Another couple of miles, and the group finally reached an encampment of four goat-hide tents laid out in a rough circle around the ruins of the previous night’s fire. There were half a dozen Huna warriors on guard, and they welcomed the shy’or and the mahek — the nickname the men had given Kalidasa, which translated as ‘storm’ — and informed them that the shaman had just left for the desert.
“We’ve arrived just in time,” Khash’i Dur beamed at Kalidasa. “If we hurry, you’ll see the whole thing. Come.”
A fire had been lit, and the smoke from it was already slithering and coiling around the droiba when Kalidasa and the shy’or reached the consecrated spot, marked by the skulls of four mountain goats laid out in four corners. The droiba walked around the fire muttering under his breath, and at the same time, he kept pouring a fistful of sand from one hand into the other. The hot wind blew from the west, flapping at their clothes and sending eddies of smoke into the white-blue sky.
For a long while, nothing seemed to happen. But just as Kalidasa was beginning to tire, the shaman stopped his pacing and faced the desert. Clutching the sand tightly, he walked into the desert, the smoke following him, clinging to his body, a patchy, murky python form. He kept walking until his features could no longer be made out, and then he stopped.
Kalidasa watched closely as the shaman divided the sand between his fists. Then, in a sudden, impulsive move, the droiba flung the sand from both fists into the wind. The same instant, the smoke that was wrapped around him appeared to leap into the air, as if chasing the thrown sand. And a moment later, the entire desert floor around the droiba heaved. spun… and rose in a wailing pillar of dust, swallowing the shaman whole.
“Will he be alright?” Kalidasa whispered into the chieftain’s ear.
The shy’or merely nodded, but there was enough conviction there to allay the giant’s qualms. As if to reassure him further, the twirling pillar of dust shifted and moved into the desert, leaving the droiba standing unharmed and smokeless in its wake. The droiba watched the churning pillar, and like everyone else, so did Kalidasa —
— and he saw the pillar tear into two. Both parts twisted and danced away from each other, and as they spun, they became less particulate and assumed structure, gradually morphing into colossal dust giants that towered a hundred feet into the air, raining debris over the desert, their rudimentary mouths opening like caverns to reveal roiling thunderclouds within, lit at the edges by flashes of blue lightning. At the same time, a bellowing rage issued from those mouths, sounding to Kalidasa like the lowing of a dozen irate bulls.
Kalidasa remembered a portent that the Mother Oracle had shared with the samrat a long time back, when the council had sought news of the Hunas. The oracle had said that she had overheard the birds speaking of a wall of dust rising far away in the west, and everyone in the council had assumed it was the dust kicked up by an army on the move. Everyone had been so wrong.
Yah’bre.
Not dust-souls as he had originally thought, Kalidasa shook his head. His grasp over the Huna tongue was still rusty. Bre did mean ‘souls’, but now he remembered that it also meant ‘spirits’. Yah’bre. Dust-spirits. Malevolent beings from the Huna hell, hard to control, but loyal and powerful weapons in the hands of one who knew how to bend them to his will.
The droiba turned and headed in their direction, and behind him, the yah’bre came like obedient dogs, rolling and growling and glowering, tons of mud, sand, anger and violence. They came after their master, who had summoned them to do his bidding.
“Look at them,” the shy’or gushed like a proud parent, grabbing Kalidasa’s arm in his excitement, his scarred face wreathed in delight and suddenly handsome. “Just look at them. Such magnificence.”
With the blessings of hriiz and your help, we will take zaa’ri ulla again. That was what Khash’i Dur had said over dinner last night. Kalidasa now saw that the chieftain’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. The yah’bre were equipped to rain havoc on behalf of the Hunas.
Kalidasa smiled to himself at the thought of taking the yah’bre into Sindhuvarta.
Greeshma
He slunk away under cover of night like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs.”
Indra took a deep pull from his goblet of soma, letting the cool, spicy liquid scald his lips and throat as it went down. In an almost instantaneous reaction, the wine rushed to his head, flushing him with a giddy sense of well-being. He placed the goblet back on his lips for a second draught, his mind only partly on Brihaspati’s ceaseless prattle.
