm grip on his battle-axe, Amara Simha leaped off his horse. His feet had barely touched the ground before he took off across the street, hurtling toward Kshapanaka, a low bestial growl building at the very pit of his being.

  As he ran, the councilor started undergoing a rapid and remarkable transformation.

  Amara Simha grew in size. He gained both height and bulk, a proportionate enlargement in body mass and muscle that made a giant out of him. His thick mop of red hair turned a shade darker, as did his beard, both growing to form a dense mane around his neck and shoulders. Simultaneously, the councilor’s human features changed and became distinctly lion-like, while a fine layer of tawny fur replaced his fair skin. Sharp, retractable claws sprouted from the tips of his fingers, and long canines were visible under the snarl of his lips.

  In five powerful bounds, Amara Simha narrowed the gap to the serpent. Even as the creature turned its head toward this new threat, the councilor reached its side, his transformation from human to part-lion complete. The serpent lashed its tongue out at him and stretched its jaws even wider to disgorge its venom, but Amara Simha moved in with dazzling speed. Raising his battle-axe, he propelled himself into a leap and brought the flashing blade down hard over the serpentine head.

  The moment the axe sunk into its head, the monster exploded into a million drops of water. The shower drenched the street and the buildings adjacent to it, and drops sizzled and rained over the entire neighbourhood for nearly a minute. Caught off balance by the sudden disappearance of the serpent, Amara Simha stumbled and sprawled on the road. Recovering quickly, he got to his feet and spun in all four directions, searching for the monster.

  There was no sign of the serpent.

  A sudden fit of coughing made Amara Simha turn to see Kshapanaka stirring and propping herself up. Taking a couple of strides to her side, he looked down at her.

  “Are you alright?”

  Kshapanaka blinked, looked up – and instinctively drew back with a gasp. But her expression changed from alarm to wonder as she stared at the strange man-lion towering over her.

  “Councilor Amara Simha?” Seeing the figure nod, she asked in a hushed voice, “What happened to you?”

  Amara Simha shrugged, studying his arms and hands, baring and retracting the claws of his left hand. He raised his head to see the company of City Watch soldiers looking at him in amazement and apprehension. He thrust a hand out to Kshapanaka so she could hoist herself up. “Something bizarre is happening to us. Whatever it is, it protected you from the monster’s venom.”

  The skies opened up and it began raining in heavy, wind- driven sheets. Taking the proffered hand gingerly, Kshapanaka pulled herself to her feet. She looked down at herself in disbelief.

  “Nothing happened to me? And the others? The archers?”

  “All gone, turned to pulp,” Amara Simha pointed to the four piles of gooey mass swirling in the rainwater. “Your horse too. Though, funnily, your bow is still in one piece.”

  The soldiers had crossed the street and were approaching them in ones and twos. Around them, windows and doors unfastened, and heads craned out, eyeing the councilors in awe.

  Kshapanaka limped to her fallen bow and picked it up. “Is the creature dead?”

  “It’s gone. That’s all I can say for certain.”

  “I think you killed it, your honour,” one of the soldiers began speaking, not being able to take his eyes off Amara Simha. “I saw it shatter into…”

  The hiss came again, shredding through the curtains of rain. It came from the opposite end of the street that gave into the market, and as the councilors and soldiers spun that way, they saw a thick black tail slip past the market and vanish.

  “It is very much alive,” said Amara Simha, hefting his battle-axe to his shoulders. Turning to Kshapanaka, he added, “You seem to be immune to its venom, so you are probably the only one who can get close enough to kill it – if it can be killed at all.”

  * * *

  The chariot jounced over Ujjayini’s uneven back roads made wet and slippery with rain, and careened round sharp corners as Varahamihira pushed the horses into a punishing gallop. The heavy rumble of wheels from underneath met the roar of the rain and the sharp, acidic pealing of the alarm bells in a jarring storm of noise, making Shukracharya wince as he gripped the chariot’s sideboards tight and watched the city roll by, scared and dispirited.

