The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “Father, Sindhuvarta is in trouble. More critically, Matsya is in trouble. Haven’t you always said that King Baanahasta is like a brother to you? He was the only one to come enquiring when you were unwell. He needs us now, father. We can’t let him face the Sakas alone. Please,” he took the king’s hand into his own and entreated, “let me go.”

  Chandravardhan nodded, his eyes suddenly a little moist. Observing his king’s eyes well up, Yashobhavi wondered if the emotion was the outcome of a rush of pride in a son from whom there were no expectations left, or the fear that his offspring was heading to a place from where the chances of a safe return were limited. The councilor suspected a combination of both factors. He, for one, hadn’t expected Shashivardhan to volunteer for the harsh frontier. And though it was surprising and commendable on Shashivardhan’s part, the councilor wasn’t impressed. Intimate knowledge of the prince’s nature told him the young man wasn’t capable of matching his zealous words with action. If he were a betting man, Yashobhavi wouldn’t have placed his money on the prince coming back to Kausambi, no matter what the odds were.

  Shashivardhan was about to say something when a soft voice spoke from the doorway. “Where iss Plalupi?”

  All three men turned to see Himavardhan at the door, holding the curtains and staring at them with his big, childlike eyes. Seeing the men looking at him, Himavardhan raised the edge of a curtain to his mouth and bit it self-consciously. “Where iss Plalupi?” he asked again, looking around the room. Pouting, he said, “I want to play with Plalupi.”

  “Of course, you can play with Pralupi,” Shashivardhan clapped his hands and walked over to his uncle. There was playfulness in his tone and his eyes shone with excitement. “But first, don’t you want to go for a boat ride?”

  “Yess.” Himavardhan grinned at the prince, all thoughts of Pralupi forgotten. Letting go of the curtain, he took Shashivardhan’s hand and turned around. Together, uncle and nephew left the bath chamber.

  “He is s-so loving to…wards Himavardhan,” the king said, staring fondly at the empty doorway. “When Shashi leaves… for the f-frontier, how… how will my little brother cope? Pralupi… ha-hardly cares about him. Isn’t sh-she back from… Av-vanti yet?”

  When the councilor didn’t reply, Chandravardhan turned to him. “He volunteered to… go to the frontier,” he said, admiration in his voice. “He was always a g-good boy at heart… I… I think he has finally become res… responsible as well. I can see the makings of a good… k-king in him. And you know… I d-didn’t smell soma on his breath this morning.”

  “That’s nice, your honour,” Yashobhavi nodded curtly. His eyes were expressionless.

  “Yes… yes.” The king suddenly looked anxious, and his words were directed more to himself than at the councilor. “He’s getting… better. More responsible. No-nothing should happen to him… at the frontier. We must make sure… guards… he needs a good s-set of guards to… to protect him.” Then, as if suddenly remembering that Yashobhavi was still with him, he looked up. “W-what brought you here so early?”

  “A delegation of traders and farmers has come to meet you from the principalities of Karusha and Dasarna, your honour. They claim the recent floods have destroyed their crops, and they are seeking waivers in taxes. They say they are being harassed by our tax collectors.”

  Chandravardhan picked up a small brass bell that was kept to one side and rang it. A shrill tinkling issued, and almost immediately, the masseurs who had withdrawn came right back in.

  “I shall see the… the delegation once I have b-bathed and breakfasted,” said the king. “T-tell the royal Master of… of Records and Accounts to also at-tend the meeting.”

  “Your honour,” Yashobhavi bowed and left the room, heading to where the delegation awaited an audience with their king. But the councilor’s mind was elsewhere, closer to the rugged, inhospitable frontier where Shashivardhan was going.

  The councilor’s mind was already formulating a plan.

  Search

  Guided by the lucid notes of the jal-yantra, Shukracharya approached the marble pavilion over one of the overgrown paths that crisscrossed the garden, his step surer than it had been on the morning he had made Jayanta’s acquaintance. That day, he had been cautious, circling his prey; today, he was intent on luring it into his trap.

