The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “I thought you just said it was getting late and…”

  “Of course, it is getting late and all that, brother,” the king cut Kapila off with a smile. “But you heard him. The tiger is just a mile away. If what you want badly is within arm’s reach and you do not go after it — that is foolishness. Whether it is a tiger or a crown or an empire the size of Sindhuvarta, if it is there to be taken, you must take it.”

  * * *

  “They have taken him hostage. Do you realize that? Hostage!”

  Pralupi’s high-pitched rant ended in a ragged shriek, and Shanku immediately slowed down, then stopped a few feet from the door to the terrace adjoining the samrat’s chambers.

  “I realize that, sister,” Vikramaditya’s tone was patient but tired. “Which is why I had the message sent to you, letting you know what we have learned about Ghatakarpara.”

  “So?”

  “So…?” The king repeated, not knowing how to interpret Pralupi’s question.

  “So, will you just stand here, doing nothing?”

  “Amara Simha has already left for the frontier with a force of samsaptakas. Didn’t the messenger deliver my full message?” The samrat sounded exasperated. “The councilor is going into the Great Desert to look for Ghatakarpara.”

  “I know that,” Pralupi snapped back. “But why has Amara Simha gone alone? Why haven’t more councilors gone with him? What can he do all by himself, where all can he search?”

  “He is not alone. He has an army there to help him.”

  “Pshaw!” Pralupi said in a dismissive tone. “You should have gone. You should go. You can go even now.”

  Shanku wondered if she should go away and return in a while. She didn’t like the idea of eavesdropping on the king’s conversation, but the palace hand had insisted that the king wanted to see her urgently.

  “I can’t go, sister, because Ujjayini needs me. For the same reason, I can’t send more councilors with Amara Simha. The city needs protection from the devas and asuras.”

  “The city and its people are more important to you than my son?” Pralupi sneered. “Humph, to think that this is the city and throne my son wants to serve.”

  “The city and its people are as important to me as Ghatakarpara,” Vikramaditya corrected in a steely tone. “I think your son understands this far better than you do.”

  “So that’s it — you won’t go yourself, nor will you send more councilors to rescue my son?” Pralupi’s voice rose in challenge, hard and uncompromising. “What about your brother, Vararuchi? I don’t see him anywhere protecting the city.” Shanku winced at the sarcasm in the last three words. “Send him to find my son.”

  “Vararuchi is our brother, whether you like it or not. And no, no one else goes, leaving the city at the mercy of what Indra and Shukracharya have in mind next.”

  “Do as you wish, but you are not worthy of being uncle to my son,” Pralupi’s voice broke in anger and frustration, and Shanku had a sense that the woman was moving towards the exit, towards her. “I have never seen a more heartless and uncaring man. What did I do to get you as a brother?”

  Pralupi emerged from the terrace in a storm, teary-eyed and tormented, and Shanku had to step hurriedly back and out of the way to prevent a collision. Their eyes met, but if Pralupi recognized Shanku, it didn’t show on her face as she swept past and down the gallery, a tempest on the move. Shanku watched her for a moment before turning and stepping through the door.

  “Shankubala, you’re here,” the samrat said wearily, but with some relief as well. “Lucky you didn’t get blown away by that whirlwind.” His eyes crinkled in humour.

  “I am sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing some of it,” the girl replied with a small smile.

  “The way she was going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if half of Ujjayini knows what was said,” the king grinned, and Shanku couldn’t help laughing.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  Vikramaditya turned and walked over to the parapet. Leaning his hands on the stone railing, he looked out over the lake, which was shimmering in the early afternoon sun. Shanku took a few steps in and stopped under an archway that trailed creepers. She waited for the king to speak. At last, Vikramaditya turned to appraise her.

  “I take it that you’ve received a message from your father recently?”

  The girl’s expression hardened instantly. “Yes, Samrat. Did you hear that from the Mother Oracle?”

  “Why would your grandmother tell me that? No,” Vikramaditya shook his head. “I heard it from him.”

