“Unlock it, please,” she said to the guard accompanying her, aware that her throat felt strangely dry, making her voice crack a little.
The door swung open on poorly oiled hinges, a whining, grating protest of metal on metal. Taking a torch from a nearby wall bracket, the councilor entered the cell. The torchlight illuminated the modest space, and Shanku saw that the man had backed into the farthest wall and had slid down to sit on his haunches, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he wept silently, uncontrollably. The councilor took a couple of paces towards the man, then stopped and glanced at the guard, who had followed her inside. Meeting her eyes, the guard inclined his head in respect and slipped out of the cell.
Turning back, Shanku walked the few remaining paces to stand in front of the huddled figure. Holding the torch up to see him clearly, she spoke, striving to keep her tone even and matter of fact.
“You wanted to see me.”
The man raised his head and looked up at the councilor, his eyes still streaming tears. “You came,” he said, the words coming out in a wet croak of relief.
“Yes,” Shanku breathed in deep to steady herself. “You insisted that I come.”
The man nodded, then wiped his eyes with his palms, using his forearms to dry his cheeks. For a moment he sat quietly, looking away to one side.
“I know you’ve come for the king’s sake and not mine,” he sniffled once. “I should have been more like you, putting the king ahead of anyone else. But I wasn’t. I should have made you proud. But I didn’t. I am sorry I failed you, Shankubala.”
The councilor opened her mouth to speak, but found that the words had caught in her throat, struggling to get past the painful lump that had suddenly formed there. She swallowed and looked down at the bowed head of Brichcha.
Shanku had very little recollection of the man from her childhood — she had been all of eight when Brichcha’s treachery was discovered and he was removed from the post of Warden of the Imperial Stables. The only thing she remembered vividly was him putting her on a saddle and taking her on rides around the palace grounds, wind whipping her hair as they laughed together in abandonment. She didn’t even recall much from Brichcha being sentenced to be exiled into the Dandaka, her mother committing suicide out of shame and Vikramaditya sparing Brichcha from exile and consigning him to the dungeons out of pity for her, Shanku. She had gathered all that in little pieces much later, as she had grown up in the palace under Vetala Bhatta’s tutelage. But with that gathering and understanding had come anger and revulsion for the man who had deprived her of so much. Slowly, her visits to the dungeons had dropped in frequency until one day, five years ago, she had determined never to look at the man’s face again.
Five years ago, Brichcha had still been tall, with a haughty, unrepentant air about him. But the figure squatting at her feet was frail and bent, the black of his hair and beard replaced by a dull shade of yellow-white. His shoulders had narrowed and his cheeks had sunk in, and Shanku realized that she would barely have recognized the man had she met him outside his cell. It came as a shock to her that Brichcha had not been done in by age — he had been broken by her neglect of him. Her vengeance on the man had worked like a charm, she realized to her horror.
“You think that I seek pardon, so I may be set free of the dungeons,” the man looked up at her with a sad smile and shook his head. “No, I am happy here in this cell, my home for the last ten or more years. No, Shankubala, this is not my prison. I am a prisoner of my guilt, my shame at what I have done — to myself, to your mother, but mostly to you. That is the prison I seek escape from. And only you can grant that to me. I beg your forgiveness, Shanku. Rid me of my guilt and shame.”
A fresh burst of sorrow brought a fresh flood of tears, and Brichcha hid his face in his forearms. Crouching down before the man, Shanku reached out a trembling hand and touched Brichcha’s shoulder.
“Father,” she said, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice and failing. “Father.”
Raising his head, Brichcha looked gratefully at the councilor. Then, taking her hand gently from his shoulder, he placed it between his own and brought it up to his bowed head.
“Forgive me, Shankubala, forgive me,” he mumbled through his tears, pressing his daughter’s hand to his forehead.
“I do, father,” the girl heard herself say, through the rush of sobs that broke from the very core of her being. She wasn’t entirely certain whether she had only thought the words or had said them out loud, so she repeated them as she wrapped her arms around Brichcha’s shoulders, drawing him close, tears running down her face. “I forgive you, father.”
