The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “I don’t think this is the same one,” said a soldier, surveying the hut’s surroundings. “I don’t remember…”

  He stopped on seeing Kedara emerge from inside the hut. Everyone turned to look at the captain, and the anguish in his eyes told them what they didn’t want to know.

  “It is the same hut. The place where we lit the fire to prepare yesterday’s dinner is the same. Even the ashes are still warm. We have been walking in a circle.”

  The captain’s eyes came around to meet those of the councilor. “We are lost, raj-guru. We are hopelessly lost.”

  * * *

  The Mother Oracle was not in her room, and Shanku had to look in a couple of places before finding her on a terrace that overlooked the southeastern corner of the palace lake. The oracle was leaning against a parapet, her gaze switching between a pair of peacocks prancing on the bough of a nearby tree and the lake’s wooded eastern shore, which was swiftly turning dark as twilight fell over the land. Overhead, the first stars were twinkling into view and a cool breeze blew from the south, stirring the lake and sending small, silvery ripples towards the palace.

  Her grandmother had not noticed her, so Shanku stood for a moment, observing the slight form bent with age. The old woman looked forlorn as she stared out of the palace, heart and soul yearning for the wilderness that had been her lifelong companion. The city and the palace, Shanku realized, were slowly choking the oracle out of existence, and it crossed the girl’s mind that she should, perhaps, just take her grandmother back to the Wandering Tribe, so that she could live out her days in peace.

  “Why are you standing there, my child? Come here.”

  Something must have given her presence away, Shanku thought as she joined her grandmother with a smile. The oracle took Shanku’s hand, and they stood, side by side, watching the night gradually smother the day in its dark embrace.

  “Have you learned anything of Kalidasa?” Shanku finally broke the silence.

  The oracle studied the girl for a moment. “Who wants to know? You or the king?”

  Shanku did not reply. Instead, she freed her hand and faced away, watching the lake’s shore melt and recede into darkness. After the passage of what seemed like many minutes, the oracle shook her head.

  “I haven’t learned anything so far.”

  The girl gave a swift nod. Her grandmother glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, then turned to face her.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell one another what you felt — what you both felt?”

  Shanku thought about this for a while. “Maybe because we’re both reserved by nature.” She shrugged. “Maybe because we always assumed the other would understand, without us needing to say anything.”

  “And between the reluctance to say and the hesitation to understand, the moment was lost. You realize that, don’t you?” The Mother Oracle’s sigh was heavy with lament. “Why do we struggle to put into words what we express so easily with our eyes? And why do we seek assurances in words when the eyes speak so eloquently, so honestly?”

  For a while, neither spoke.

  “Perhaps it is best this way,” Shanku said wistfully. “It makes the parting more bearable.”

  “Would you have parted if you had been together, child?”

  “He would still be a Huna, and I would still be loyal to the Samrat. He would have wanted to go; I would have insisted on staying. We can never quite overcome who we are.”

  Shanku paused and looked at her grandmother. “You sent word that you had something to share.” Her tone and the change in topic implied she didn’t want to discuss Kalidasa any more.

  “Yes,” the oracle’s voice turned weary. Stalling for time, she added, “Can we go in? It is turning chilly here.”

  Back in the oracle’s room, Shanku lit the two lamps to push the darkness back, while her grandmother unrolled and spread a mat on the floor. A house lizard watched them warily from high up on a wall.

  “Tell me,” said Shanku, once they had settled down. Her tone was less brusque, her eyes kinder as they appraised the oracle.

  “Yes, yes…” The Mother Oracle seemed troubled and at a loss on how to begin. “Remember the other night we spoke… the day I had fallen unwell?”

  The girl nodded. “The night you told me about the Huna ships sailing for Dvarka, the black butterflies on the Dark River.”

  “Yes, yes… that night. You may recall that I also told you I had read a message for you in the spider webs in the Labyrinth.”

  “You said that there was a desire for atonement in the dungeons,” Shanku’s face was closed, unreadable. “You were speaking of father, I gather.”