  This did not imply that he had hit upon a tactic to make Urvashi pliant towards Jayanta. If anything, the guru of the asuras was conscious of the hollowness of his suggestions to win the apsara’s affections, and he feared Jayanta would call his bluff. Still, time was running out, and he had to make a play for the mantras to awaken Ahi before Indra and the human king met. So, he had waited for the prince and followed him unobtrusively into the garden, his gamble hinging on the hope that the deva’s desire for Urvashi was ultimately greater than his capacity for common sense.

  Climbing the steps to the pavilion and ducking into its welcoming shade, the high priest sought out the platform located by the side of the pool, where, he knew, the jal-yantra and its player would be found. He was rewarded by the sight of the young prince seated with his back to him, striking the bronze bowls rhythmically and swaying his head, lost to the music; for a moment, the high priest let himself be drawn into its rapture as well. Then, forcing himself to concentrate on the task that had brought him here, Shukracharya began descending the steps leading to the pool and the platform.

  Halfway down the broad marble steps and closing in on his quarry, the high priest was assailed by the sensation that something was amiss. For one, he got the feeling that he was being watched. And as his vision adjusted to the shadows inside the pavilion, it occurred to him that the player seated before the jal-yantra was a bit too bulky for Indra’s son. Shukracharya froze where he stood, but before he could react any further, a familiar voice addressed him.

  “I don’t recall you ever having cultivated such a consuming interest in music. Is this a recent passion?”

  Turning slowly, Shukracharya looked over his shoulder to where Brihaspati had made an appearance from behind a column. The portly chamberlain had a cunning and superior smile on his smooth face, and his manner was condescending as he waddled down the steps on his bowlegs. Shukracharya waited for his old opponent to draw close, so that their eyes were level.

  “One tries to learn whatever one can, which is more than can be said of others, who are happy to let old habits and older stupidities define who they are.”

  “Indeed, indeed,” said Brihaspati, smoothening the ring of white hair on his scalp with one hand. “In that case, I suspect you have applied yourself very poorly to your lessons. Else, you would have been able to tell that he,” pointing at the player, who, Shukracharya realized, had stopped playing, “is nowhere as talented as Prince Jayanta. And if you had managed telling that difference, you wouldn’t have walked into this little trap I had set for you.”

  “Jayanta? Trap?” The high priest scratched his beard in puzzlement in a brave attempt to save face. “Are you in your senses, good friend?”

  Brihaspati’s smile was thin and without mirth. “Surely, even you are not foolish enough to assume you would be allowed to roam around Devaloka unsupervised, and that your attempts to befriend the prince would go unnoticed and unreported?”

  “Pardon me, but I didn’t know that spying on guests was the latest in deva etiquette.”

  “Etiquette, like respect, is conferred on those deserving of it. One can’t abuse the privileges of being a guest and expect etiquette in return.”

  “Talking to the prince is an abuse of privilege now?” Shukracharya snorted in mock merriment. “I was craving company; the prince was alone. We bumped into each other, so I stopped to chat. There was nothing more to that.”

  “Two things,” the chamberlain held up two fingers. “If you are craving company, why are you still here? Hiranyaksha left for Patala a few days ago. You could have gone with him. Nobody’s asked you to stay on, so what’s holding you back? The way I…”


  “I’m a guest of your master Indra,” Shukracharya interrupted hotly, an accent on the ‘master’ to show Brihaspati his place. “I don’t need to explain why I’m still in Devaloka to anyone other than your master. But as you’ve asked, let me tell you that I had told Indra that I would wait for his return, so we can decide on the next course of action together.”

  “Fair enough. But… but… coming back to Jayanta, let me tell you why your chats with the prince aren’t as innocent as you make them out to be,” Brihaspati retorted. “You know that Jayanta has the mantras needed to raise Ahi; you’re also aware that only offspring born out of a deva and asura union can control the serpent-dragon. When I look for those who can command Ahi, other than Jayanta, only two names suggest themselves — Chandasura and Amarka. Your sons, half-bloods. Now if only they had the mantras…”

  “Nonsense,” the high priest smirked and shook his head dismissively, even though he knew he wasn’t fooling Brihaspati. “You read too much on account of your paranoia.”