  Questions plagued the high priest. Millennia had passed since Ahi had been banished and the art of summoning the beast lost for good. At least that was what everyone had come to believe. Yet, the mantra had somehow been secretly preserved. And the son born of Shachi to Indra – Shukracharya was reasonably sure of this as only half-bloods could master the demon, and there was only one half-blood in Devaloka – had now used it to invoke the serpent. Instinct told him Jayanta had summoned the beast at his father’s wishes, but the fact that the bones had not once warned of Ahi made him wonder. Furthermore, Indra had already enlisted the yaksha to claim the Halahala, so sending Ahi to Ujjayini did not serve any purpose to Shukracharya’s mind. But if Indra hadn’t called for the demon, who had?

  “Where are we going?” the high priest demanded of the councilor. From what he had been able to make out before the rain came pouring down, there were dust clouds rising from three different locations in the city – two side by side, and one from what he guessed was the direction of Ujjayini’s main market.

  “The neighbourhood closest to us is the one where the metalworkers dwell,” Varahamihira shouted above the clang of the bells and the rattle of the chariot. “Let us see what…”

  The hiss came suddenly, filling the air, drowning out everything else. The same instant, a flock of over a dozen terror-stricken townsfolk swarmed into view from a side street, muddling straight into the chariot’s path. Screeching with fright, a few leaped out of harm’s way, but the majority stood gawking at the onrushing chariot, too paralyzed to move. Varahamihira yanked at the reins, pulling the horses back with all his might, and the beasts reared in pain and surprise. Still the chariot rolled inexorably forward, bearing down upon the hapless citizens under the sheer force of momentum. Just when it looked as if some of the townsfolk would inevitably come under the trampling hooves, the horses dug their heels in, and the chariot came to a grinding halt inches away from the crowd.

  Shukracharya had barely heaved a sigh of respite when the enormous head of Ahi squirmed out of the street the townsfolk had just exited. The sight of the menace sent the crowd scattering; in no time, all that remained in the street were the chariot and the serpent, facing one another.

  The high priest watched Ahi appraise the chariot as it drew out of the side street. The horses whinnied and perked up their ears, shuffling sideways in an effort to break free of the harness, but Varahamihira held the reins tight as he scanned the surroundings for a way out. The lanes branching right and left were all too narrow to accommodate the chariot, while the street wasn’t broad enough to facilitate a quick about-turn.

  “I think you should leave when you have the chance to,” the councilor muttered, jerking his head sideways to make himself clear.

  “And you?” Shukracharya assessed his companion.

  His eyes still on Ahi, Varahamihira gave a wry smile. “A lame man cannot hope to outrun that thing,” he said. “Right now the city needs a Healer more than a councilor. Please go.”

  The high priest was about to reply when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the beast open its mouth. He caught the smell of rot – the smell of bloated corpses bursting open under a torrid sun. The next instant, the serpent squirted venom at the chariot.

  Shukracharya was partially protected by a mantra that he had secretly invoked just as they had left the palace; the venom would hurt him, but leave no lasting damage. The human would be annihilated, though – which was just as well, the high priest thought to himself. Rid of the councilor, he would be free to pursue his enquiries into Ahi, the yaksha and the dagger. Steelin
g himself, the high priest watched the spray of venom arc toward the chariot.

  Acting on impulse and reflex, Varahamihira flinched and flung one arm up to shield himself from the venom – and Shukracharya observed the strangest thing.

  Out of nowhere, a thin glistening curtain of energy, sheer and barely perceptible to the eye, sprang up between the serpent and its target. Ahi’s venom splashed across the flimsy barrier – and both venom and curtain disintegrated and disappeared into thin air, leaving the chariot intact.

  Shukracharya blinked at Varahamihira in surprise. The councilor darted a stunned gaze at the high priest. They turned back to see the serpent cough up more venom. The councilor stretched his hand out, dubious and tentative, and the curtain flickered into existence, frayed, patchy and insubstantial. However, as the venom shot through the sizzling rain, Varahamihira thrust his arm up with more surety. The curtain instantly stabilized, enclosing the chariot in a quivering, dome-shaped bubble. The venom struck the curtain, but this time the curtain held, even as the venom nebulized and dissipated.