  “Yes,” the oracle sighed. “I have read more signs that say the same thing, child. Your father wishes you to forgive him. I understand that he has been entreating you to meet him?”

  The girl studied the back of her hand. “He sent a message through the guards a few days ago,” she said heavily. “He wanted to meet.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing, grandmother. I do not want to meet that man. One cannot expect to be forgiven just because one is suddenly repentant. That would be too convenient. There is a price to pay, and part of the punishment is not knowing when… if one will be pardoned. That is the price my father has to pay for betraying the king and for robbing me of mother’s love.”

  * * *

  The samrat’s dinner was underway when Vismaya received the rider, who had ridden nearly half the distance from the garrison of Lava with a message for the king. The message had originated at Udaypuri earlier that afternoon, relayed east via suryayantras until nightfall, after which it had fallen on the rider to deliver it to the palace in person. No sooner had the chief of the Palace Guards heard the gist of the message than, understanding its urgency, he ushered the rider into the privacy of the king’s dining chamber.

  “My apologies, Samrat,” Vismaya said, pushing the curtains aside discreetly and bowing. “There is a rider here with a message for you from Commander Atulyateja.”

  Vikramaditya looked up from his meal, but before he could say a word, another voice addressed Vismaya in mild annoyance.

  “Can’t the rider wait until the Samrat has finished his dinner?”

  Drawing the curtain wider, the chief of the Palace Guards peeked to the right to see Queen Upashruti regarding him sternly. He hadn’t expected to see her in the samrat’s company, and now he hesitated.

  “It is… I’m sorry, Queen Mother, but it… I thought…”

  “It’s alright,” the king interrupted. He looked past Vismaya, brows raised in enquiry at the rider. “What does Atulyateja have to say?”

  The rider and Vismaya looked at one another before the chief of the guards shot an uncertain glance at Queen Upashruti. From the way he stood blocking the rider, preventing him from entering the room and addressing the king, it was evident that the chief had reservations about who should hear the rider’s message.

  “You may speak,” said Vikramaditya to the rider, correctly interpreting Vismaya’s indecision. “There are no secrets to be kept from the Queen Mother.”

  The two men standing at the door once again exchanged glances, but this time, the chief of the guards offered a minute shrug. Stepping into the room, he made way for the rider to pass him, yet he didn’t seem satisfied with the situation. The rider too looked uncomfortably at Upashruti as he cleared his throat to speak.

  “Your honour, I bring…” he stopped, then started again. “Commander Atulyateja wants you to know that Prince Ghatakarpara has been missing from the garrison.”

  For a fraction of a second, there was complete silence in the dining chamber as the samrat and his mother stared at the rider in incomprehension.

  “What do you mean, missing?” the king blinked in bewilderment.

  “My apologies for not being clear, your honour,” the rider shook his head, gathering himself. “What I meant was that the prince has not been seen in Udaypuri for the last two days. They have launched a
search for him, but no trace of him has been found.”

  “Oh heavens!” Queen Upashruti’s hand flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with concern for her grandson. She took two unsure steps towards the rider. “What’s happened to him?”

  The rider began shaking his head, but Vikramaditya, who now saw why Vismaya had been reluctant to let the rider speak in front of the Queen Mother, rose from the low table, his half-eaten meal forgotten. “I’m sure he is fine, mother. It must be a misunderstanding. He must have just gone off somewhere without letting anyone know…”

  “But he says it has been two days…” Upashruti looked at the king, pointing a trembling finger at the rider.

  “Mother, we will look into it. He will be found…” Putting an arm around her, the samrat gently drew his mother away and manoeuvred her towards a divan. “Please sit down and don’t worry. I am here; I will take care of things.”

  As Queen Upashruti sank into the divan’s soft cushions, her eyes brimming with tears as she imagined the worst, Vikramaditya motioned to one of the palace hands, asking her to take charge of the Queen Mother. At the same time, he looked over his shoulder at the rider and Vismaya. “Meet me in the council chamber. And inform the entire council to assemble there as quickly as possible.”