  “Him?” Shanku blinked at the samrat. “From my father?”

  Vikramaditya nodded. “He sent me a message through one of the guards an hour ago. The message said that he has been trying to meet you.”

  “He sent me a message through a guard as well,” the girl confirmed. “Some days back.”

  “You know he wants you to forgive him.”

  It wasn’t a question, so Shanku didn’t reply. Instead, she dropped her head and studied the patterns on the marble floor.

  “You know what is interesting? In his message to me, your father never once asked me to pardon him. But he tells me that he seeks your forgiveness.”

  “That’s too bad for him,” Shanku replied tightly and shook her head.

  The samrat drew a deep breath and looked away towards the far shore of the lake. “Can you guess why he sent me a message? What his message was about?”

  Shanku studied the king’s face, not knowing what was coming next.

  Vikramaditya let the suspense draw out for a few extra moments before returning his gaze to the girl. “He claims he knows someone who escaped from the Dandaka Forest, and he says he can help us with that person’s whereabouts.”

  “Who is this person and where is he?”

  The king shrugged. “Your father is not telling. He is not telling anyone that. He insists he will share that information with only one person.”

  Shanku’s eyes widened in comprehension, then quickly narrowed again. “He is doing it for the gold coins.”

  “He made no mention of the reward, if that helps.”

  “It is just a trick to try and meet me,” the girl said adamantly. “He knows nothing.”

  Vikramaditya pushed himself off the railing he was leaning against and walked up to Shanku. “You may be right, Shankubala. But what if he is telling us the truth? What if he does know someone who escaped from the Forest of the Exiles, someone who can take us back in?”

  The girl did not reply. Seeing her stand silent and sullen, staring away at nothing, the samrat stepped up and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I cannot ask you to go and meet him…”

  “You can,” Shanku mumbled. “You are my king.”

  “I will not ask you to go and meet him against your wishes,” Vikramaditya corrected himself. “Brichcha may or may not be lying, but if you think this is an elaborate ruse to bait you into meeting him, we will not allow it. I am sorry I brought this up.”

  Shanku looked up at the samrat’s face. In his eyes, she saw hope ebbing away, and disappointment and helplessness creeping in. The samrat let his hands slip from her shoulders and drop to his sides.

  “You may go,” he gave a brisk nod, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, as a new thought struck him, he stayed the girl. “Kindly do me a favour. I need a rider to go to badi-maa’s house with a message for Vararuchi. He needs to know about Ghatakarpara’s kidnapping. Also, with Amara Simha no longer here, it would be good if we had Vararuchi back protecting Ujjayini. See to it that the rider is dispatched promptly.”

  Shanku inclined her head. Turning around, she left the terrace without a word.

  * * *

  The gate that gave into the garrison command of Udaypuri was broad and imposing, constructed from heavy ironwood and reinforced with thick bands of black iron. Its high archway, which housed armoured stockades on both sides for archers to shoot from, compulsively drew
the observer’s eye, and together with the surrounding stone-and-mortar wall, it dwarfed the adjacent town buildings into insignificance. The gate was thrown open at the moment, offering a view into portions of the wide courtyard and fort within. Soldiers flitted beneath the arch, in and out, in small, frantic rushes. Judging by the hive-like activity, Aparupa surmised that something of import was afoot.

  “You don’t see him anywhere, do you?” she asked, turning her head halfway towards the man standing to her left, her gaze still fixed on the gate. A troubled frown appeared to have taken permanent possession of her face.

  Dveeja, the son of Aparupa’s maid, blinked stupidly at the gate a couple of times, then let his eye trail the wall. “Aai… ai…” he said with a single shake of his head that could have meant anything, but which Aparupa seemed to understand.

  “I can’t see him either,” she said with a short sigh. Craning her neck, she looked past a gaggle of Frontier Guardsmen who had stopped to converse with the sentries. “Let’s wait for some more time.”