Father and daughter held each other in a quivering embrace that neither dared to break. It was almost as if they were holding together their futures in the span of their arms, and that by letting each other go, they feared all they had achieved would come apart and fall away around them. It was only when the fear and the tears subsided that they slowly unclasped from their embrace, looking at one another with new eyes.
“Promise me you will visit me more often,” said Brichcha, still holding Shanku’s hand. “Once in ten days, once in fifteen… even once a month if you…”
“I will come every week,” Shanku placed a finger on her father’s lips, silencing him.
“You promise?”
As Shanku nodded, Brichcha looked at his daughter closely, taking in her features. “You have grown in the last five years. No more a child. I have been hearing about you,” his voice took on a note of pride. “They told me about how you led a charge against the horsemen from Devaloka, how you forced them to come into the range of our archers. My daughter, so brave. They also told me about how you can… disappear.”
“You’ve heard about all this?” The councilor looked surprised.
“Of course. Gossip is all we do here. We have all the time. But with you, there was active interest — I have earned a reputation for pestering the guards to bring me news of you. I have tried my best to keep abreast of what is happening in your life.”
Shanku dropped her head, suddenly feeling guilty for having ignored her father for so many years. But Brichcha himself didn’t seem bothered, now that he had her pardon. “You do this appearing and disappearing thing… now it will be easier for you to come and go from the dungeons,” he smiled at her. “You won’t need to climb up and down the stairs. So come every week, okay? Just like that,” he flicked his fingers.
The girl smiled, then looked at her father. “You sent the Samrat a message saying you know someone, an exile…”
“…who escaped successfully from the Dandaka Forest,” Brichcha completed for her. “Yes. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but he was, when I was Warden of the Stables.”
“Oh, that was a long time ago,” Shanku’s face fell.
“Yes, but there’s no harm in looking for him.”
“Who is he and where can we find him?”
“He was the leader of a gang of highwaymen who operated along the road between Lava and Viratapuri some twenty years ago. The gang had earned quite a reputation for looting in those days, skulking in the forests and plundering trade caravans plying between Matsya, Avanti and the Anartas. They successfully eluded capture for a long time, I remember. But then they committed a blunder that the law could not turn a blind eye to, and that led to their undoing.”
“Meaning?” Shanku asked with childlike curiosity. For that moment, they were father and daughter, narrating stories until sleep got the better of them. “What happened?”
“I suspect the gang stayed beyond the reach of the law for so long because they kept the law enforcers in that area happy with gifts.”
“Bribes, you mean?”
“Bribes, a share of the spoils, call it what you may,” said Brichcha. “The forest there is dense — it was even denser back then — so those entrusted with upholding the law had a handy excuse for failing to nab gang members. And since the gang’s crimes were limited to robbing wealthy
merchants, many of these merchants were happy to cough up protection money instead of incurring the gang’s displeasure. Thus, no one cared enough to bring them to justice, and the outlaws more or less operated with impunity. Then one day, the band attacked a wedding procession. They took the money and jewellery, of course, but three gang members also abducted the bride. Her body was found in a roadside ditch the next day. She had been molested, killed and left for wild animals.”
“And that brought the full wrath of Avanti upon the gang,” said Shanku. “How come I have never heard this tale before?”
“Not Avanti. Nishada. This was just before the savages from the Marusthali arrived.” Brichcha scratched his head selfconsciously at the mention of the Hunas and the Sakas. “Back then, Nishada was an independent kingdom. Anyway, yes, a crime so severe was impossible to overlook. Nishada launched a hunt for the gang, and the whole lot of them — eleven in all — were apprehended. No amounts of bribes could save them this time. They were all tried and exiled to the Dandaka. Their leader, of course, pleaded mercy, insisting that only the three who had abducted the bride should pay the harsh penalty of Dandaka, but all eleven of them were sent there, to be made examples of for other gangs of highwaymen in Sindhuvarta.”
“How do you know he escaped the Forest of the Exiles?”