“The worm had the audacity to try and befriend Prince Jayanta right under my nose — as if I would allow that,” the chamberlain went on, puffing up with pride at having seen through his old rival’s game. “He was eyeing the mantras to awaken Ahi, that much I guessed fairly early.”
“And the mantras are safe, I assume,” Indra broke away from his drink long enough to look at the guru for reassurance.
“Oh, absolutely,” Brihaspati tittered, clasping his hands to contain his joy, but it still spilled over in a breathless giggle. “I had Jayanta hand them over as soon as we learned of their existence. I bet Shukracharya was trying to plot a way to get Jayanta to pinch the mantras back from me.”
“And he left just like that? Without as much as a goodbye?”
“Oh, he was so ashamed at having been unmasked, he couldn’t have lived with the indignity of looking me in the eye. Running away into the night was the best he could do.” Brihaspati waved a disdainful hand in front of his face. “This, after lying about how he was waiting for your return, so that the two of you could decide what to do next.”
“He wasn’t really lying about that,” said the deva lord absent-mindedly. “We were supposed to share notes once I came back from Sindhuvarta.”
“Oh,” Brihaspati said for the third time. His enthusiasm a little punctured, he folded himself into a crushed silence.
Seeing he finally had some room to enter the conversation, Narada looked at Indra. “How was the visit to Sindhuvarta, lord?”
“Exactly as Shukracharya had predicted,” Indra replied, rising and going over to one of the large windows that looked out over Amaravati.
He recalled the shock on Vikramaditya’s face when he had introduced Gandharvasena as his real father, and thinking back to that moment, the deva lord felt a deep sense of satisfaction at having shaken the king’s self-assuredness. But the triumph had been fleeting, gone before he could savour it properly; Vikramaditya had recovered quickly and well to stand before him, unbowed.
“Vikramaditya is tough, arrogant and uncompromising,” he said. “He wouldn’t accept Gandharvasena as his father, he refused to call his mother to vouch for his paternity, he refused to accept any help from me… he refused to entertain me in any way. He defied me the whole time, and he had the temerity to demand that I leave his city.”
“It must be the deva blood in him that makes him so headstrong, lord,” said Narada.
Indra didn’t answer immediately. He drained his goblet, then wiped his lips and beard with the back of his hand. When he turned and addressed the diplomat, his voice was hard as granite. “He may have my blood coursing through his veins, but that won’t stop me from showing him his place. I go wherever I want and stay for as long as it pleases me, and nobody tells me to leave. Not even my grandson.”
Narada waited for Indra to replenish his goblet. “And what about the purpose of your visit, lord?” he asked. “Did your revelation bring about the rift between the king and his half-brother, as Shukracharya had predicted?”
“Humph,” Brihaspati snorted at the mention of the high priest, but neither of the other devas paid him any attention.
“It was too soon for me to say, but if Shukracharya thinks a rift can be brought about, I suppose it can.” The deva lord ignored the chamberlain, who was shaking his head in a silent show of disagreement. “We should know soon enough. Matali is in the palace, and we are due to hear from him shortly.”
Indra shook his head and emptied the contents of the goblet down his gullet. “But I am certain that he will. And when he does, I want us to be ready.”
Indra looked at Narada, who nodded in agreement.
“We are almost ready, lord,” said the diplomat. “I had anticipated this, so in your absence, I have had everyone prepare for battle. Besides the Ashvins, the Maruts and Agneyi and her fire-wraiths, the regular deva divisions have been put on alert. Summons have been sent to Tribhanu to put his kinnara regiments at our service, and I have intimated Takshaka to spare us his naga divisions as well.”
“Wonderful,” said Indra. “When will the kinnaras and nagas join us?”
“I would expect them here in a couple of days, lord.”
“Good. I can’t rid myself of the suspicion that Shukracharya’s stealthy departure is due to some change in the nature of the standoff between us and Vikramaditya.” Seeing Brihaspati shake his head fervently, Indra raised a patient hand. “Yes, gurudev, I am certain you shamed him into flight as well, but we must never underestimate Shukracharya. Something about the way he left tells me that we must keep a close eye on Vikramaditya and Ujjayini.”