  In truth, the girl had been standing under the tree opposite the garrison gate half the morning, and had returned to the spot with Dveeja as soon as lunch was complete. As the day progressed into afternoon and the shadows crawled and lengthened along the ground, she had grown increasingly anxious, fighting to keep the rising tide of desperation in check. It had been four days since she had last seen the soldier — and three since she had heard from him.

  Three mornings ago, as she had lounged in her bed twirling the snake bangle he had gifted her and smiling happy thoughts, a palm leaf tied to a weighted stub of bamboo had sailed in through the open window. The leaf bore a short message from the soldier, telling her that he had been detained on some work and would not be able to meet her later that evening. Disappointed though she had been, Aparupa had accepted it. The next day went by without any word from him, and when the next — yesterday — brought nothing either, she had gone to their chosen meeting spot in the hope that he would show up like he always did. She had sat on the grass by the big boulder, watching dusk fall, listening for his footsteps over the soft gurgle of the stream, but he hadn’t come. It was almost dark when she finally rose to return home, confused over his absence, heavy with sorrow, sick with longing.

  And now, almost all of today had gone by, and there was still no news from him, no indication of his whereabouts.

  “I am sure there were no messages from him other than the first one,” she said, half to Dveeja, half to herself. Instinctively, she touched the bamboo bangle she was wearing on her right hand. “I looked everywhere… there was nothing.”

  The sound of approaching drumbeats came from away to their left. Aparupa and Dveeja turned to see two men with drums around their necks emerge from a side street and turn away from the fort, heading towards the town’s centre. They were followed by a small rabble of children, all noisy and excited about the drummers. Dveeja was taken in by the sight as well and gaped after the little procession, but the girl was back to watching the gate. The town criers had been about since morning, beating their drums and making some announcement about people who had escaped from the Forest of the Exiles, and there being a big reward from the palace in exchange for information. Reward or no reward, Aparupa couldn’t be less bothered about runaways from the Dandaka. All she cared about for the moment was finding the man she loved.

  Suddenly, as if making up her mind, she grabbed her maid’s son by the hand. “Come.”

  Pulling Dveeja along behind her, Aparupa impulsively crossed over to the gate, where there was a momentary break in the comings and goings. Once on the other side of the road, however, she hesitated, overcome with uncertainty.

  “Yes?” One of the sentries looked at the two of them with raised eyebrows. “What do you want?”

  Aparupa approached the gate tentatively, conscious of three pairs of eyes on her. “I am… there is a soldier I am looking for,” she managed.

  “There are many soldiers here,” the sentry replied. “It’s a big garrison.”

  “His name is Ghataraja.”

  The sentry shook his head; the name meant nothing to him. He looked across at the other two sentries, who had heard the exchange. Both shrugged and shook their heads, signalling their ignorance.

  “I have to find him,” her tone took on a pleading edge. “Can you help me, please?”

  The sentries looked at one another before the one doing the talking shrugged helplessly. “We’re on duty. And we don’t know this soldier you speak of.”

  “Is there some place I can go and ask, or someone who would know?” Aparupa’s voice strained and cracked in desperation.

  “I… don’t know…” The sentry was moved enough by the girl’s plight to want to help, but he was at a loss how to. “Maybe you should…”

  He was interrupted by the clatter of hooves from inside the garrison, and moments later, a posse of four cavalrymen veered into view. Aparupa and Dveeja were bang in their way, and the horsemen had to rein in quickly to stop the horses from running over the two of them.

  “What is this?” thundered one of the riders, a man with a pink face and a huge, grey moustache. Turning to the sentry, he chided, “Why are these two standing in front of the gate? They would have got themselves killed and we would probably have suffered worse. Move them aside.”

  “My apologies, captain,” the sentry mumbled and bowed. Then, as a thought struck him, he said, “Captain, they are looking for a soldier. A soldier named…” he looked at Aparupa enquiringly, urging her to speak up.

  “Ghataraja,” the girl said quickly.

  “So?” The captain looked from the guard to Aparupa to Dveeja, who quailed at the horseman’s glare and ducked behind Aparupa with a small whimper. “So what?” the captain demanded again.