“He told me so himself. I met him in a tavern here by the Kshipra. We hit it off, and we talked deep into the night. He got drunk on firewater and told me everything.”
“If you knew he had escaped from the Dandaka, why didn’t you bring him to the notice of the City Watch?” Shanku looked more surprised than outraged.
“Well…” the old man hesitated before offering an apologetic shrug, “…back then I didn’t care. My loyalties were not with the throne anyway, so…”
The councilor nodded. “How can you be sure the man you met was who he claimed to be, and wasn’t making it all up, stringing you along with a fancy tale? He was drunk, after all.”
“He was drunk, but he was also scared while talking about the Dandaka. Drink makes you brave, not scared, and he was terrified. He said he survived four years in the Dandaka, living by his wits and pure luck, before getting out. He said he had watched his friends die one by one, and in the end, just two of them were left. He was the only one to make it out alive, he said. Beyond that, who knows…” Brichcha shrugged expansively.
“So where is this highwayman now? Don’t tell me he’s right here in Ujjayini?” The girl’s voice rang with a note of anticipation.
“No, he was only passing through Ujjayini, on his way back to the village he said he hails from. A place called Bhiwaha, north of Lava, on the road to Madhyamika. I reckon he thought it was safe to return as the place was overrun with barbarians, and no one in Nishada could be bothered with a convict who had fled from the Dandaka.”
“Bhiwaha, on the Lava-Madhyamika road,” Shanku repeated. “You are certain about this? Good. You still haven’t told me his name, though.”
“Greeshma,” said Brichcha. “As a highwayman, he was Greeshma the Wild.”
“Thank you for this, father,” Shanku began getting to her feet. “I hope what you have told me comes in use.”
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” Brichcha caught his daughter’s hand, pleading. “Stay a while longer. It’s been so many years since I saw you.”
“I have to go, father. This news about Greeshma is important for us. I have to convey it to the Samrat, so we can send troops to Lava to look for him.” The girl disengaged her hand gently. “But I will come back soon. I have promised, haven’t I?”
“Okay, I understand.” The old man’s face dropped, but still he smiled. “Bless you.”
Shanku smiled at him and rose to leave the cell, but Brichcha addressed her again.
“Once you’ve found Greeshma, and the palace is satisfied that I haven’t lied about him, I would want the reward the palace has offered… the hundred gold coins.”
The councilor turned and looked at her father. Her tone was a little frosty when she spoke. “You shared this information because you wanted the reward?”
“No, but as there is a reward attached, I would like to claim it,” Brichcha answered. “Not for myself, though. I would want the palace to divert my hundred gold coins into building the ironmongers’ houses, the ones destroyed by that snake thing. Better still, the money could be given to the present Warden of the Stables, so he can buy the best horses for the kingdom. I am told there will be a need for horses in the days to come.”
Shanku flashed a big smile of relief at her father. “I shall convey your wish to the Samrat.”
“One last thing. I know the Mother Oracle is in the palace. When you meet her next, tell her I feel terrible for what I did to her daughter.”
“I will,” said the girl. “But I think grandmother already knows you are sorry.”
* * *
Night was falling around the small garrison of Musili as Vararuchi stood atop the garrison’s old, central tower and gazed over the wooden palisades in the direction of Ujjayini, an hour’s ride to the southeast. The gathering darkness made it hard to discern the councilor’s features, but the two soldiers of the Imperial Army who stood flanking him — Sharamana, the garrison’s commander, and Pulyama, a young captain — could tell that Vararuchi’s face was set in a grim frown, one that had nearly frozen into place since that afternoon.
“And the samsaptakas, your honour. Can they be trusted?” the garrison commander spoke in a soft but troubled voice. “Having taken the Death Oath, they share a close bond. And most of them are heavily inspired by Kalidasa, which is why they volunteered to take the Death Oath in the first place. When the time comes, will they swear allegiance to Avanti and stand against their erstwhile commander and hero?”
Vararuchi’s head turned to consider Sharamana, though practically nothing could be seen of his expression. After a moment spent in what appeared to be careful thought, he turned back, saying nothing.