  As the energy curtain thinned out, the councilor took a firm hold of the reins. Twitching them lightly, he urged the horses down the street, slowly narrowing the gap between them and the serpent. The demon instantly reared and hissed in fury at this open act of defiance. The next moment, it unraveled into vapour and was lost in the mist of rain.

  “That was close!” Varahamihira relaxed his grip on the reins. He craned his neck in all directions, making sure the monster wasn’t sneaking back on them. “Whatever this thing is, we have to find a way of stopping it.”

  The high priest sized up the councilor with something that approached respect and a morsel of sympathy. He knew destroying Ahi was next to impossible – even the ancient gods and sages of old had only managed to exile it. The serpent was an elemental demon, conjured out of water and controlled by its master’s mind, so nothing could really kill it. For all of Varahamihira’s deft tricks, the only way of overcoming the beast was by weakening Jayanta’s control over it – a tricky job that involved the casting of spells, with no assurance of success. Yet, nothing else would spare the humans from Ahi’s mindless wrath.

  Shukracharya was undecided over whether he should step in to assist the humans – or leave them to their sad fate and use the opportunity to find the Halahala.

  “Where did you learn to do what you just did?”

  “I didn’t even know I could do something like that,” Varahamihira shucked his shoulders and turned to the high priest. “It just… happened.”

  “Twice?”

  “Okay, the second time I made an effort. But I still don’t know where it came from.”

  Shukracharya turned away as the secret to Varahamihira’s newly discovered talent suddenly dawned on him. Like the parting of a veil, suddenly everything was clear and obvious.

  Varahamihira’s energy shield; Shanku’s disappearing act from under the Marut’s foot; Vararuchi’s incredible leap over the market square; Kshapanaka’s demolition of the Marut’s armour; Kalidasa’s barehanded fight against the third Marut… Everything was connected and everything made sense.

  “– fight it with the Hellfires.”

  “What?” The high priest blinked at Varahamihira. He had been too preoccupied to follow the thread of the councilor’s words.

  “I was saying it would be good if the Samrat returned soon. Perhaps we can combat this creature with the Hellfires.” “Where is the king? Isn’t he in Ujjayini?”

  Varahamihira shook his head. “The Samrat and the queen rode out to the meadow where the queen had her fall.” He gestured with his hand in a southerly direction. “It is a few miles out of the city.”

  Shukracharya went rigid. The rain had eased a little, and the metalworkers’ neighbourhood was coming into view at the far end of the street. Soldiers and townsfolk rushed about as rescue efforts went on in full swing.

  “Stop the chariot.”

  “What?” The councilor raised his eyebrows at the high priest in surprise. “Why?”

  “I said stop. The queen’s life is in grave danger.”

  The sharpness and authority in Shukracharya’s tone made Varahamihira draw on the reins. “What sort of danger?” he asked in alarm.

  Instead of replying, the high priest leaped off the chariot even before it came to a standstill. He looked around wildly for a moment before heading to a blacksmith’s workshop nearby. As Varahamihira watched in bewilderment, the high priest bent over the cold, open furnace and scooped up a handful of ash. Clutching the ash, Shukracharya stepped back onto the road and closed his eyes.

  Of all the emotions, sorrow was the most overpowering and debilitating. More than fear, sorrow distracted the mind, weighing it down, sapping its resolve. So sorrow it would be, the high priest decided, whispering the Spell of Sorrows into the small mound of ash. Unclenching his fist, he blew on the ash, sending the fine particles into the moisture-laden air.

  “I must go,” he said, dusting the ash off his palm. He flagged down two passing cavalrymen of the City Watch. Looking from one to the other, he asked, “Do you know the way to the meadow where your queen had her accident?” One of the soldiers nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going.