Pausing to fill his goblet again, Indra looked up at his councilors. “I can feel it in my bones that any time now, the asuras are going to make a play for Veeshada’s dagger. Come what may, we have to beat them to it.”
* * *
Tormented by his thoughts, he had barely slept a wink all night. Every muscle in his body was now dulled with tiredness, and his eyelids were heavy and gritty when he blinked against the bright, mid-morning sun. His head felt weighty, as if it would tip over, and he was sure he could easily topple into sleep. But the moment he lay down, sleep fled his pillow, and he was left staring blankly at the ceiling and listening to the Queen Mother’s voice chiding him.
You are never going to be the king of Avanti, so stop treating this palace like it’s your own and learn to conduct yourself with the dignity expected from a soldier. If you can’t do that, go back to the gutter you came from.
Look at you, all covered in mud and trailing muck all over the place. One would be forgiven for thinking you are some stupid commoner kid lost in the palace — which is, of course, the sad truth about you.
Vararuchi sniffed and turned away from the glare of the sun to look at the activity in the courtyard below. Soldiers of the Imperial Army were filing into rows under the command of the young captain Pulyama, who was issuing drill orders. The soldiers were fully armed, as if readying for battle. The garrison’s gate was being fortified, and the councilor noticed that additional soldiers had been posted on sentry duty. Seeing all this, a part of him raised a small voice of alarm, but he quelled it without a second thought.
King Mahendraditya is my father.
I believe you. But I want to hear the Queen Mother say so as well.
She will not.
Why is that?
Because I won’t let her. And because she is not answerable to you either.
But she is answerable to the people of Avanti, Vikrama, Vararuchi thought to himself. The Queen Mother is answerable to her people. And so are you. You cannot stop the people from demanding answers. The people always come first, Vikrama. None of us is above the people.
On hearing the clomp of feet on the wooden stairs behind him, Vararuchi turned to see Sharamana climbing up the steps, two at a time. Behind him came two other figures, but Sharamana’s bulk hid them until they had joined Vararuchi on the terrace of the garrison’s central tower.
“Suhasa, my friend. And Commander Ajanya,” the councilor smiled at the newcomers with genuine pleasure. “It has been a long while. I am glad you came.”
“Salutations, councilor,” said Suhasa, the older of the two. Both men sported curling moustaches, though while Suhasa’s was white, Ajanya’s was still mostly black.
“Sharamana told us we were needed, so here we are,” Suhasa added, taking Vararuchi in an immense bear hug that spoke of rare familiarity and fellowship.
“Thank you,” Vararuchi stepped out of the hug and nodded to Ajanya. “Avanti thanks both of you.” He glanced in the direction of the courtyard. “Your men?” he asked, looking back at Suhasa and Ajanya with raised eyebrows.
“At your service. Here and at our own garrisons,” replied Ajanya in a voice that was reassuringly deep.
“At Avanti’s service,” Vararuchi corrected good-naturedly. The fatigue that had been clinging to him moments ago had dissipated. “Shall we go downstairs?”
Seated at a table with glasses of refreshing buttermilk at their elbows, the councilor assessed the three officers of the Imperial Army. His expression was grim, his eyes watching the three men carefully. “Are you aware of the circumstances that have led to us meeting here?” he asked Ajanya and Suhasa.
Suhasa nodded as he sipped from his glass and wiped the froth from his moustache. “Sharamana gave us a broad overview,” he said, continuing to stroke his moustache.
“And the two of you…agree with me?” Vararuchi looked from Suhasa to Ajanya.
“From the time we fought by your side to drive the savages out, we have always agreed with you, councilor,” Suhasa answered.
Seeing Ajanya incline his head, Vararuchi heaved a sigh of relief. Planting his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers and spoke thoughtfully.