  Not more than twenty minutes had passed before Amara Simha, Kshapanaka, Shanku and Dhanavantri had joined the samrat and the rider in the council chamber. All four councilors had been brought up to date on Atulyateja’s message, and they now sat around the table looking at one another in disbelief.

  “I should never have left him back there alone,” Amara Simha shook his head and said irrationally. “I should have waited for his return from Dvarka and brought him back with me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dhanavantri reprimanded him gently, “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Indeed,” said Vikramaditya. “This is no fault of yours.”

  “But you did send him to the frontier under my care,” Amara Simha countered.

  “I did, but the idea was for him to grow out of your shadow and become independent. And that is exactly what happened when he volunteered to go to Dvarka with news of the Huna invasion by sea. If I had wanted him to stay under your care, wouldn’t I have asked you to bring him back when I asked for your return to Ujjayini?”

  Seeing the samrat’s point, Amara Simha nodded, but he still looked miserable. Meanwhile, Kshapanaka addressed the council.

  “Atulyateja speaks of Ghatakarpara taking charge of the frontier south of Udaypuri. Maybe he is visiting one of the remote outposts on inspection…” she trailed off as that possibility sounded unlikely even to her own ears.

  “The message says they have checked,” said Dhanavantri.

  “They couldn’t have checked every outpost,” Amara Simha offered, more in hope than with any real conviction.

  “Yes, but the command centres would still know if he was visiting any of the outposts, wouldn’t they?” the physician argued.

  “We are forgetting the fact that he left the garrison without his horse,” Vikramaditya interrupted, looking at the rider briefly for confirmation. “And that he seemed to have made it a habit to leave the garrison every evening and return around nightfall. He followed this routine even on the evening he was last seen. Ghatakarpara didn’t go anywhere on inspection. That much is clear.”

  “Where could he be then?” Kshapanaka looked at her co-councilors in mystification.

  “What we have to ascertain is whether there was more to Ghatakarpara’s…” the king paused as the door to the council chamber opened to admit Varahamihira. From his expression, it was plain the councilor had already been briefed about the purpose of this sudden meeting. Gesturing at Vikramaditya to continue, he limped to the closest available seat.

  “I was saying we have to find out more about Ghatakarpara’s routine in Udaypuri, especially his penchant for leaving the garrison every evening,” said the samrat. “This habit of going for walks all by himself — I think it has something to do with his disappearance.”

  “Why wasn’t his security detail with him when he went out of the garrison?” Varahamihira interjected. “Soldiers were appointed to escort him, weren’t they?” The lame councilor looked around the table, seeking affirmation.

  “There were, but he took them along only when he went out of town,” Kshapanaka explained. “Atulyateja’s message says so.”

  “More proof that Ghatakarpara did not intend leaving Udaypuri,” the samrat shrugged.

  A silence simmering with uncertainty and apprehension fell over the room as the king and his council pondered over what they had learned. Amara Simha finally looked up at Vikramaditya and spoke.

  “I think I will go.” Seeing the confusion on the faces around him, he said quickly, “To Udaypuri.”

  “What for?” the physician looked at his friend in surprise.

  “To help look for Ghatakarpara.” As the others gave him dubious looks, he added, “I know this sounds stupid, but I feel I am somehow responsible for this.”

  “You are not,” Dhanavantri said in exasperation, even as the others began to protest. But before anyone could add to what the physician had said, Amara Simha raised a hand, demanding silence.

  “I know, but still,” he said, strongly, adamantly. “Also, as the Samrat said, we have to find out more about what happened there — where Ghatakarpara used to go, whom he met and befriended… We need to press in more men in the search; we need someone there making quick decisions.”

  “Why can’t Commander Atulyateja do all that?” asked Varahamihira.