  “Good. You can lead me there.” The high priest turned to the second soldier. “I need your horse, soldier. Right now.” Perplexed, the soldier looked from the high priest to Varahamihira, but ultimately, the briskness of Shukracharya’s tone – and the respect he had for the Healer – overrode any doubts and he slipped off the horse’s back. The high priest immediately got onto the saddle.

  “You can’t just leave like that. You are needed here – they need you,” the councilor protested, pointing to the tumble of houses down the street. “Tell us about the threat to the queen and we shall have soldiers sent to protect her…”

  “The dead here are beyond help, and the injured can wait,” Shukracharya interrupted, looking Varahamihira in the eye. “But you can take my word that no amount of soldiers Ujjayini can spare will be enough to protect the queen. I am the only one who can do that – provided I reach her before it is too late.”

  The high priest turned to leave, but checked himself and addressed the councilor again. “I have done what I can to weaken the serpent. Apply yourselves to stopping it, else the dead and injured will only gain in numbers.” With a nod at the soldier who was to be his guide, he spurred the horse and departed in a thunder of hooves and a shower of spray.

  The yaksha is in a forest to the south of the human kingdom’s capital. The yaksha lies in wait for that which the human king has promised to protect.

  The bones were never wrong, Shukracharya thought ruefully as his escort took the road that led to Ujjayini’s southern gate. He was the one who hadn’t understood their intent. Indra had not sent the yaksha for Veeshada’s dagger, but to take what was dearest to the human king; the one Vikramaditya had promised to protect while taking his marriage vows.

  Vishakha.

  Her death was the revenge that Indra had plotted on Vikramaditya.

  Meadow

  The rain was a steady rush echoing in Vikramaditya’s ears, a wet, hollow sound interspersed with the heavier patter of drops striking and ricocheting off the leaves and branches of the spreading suvarnaka that he and Vishakha sheltered under. The samrat and the queen were both soaked to the skin, their hair clinging to their foreheads and napes in wet, cumbersome curls.

  “You still think riding here was a better idea than bringing the palanquin along?” the king leaned close to Vishakha to make himself heard.

  Blinking rainwater off her eyelids, Vishakha turned and smiled, but the rigidity in her jaw made the effort seem laboured. “Had we brought the palanquin along, we would be on our way back to Ujjayini instead of being here together,” she said. “I… I much prefer this.”

  Vikramaditya gave a small, crushed smile of his own and looked across the grassy meadow at Vishakha’s white mare tethered next to his own brown charger.
The small knot of Palace Guards sat astride their own mounts a few paces away, taking what cover they could as they waited for their king and queen.

  “Are you disappointed?” Vishakha asked abruptly, glancing up at the samrat with wide eyes.

  “Are you?” One question to parry another.

  Vishakha’s gaze dropped to the jade ring on her finger. She ran a thumb over the finely etched letters of her name, feeling their edges on the ring’s smooth green surface. “I was hoping coming here would somehow help…” She let the words trail off, her sad eyes wandering over the rain-drenched clearing, seeking that one elusive thread that would lead her all the way back to the man who stood faithfully beside her.

  “I am glad we came,” the samrat took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Had we not taken the chance, we would have been in Ujjayini right now instead of being here together. For that alone, the trip was worth it.”

  Exchanging smiles that healed and wounded them at the same time, they stood holding hands, leaning gently into one another, listening to the rain.

  “Will it be alright if I never remember?” Vishakha looked up at Vikramaditya searchingly. “Or will it all then come to a hopeless, grinding halt?”

  The king gave the question careful thought before shaking his head. “The road begins when we start walking and ends where we stop. The road is not at our feet; it is in our minds.” He paused to smile at the queen. “As long as we care to walk, we shall find roads to walk upon. If not old ones, then new. When neither of us is willing to halt, what have we to fear?” The words brought comfort, and the king and queen settled back into silence, waiting for the rain to abate.

  As if in deference, the rain dropped in intensity, softening to a heavy drizzle. Casting a glance across the meadow, Vikramaditya saw the Palace Guards go into a huddle. Then, in an uncharacteristic breach of etiquette, one of the guards spurred his horse across the clearing and approached the king and queen.