  “This is the Second Captain of the garrison of Udaypuri,” the sentry gave Aparupa a nod loaded with meaning.

  “Ghataraja… sir,” the girl repeated, catching on quickly. “I am looking for a soldier by that name, sir.”

  Mollified just a little, the captain looked at his three companions. The name didn’t strike any of them as familiar, though.

  “What is he a soldier of, girl?” the captain asked. Seeing her blank expression, he added, “Is he a soldier of the Frontier Guard or the Imperial Army?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I just know he is a soldier of this garrison. That’s what he told me.”

  Two of the horsemen exchanged glances and shook their heads at the girl’s naiveté. The captain, meanwhile, frowned.

  “That doesn’t help,” he said. “This garrison houses Frontier Guardsmen, soldiers of the Imperial Army and even members of the local militia who’re not from Udaypuri.” He paused, then snorted, “Hell, we even have soldiers from the Anartas and Heheya here, girl. This soldier of yours could be any of these.”

  “Sir, he is from Avanti, sir. A silk weaver’s son,” the words tumbled out of Aparupa.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t categorize soldiers by their father’s professions. If you don’t know which division he serves in, finding him will be impossible.”

  “Sir, I first met him near the village of Balipura, along the frontier,” Aparupa was literally wringing her hands, beseeching the captain. “I met him again here recently, and he was here until four days ago. He was…”

  “Listen, girl,” the captain interrupted firmly. “This is a garrison headquarters. Soldiers from all over the place come here, and they are transferred to command centres and outposts along the frontier. This is routine even during peacetime — and now we are dealing with a potential Huna-Saka invasion.” He nudged his horse forward, trying to edge past Aparupa and Dveeja. “Your soldier can be anywhere right now, and I cannot waste my time…”

  “Sir, please, somebody would know. There must be some records of where…”

  “Listen, girl. Listen to me.” The captain raised his voice sharply, his patience wearing thin. When he was certain he had the girl’s attention, he continu
ed, “I have bigger headaches to deal with right now. A prince of this kingdom has gone missing, the Samrat’s nephew, no less. Gone from this very garrison, without a trace. If I have to look for someone, I would rather spend my time looking for the prince than for this soldier of yours, understand? Now move aside and let us pass.”

  The posse nosed past them and was away in a quick gallop. Their departure coincided with another discharge of a platoon of soldiers of the Imperial Army, led by a captain with a tough, no-nonsense attitude. Aparupa’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and as she turned away, she saw the sentry look at her with sympathy. Somehow, that look hurt even more than the Second Captain’s apathy.

  “Come, Dveeja, let’s go home,” she said. As they walked away, heads down in defeat, she added bitterly, “Of course they will look for the prince and not Ghataraja. What do they understand about the importance of my love, what do they care?”

  “Aaai…” Dveeja pressed Aparupa’s hand. He knew she was upset, and his own lips turned down at the corners. “Aauuu…”

  “It’s okay.” The girl felt the crushing weight of hopelessness in her chest, and she struggled to keep her voice steady. “We will keep looking for him. Nobody can stop us.”

  The road ahead became a watery blur, as long-suppressed tears finally rose in revolt.

  Revelation

  The man staring out from between the heavy iron bars of the cell had piercing black eyes that reflected the light from the torches in flickering orange specks. His gaze was fixed in what appeared to be a cross between wonder and disbelief, and he gripped the cell’s bars tightly to keep himself from sagging to the ground, for his legs were quivering, threatening to give under him any moment. Without warning, tears sprang to his eyes, and letting go of the bars, he slowly backed away from the door, withdrawing into the deeper shadows of the cell.

  Shanku stood rooted to the spot, ten paces outside the cell’s door, caught in two minds about the wisdom of coming here. One part of her mind assured her that she had made the right choice; the other told her she still had time to reverse her decision and leave the dungeons behind her. Realizing that she was holding her breath — and that the figure in the cell was no more than a silhouette in the darkness within — she exhaled and stepped closer to the door.