  “Because we have that idiot, Satyaveda, sitting in Udaypuri,” Amara Simha scowled. “That man loves wielding his authority to cause hindrances and make people’s lives miserable. He revels in his pettiness.” Seeing heads nod, he went on, “If we intend making any headway in this affair, someone will need to overrule Satyaveda’s authority, and I doubt Atulyateja would be able to do that the way I can. Also, in all honesty, Atulyateja can’t be expected to man the frontier and oversee the hunt for Ghatakarpara. In a more peaceful time, maybe…”

  The king and the councilors looked at one another, knowing Amara Simha was right. Yet, the king looked troubled by the suggestion.

  “I see your point, but… I don’t know whether we can afford to send you away from Ujjayini,” he confessed at last. “You were at the frontier, but we called you back for a reason.” The samrat looked around the table. “That reason, that threat, still looms over Avanti. We need you here — I need all of you here — when the devas or asuras come next for the Halahala. Ujjayini can’t let you go, councilor.”

  “What about Ghatakarpara then? Can we affo…”

  Before Amara Simha could say more, the door to the chamber swung violently open and Pralupi stormed into the room, her eyes wild with anger and apprehension.

  “What is this I am hearing — is it true?” she screeched. The seriousness in the faces of those seated around the table gave her the answer she sought, and she pinned a furious glare on her brother. “I told you. I told you a hundred times not to send my son to the frontier. Did you listen? No. I begged you, I pleaded with you, I beseeched you to let him come back to Ujjayini. Did you listen? No. You did whatever pleased you, and now look where it has landed me and my son. He is missing,” she wailed theatrically. “Not to be found anywhere for two days. Do you know that, Vikrama? Do you?”

  “Sister, I know how you feel about this…”

  “No, you don’t,” Pralupi cut in sharply, approaching the samrat. “You are sitting here playing games, while my poor son is somewhere at the horrible frontier, all alone…”

  “Sister, please listen to me,” Vikramaditya struggled to stay calm as his voice strained in the effort to remain gentle and assuring. “Please… you must have more faith in your son, even if you have none in me. He is trained to become a soldier, trained by none less than the Acharya and Amara Simha and Kal…” The samrat checked himself a tad too late. �
�He is a fighter and a survivor. Nothing will happen to him, I assure you. And no, sister, we are not playing games here — we are working on a plan of action to find Ghatakarpara.”

  “Really?” Pralupi railed implacably. “And what plan have you devised?”

  Before the king could say anything, Amara Simha piped in. “I will be leaving for Udaypuri to look for your son, Pralupi,” he said. “We took the decision just before you came in.”

  Even as the king and the rest of the council stared at Amara Simha, Pralupi turned to the brawny councilor. “You will find my son, won’t you?” she asked, mollified. “You will bring him back to me safe?”

  “Of course, I will. Don’t worry.”

  “When are you going then?” No thank you, no sign of gratitude from the king’s sister.

  Pralupi was remarkably ungrateful, and shamelessly selfish and pushy, the samrat thought to himself as he looked at Amara Simha, wondering if the man had saved him from more censure and criticism with his glib lies, or whether he had simply taken advantage of a tricky situation to cement his plan to travel to Udaypuri. Either way, Vikramaditya couldn’t keep a small smile from playing on his lips.

  “I…” Amara Simha looked stumped for a moment. “Tomorrow. I depart at daybreak.”

  “You can leave even now,” Pralupi pointed out unreasonably. Dhanavantri rolled his eyes and looked at the samrat, who pulled a wry face and shrugged.

  “Yes, in fact, I intend to, as soon as I can,” Amara Simha replied sportingly, as he rose to usher the woman out of the chamber. Vikramaditya couldn’t say if he had imagined the smirk of exasperation concealed behind the councilor’s big, red beard.

  Once Amara Simha and Pralupi had left, Varahamihira considered Vikramaditya. “Well, it looks like we had one decision made for us,” he said with a grin. “Two birds with one stone. Clever of Amara Simha.”

  As the councilors nodded their admiration, Vikramaditya looked at the rider. “I will have a message ready for dispatch in the morning. You may leave and get some rest.”