“And what is the message we are giving those soldiers who have joined us from Heheya and Vatsa and the Anartas —” this came from the captain, Pulyama, “— that we are willing to let anyone cross the frontier and join the enemy, no questions asked?”
“Pulyama is right, your honour,” Sharamana stressed fervently. “There is talk among the men that we are becoming a bit of a joke among the soldiers from the rest of Sindhuvarta. They can see what is happening, and they are bound to ask questions. But we have no satisfactory answers.” The commander’s tone took a rough edge. “Avanti’s Imperial Army cannot be reduced to a joke, your honour.”
“I know how you feel about this, commander,” Vararuchi growled in reply.
Sharamana waited for the councilor to add to this in some concrete way, but when he was met with silence, he decided to force the issue. “We must do something, your honour. Perhaps you could put the Samrat abreast of the situation. We must clear the air for our soldiers as well as those of our allies.”
“If the air were cleared, would it make everyone more comfortable facing Kalidasa in battle?” Vararuchi once again looked at the garrison commander. From his tone, it was clear he was being caustic, and the silence from the two soldiers was more telling than any words could have been. “I thought not,” the councilor snorted. “But I shall have a word with the Samrat. Ask someone to fetch me my horse.”
It was fully dark by the time Vararuchi left the garrison, but this portion of the road connecting Ujjayini to Sristhali was straight and well paved, so the councilor didn’t need to depend on the starlight to guide him. And as his horse was familiar with the path, he let his mind wander over everything that had brought him to this dark and lonely road to Ujjayini.
The rider sent by Sharamana, an old loyalist of his from the days they had last fought the invaders from the Marusthali, had arrived immediately after lunch, bringing with him a report of a sighting of Kalidasa from two days ago — the giant had been nearing the Arbuda Mountains and was unerringly making fo
r the frontier. That hadn’t come as a surprise; what had was the rider’s passing remark of Amara Simha and Angamitra leading a force of samsaptakas to Udaypuri to find Ghatakarpara, who had apparently gone missing.
Shocked into action by this news, Vararuchi had taken quick leave of Ushantha, but instead of returning straight to the palace, he had taken a detour to the garrison of Musili — one of the oldest in Avanti, no longer strategic and nowadays used only to house soldiers who couldn’t be accommodated in the newer city garrison — which was under Sharamana’s command. From Sharamana and the young Pulyama, Vararuchi had learned the full story of his nephew having been kidnapped by the Hunas for ransom. He also heard for the first time about the hunt for escapees from the Forest of the Exiles…
…and was assailed by the unhappy realization that he was no longer a priority for the palace.
With it, came a simmering anger at the palace’s callousness and disrespect for all that he had done for it in so many years of selfless service.
It had all started with Kalidasa accusing him of having murdered his family in cold blood all those years ago near Lava. He, Vararuchi, had admitted to putting the entire Huna garrison to the sword as revenge for the atrocities that the Hunas had been committing on Sindhuvarta’s hapless subjects, but the throne had unashamedly — and unfairly — sided with Kalidasa, ignoring what he had to say in his defence, and holding him guilty of taking the lives of innocents. Rubbing salt into his wounds, the palace had gone on to offer Kalidasa an apology, which the graceless Huna had rejected before severing ties with Avanti and going west to join his tribe — with, as was obvious to everyone, the blessings of the palace.
Naturally, unease was spreading within the Imperial Army; not only was Kalidasa a fearsome foe in battle, he carried with him all of Avanti’s military secrets, which would now inevitably land in his new Huna friends’ hands. The throne’s decision to let Kalidasa do as he wished was not only terrible for the morale of Avanti’s troops, but it also sent conflicting signals to Avanti’s allies who had thrown their weight behind Avanti to keep the Hunas and Sakas out of Sindhuvarta. This, Vararuchi reflected bitterly, was what the palace had come to — falling over itself to win back a traitor’s confidence, while a loyal shoulder that had propped up the throne was ridiculed and sidelined. This was how the palace was squandering the legacy of his father, the proud king Mahendraditya.
The Vengeance of Indra Page 14