  “To test my theory, I devised this little trap,” the chamberlain continued as if Shukracharya hadn’t spoken. He pointed to the deva who now stood by the pool in respectful silence. “I got him to dress up like Jayanta, walk into this garden and play the jal-yantra. And look at what came in after him…” Brihaspati grinned and looked Shukracharya up and down, “like a swarm of bees attracted to a pot of honey.”

  “You really think way too much, and I’ve already wasted a lot of my time on you.” Seeing that he was at a disadvantage and needed to beat a retreat, the high priest turned and began mounting the steps back out of the pavilion. “I might want company now and then, but if the choice is between you and loneliness, I would settle for the latter every single time.”

  Shukracharya had just about reached the archway that led out into the sunny garden when the guru of the devas called after him.

  “You’ll be pleased to know that loneliness is what you can expect for the rest of your stay in Devaloka. Because you’ll definitely not be running into Jayanta, that much I can tell you. I have instructed the guards at the palace to ensure that such opportunities do not arise hereafter.”

  * * *

  The hunt was not going well at all, at least from Shoorasena’s point of view. Yes, they had cornered and brought down a majestic specimen of barasingha, besides which they had also slaughtered four spotted deer and snared a handful of teetar, the carcasses piled high in the carts accompanying the hunting party. But the tigers and leopards had proved elusive, and despite doing their best, the royal trackers and drum beaters had failed to flush the big cats into the open. Some days were like this, Shoorasena knew, yet it hurt his pride that his first hunt as king of Magadha had given him no ferocious trophies to bear home. If he were a superstitious man, he would have read an omen in this, but not being one, he just cursed and kept pushing on in the hope that a predator would finally show itself.

  Having been on the trail since daybreak, fatigued and in poor spirits, the party had broken for rest and repast around midday, when a rider arrived with news of King Bhoomipala having agreed to trade the musician Gajaketu for their diplomat Pallavan.

  “Wonderful,” Shoorasena exclaimed, slapping his leg and sitting up on the divan on which he had been reclining. He beamed at Kapila and General Daipayana, who were sharing the tent that had been pitched for him. “Exactly as I hoped and expected.”

  “Indeed, your honour,” Daipayana grinned through his stained and uneven teeth. “Very clever of you to have predicted how Bhoomipala would behave, and tricking him in his own game of espionage and manipulation. You deserve a salute, your honour.” Swaying drunkenly, he took the pitcher of firewater and splashed some of the spirit into his cup, which he then raised in a toast. “A salute to the king of Magadha.”

  “What do you propose to do with this musician once we’ve brought him to Girivraja, brother?” asked Kapila.

  “He will never set foot in Girivraja,” Shoorasena answered, getting to his feet. “It is too dangerous. He knows too much. I don’t want anyone learning what he knows, even by accident.” The king pushed the flap of the tent aside to look out at the forest, where a light drizzle was coming down. “No, we’ll kill him and bury him as soon as the exchange is complete.”

  Whether it was the news of Bhoomipala’s meek surrender or the cooling rain, Shoorasena’s mood lifted, and he turned to face his brother and his general with a satisfied smile. “First, King Harihara offers me his daughter’s hand, and now, Bhoomipala agrees to our demands like a dog with its tailed tucked between its legs. These are powerful kingdoms of Sindhuvarta, remember. Heheya and Kosala. They see us for who we are… Magadha, a land of promise, power, prestige. One day, not far in the future, we will hold them chained at our feet. Each one of them, including Avanti.”

  “In a way, we already have them chained and held hostage, brother,” said Kapila. “From what I hear, our restrictions on the trade of iron out of Dandakabhukti have already started hitting the other kingdoms of Sindhuvarta hard. The price of iron has doubled, and still there’s practically nothing in the market. Everyone is bound to get desperate soon.”

  “Right now, it is iron,” the king chuckled as he poured himself some firewater. “Wait until we start imposing duties on all goods that pass west through Magadha. Teak and bamboo and spices from the valleys of Pragjyotishpura, the fine and fragrant rice from Vanga, silk and dyes and pearls from Sribhoja and Srivijaya… Our neighbours will pay more for everything they need, unless they accede to certain demands of ours. Tributes that will earn them trade concessions, but give us greater power and leverage over them, military alliances that will be favourable to us… Just wait and watch.”