“You are familiar with the threat from the Great Desert — the return of the Huna and Saka hordes. It hasn’t been a month since I fought to save Dvarka from the Hunas. The armies of Sindhuvarta lost many men in Dvarka, and we will lose more when the Hunas come over the Arbudas. Losing men to war is inevitable, but losing them to foolish sentiment is unpardonable. By letting Kalidasa cross to the Huna side, we have paved the way for such losses, friends. For the sake of his friendship, our Samrat has gambled with our soldiers’ lives.”
The three officers shifted in their seats, exchanged glances and nodded cautiously. They were not stupid. They knew Vararuchi’s incitement was tantamount to treason. Vararuchi was the samrat’s councilor.
And his half-brother.
“I would never have let Kalidasa leave the palace, but he was allowed to go. As a consequence, countless soldiers of the Imperial Army and the Frontier Guard will die on account of Kalidasa’s treachery. I am powerless to stop that from happening now, but I demand that the throne justify its actions to the soldiers whose lives it has so willfully compromised. The throne cannot throw its soldiers into death’s path without telling them why they should die for the throne’s mistakes.”
“I am fully with you on the absurdity of the whole thing, councilor,” said Ajanya. “As a commander in the Imperial Army, I know my men’s lives are at great risk because Coun—” he stopped and corrected himself, “because Kalidasa can give the Hunas every little bit of information about our troops.”
“You said that you demand that the throne justify its actions…” Leaning his forearms on the table, Suhasa scrutinized Vararuchi. “What exactly do you want the throne to do or say?”
Drinking deeply from his glass, the councilor leaned back. He shot a quick glance at Sharamana. “In usual circumstances, I would not be sitting here and talking to all of you about this; I would be speaking to the Samrat, and getting him to talk to you, so that you could convey his message to your men and allay their fears. But that Samrat is no longer in the palace. The Samrat who is now in the palace does not talk to his people. Forget his people, he does not talk to his councilors any more. You know about Ghatakarpara, I’m sure,” he paused, and as the men nodded, he pointed to Sharamana. “I learned about his disappearance from the commander here, not from the palace. Not… one… word.”
Suhasa, Ajanya and Sharamana looked at one another with troubled frowns. This was disturbing.
“In these circumstances, do I expect the Samrat to take a sympathetic view of what happens to your soldiers? No,” Vararuchi was emphatic. “Do I e
xpect the Samrat to justify his actions? No. The Samrat does not care any longer.” He stopped and suddenly pressed forward, staring into the men’s faces, one by one, until he was sure he had their full attention.
“You must be familiar with what happened in Ujjayini two mornings ago.” He paused to see if the men had understood what he was referring to. “The visit from Indra…” he prompted.
“Yes, yes,” Suhasa nodded.
“Do you know the details of what transpired? What Indra said to the Samrat… about the Queen Mother?”
The three officers looked distinctly uncomfortable. But seeing that Vararuchi was waiting for a response from them, Suhasa gave a weak nod.
“Well, after such a big accusation has been hurled at the palace, what would you expect the Queen Mother to do?” The councilor kept switching from one face to the next, forcing the men to confront his questions. “I would expect the Queen Mother to make a public rebuttal of Indra’s claims. Would that be a fair expectation?” He looked at the men, seeking their support, and they nodded. “Isn’t that the least that the palace owes the people of Avanti? But no. Two days after Indra’s visit and the charges he levelled, there is complete silence from the palace. Why isn’t the Queen Mother telling her people the truth? Is it because she has something to hide? In which case, don’t her people deserve to know what she is hiding?”
Vararuchi leaned back once again, giving room for his questions to stew in the officers’ minds. When he thought they had had enough time to ponder, he returned his elbows to the table. “Let me tell you something else. Yesterday morning, I went to the Samrat and suggested that the Queen Mother address the people about the charges Indra has made. But the Samrat refused to listen to me. He kept insisting that King Mahendraditya was his father, and there was no need to drag the Queen Mother into this. I want to believe the Samrat, but the Queen Mother needs to convince me. All she has to do is refute Indra, but she refuses to clear the air. Why?”
The Vengeance of Indra Page 30