  “Yes, your honour, but in order to strangulate the kingdoms of Sindhuvarta, we must act quickly against Odra and Kalinga first,” Daipayana pointed out. “There is no point in controlling Tamralipti if goods can still flow uninterrupted through the ports of Tosali and Uttara Tosali. And let’s not forget about the iron mines in Odra. The deposits may not be as abundant as those in Dandakabhukti, but the quality of the ore is impressive. We must block off all supply from there as well.”

  “Undoubtedly, general.” Shoorasena took a long pull of firewater. “The moment this affair over the musician is settled, I intend turning all our focus back on Kalinga and Odra. In fact,” he turned his gaze to Kapila, “I want you to proceed to Tamralipti immediately.”

  Kapila nodded once, silently.

  “When you get there, meet Bhadraka and the rest of the Vanga chiefs who swore their loyalty to Magadha and get them abreast of our plan to attack Uttara Tosali.”

  “Would that be wise, your honour?” asked Daipayana. “Trusting them so soon?”

  “What choice do we have, general?” asked the king, stroking his manicured beard. “If we have to take Tosali and Uttara Tosali, it will have to be by sea. We need ships, and we need men who can control those ships and navigate the sea. I don’t know if such men exist in Magadha, but they certainly do in Vanga. We need the assistance of Vanga’s chiefs to take Odra and Kalinga.”

  “I see what you mean, brother, but the general has a point.” Kapila leaned forward. “Can the Vanga chiefs be trusted not to send warnings to the courts of Queen Abhirami and King Veerayanka? They swore their loyalty to us, but are they loyal enough yet? For them, we are still invaders who have forcibly taken their land — and their right to rule their land.”

  “You are right. Which is why, it is time to let them know that we are not really taking their land, nor their right to rule it.” Shoorasena paused and looked from his brother to his general, who exchanged puzzled glances. “When you get to Tamralipti, you will make an official declaration on my behalf, appointing Bhadraka as Chief Governor of Vanga. He will be the administrative head of all the principalities and the official representative of the kingdom of Magadha.”

  “Bhadraka,” said Daipayana in surprise, but there was also slow comprehension in his eyes. “A clever move, yo
ur honour.”

  “The most sensible and ambitious of Vanga’s chiefs. He was quick to see there was no point in standing against us, so he switched sides early. And he got the other chiefs to come over as well. A bit of an opportunist, which suits us fine. He’ll love our gesture, and he’ll ensure the others comply with our wishes.”

  “I shall leave for Tamralipti tonight, brother,” said Kapila.

  A troubled frown creased Daipayana’s forehead and Shoorasena was quick to notice it. “Something the matter, general?” the king asked.

  “Just wondering, your honour… We are making Bhadraka Chief Governor of Vanga. But we have already promised that post to the courtier Asmabindu. If you recall, that was the deal he had negotiated with us to expose Uttama, Diganta and Bhaskara, and turn them and Pallavan over to us.”

  “Hmm.” Shoorasena’s eyes were suddenly angry and unhappy over this complication.

  “How do we sort this out, your honour?”

  Shoorasena rose and went to stand at the door to the tent, gazing out into the green forest. Overhead, the light rain pattered on the leaves and drops drummed on the heavy fabric of the tent.

  “It is too bad that Asmabindu also wants the post,” the king said finally with a helpless shrug of his broad shoulders. “He cannot have it. Not just yet, at least. Maybe after Bhadraka has served his purpose. Bhadraka as governor will have far greater value for us than Asmabindu. So no… Bhadraka it will be.” He turned to face Daipayana. “Find some other way to compensate Asmabindu. Make him chief of… something. Or… maybe give him money. Just do what is needed.” Shoorasena dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. “I think it is time to return to Girivraja. We must prepare for Pallavan’s exchange, and it is getting late…”

  At just that moment, a soldier arrived at the tent. “Your honour,” he said with a bow, “the trackers have sighted a tiger further down the valley. A mile to the south.”

  “Really? That close?” Shoorasena turned to Kapila and Daipayana with bright eyes. “Get your bows. Let’s go.”