The Vengeance of Indra

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Still working on the key with his mind, feeling the pressure of its grooves against the tumblers, the prince turned it gently in the lock. There was a moment’s resistance — a heart-stopping moment when Ghatakarpara thought his efforts weren’t going to pay off — and then the lock clicked open, the chains slipped free and slid to the floor. Their heavy clatter on the stone floor felt loud enough to rouse the dead, but though the prince waited to hear approaching footsteps, no one came to investigate. He had been an exceptionally good prisoner for the last two days, always quiet and eating and drinking without complaint; he guessed the Sakas had decided he didn’t need close monitoring after all.

  Rubbing his wrists and flexing his arms to get the circulation going, he beckoned to the ice key with his fingers. The key instantly thinned out and liquefied, but instead of answering to gravity and splashing to the floor, it rose as a globule of water and hung before the prince, catching the moonlight like a blob of quicksilver, rippling and oscillating softly in the flow of air currents.

  Ghatakarpara turned his attention to the door. He had observed his minders lock it many times and had come to the conclusion that the key that opened his chains and the one that fitted the door’s lock were the same. He had also figured out that though the door had bolts, his minders rarely used them, relying solely on the lock instead. That night, after dinner had been served, the prince had paid special attention to how the woman closed the door after her, and he had been relieved to hear only the key turning in the lock.

  The water globule turned to ice, which Ghatakarpara then moulded into a key again — the more often he did it, the better and faster he got at it, he realized. Inserting the ice key into the keyhole, the prince once again turned it; the lock opened. Sliding the key out, he breathed in deeply, opened the door a crack and peeped out, half expecting to find a guard or two on the other side.

  The passage outside was dark but empty.

  Easing the door open, the prince stepped through, locking it carefully behind him. He tiptoed out of the passage and slipped past a succession of rooms, some empty, some with slumbering forms inside. Seeing that no guards were stationed anywhere, it occurred to Ghatakarpara that the Sakas had entirely discounted the possibility of him attempting an escape — or of someone coming from outside to rescue him. The former, he understood; he had been on his best behaviour since discovering his magic touch with water, and to the Sakas, his self-absorption must have felt like docility and obedience. The latter worried him, though — if the Sakas thought no one could come for him, where exactly was he?

  Logic said he was somewhere in the Marusthali in a Saka stronghold. But was he in a city or some remote, impossible-to-find hideaway? And the Marusthali was vast, which meant he could be anywhere, hundreds of miles from the safety of Sindhuvarta. All he knew was that if he succeeded in breaking out, he would have to strike out east for the Arbudas.

  But that came much later. First, he had to get out of wherever he was — and he hadn’t the remotest idea about the geography of this place. All he was familiar with was the small patch of sky seen through the barred window.

  Stepping over a family of sleeping Sakas, Ghatakarpara reached what he assumed was the building’s main entrance. Fumbling in the dark, he found the latch, opened the door and stepped into a deserted alley that was lined with dark mud-brick houses on both sides. The alley wound down a small rise, and at its end, the prince came upon an open rectangle that looked like a market. The town — for it was a town, he could now tell by the number of roofs glistening in the moonlight — was asleep, with not a soul about, and Ghatakarpara was beginning to feel pleased with himself…

  …when a dog suddenly took to barking at him from across the open marketplace.

  The animal was a stray and a poorly fed one at that, but its bark was full-blooded in the still of the night. On and on it yapped at him, full of outrage, the noise echoing off the town’s buildings and scurrying down streets. The prince cursed and tried to slip into the shadows, staying quiet and immobile, but the dog was not to be fooled. It could smell him, it knew he was still there, so it barked its head off.

  Ghatakarpara understood that the dog had the potential to spoil his plans. In no mood to run into any curious Saka sentries, he twirled his fingers around the water globule he was carrying in his hand. Kneading the globule, he shaped it into hard, frozen ball of ice, which he flung at the dog. The projectile struck the dog, which gave a frightened yelp of surprise. Turning around, it fled into the shadows. The prince waited for a few moments to see if the mutt would return, his fingers already toying with a fresh ball of water that had almost magically appeared in his hands.

  When he was certain that the dog was not coming back, Ghatakarpara slipped from cover. Still hugging the shadows, he walked down one broken street and then the next, weaving a way downhill until he reached a high wooden stockade. On observing how the stockade skirted a wide section of the town, it struck the prince that he had probably reached the town’s limits, and that he only had to get beyond the fence to be free. He darted a glance over his shoulder, making sure he was alone. Keeping the stockade to his left, he then began walking, looking for a way over or under it.

  He came upon the gap in the stockade without warning. The fence took a sudden turn to the left, and following it, Ghatakarpara found himself staring at the space left by a pair of missing logs, a space wide enough for him to slip through. He guessed the gap hadn’t been fixed because the townsfolk were using it as a shortcut.

  Twisting sideways, the prince squeezed through the gap. He had one leg and half his body out on the other side and was pulling the rest of himself out when a figure materialized just outside the gap. Startled, he looked up, and the figure stared back at him.

  “Kadeh?” the man said. From the intonation, Ghatakarpara figured a question had been posed.

  Not knowing what had been asked or what to say in reply, hanging stupidly half in and half out of the fence, the prince simply gawked at the man, painfully conscious of the fact that the moonlight was fully on him. His head still hurt a little from the wound, and now the pain seemed to flare, as if in response to an alarm that had gone off in his brain.

  “Hei’isa… ghu’r…” the man said, his tone suddenly alert, and Ghatakarpara saw him reach for the sword swinging at his waist.

  “Bad idea,” the prince muttered, stepping free of the fence. He held a short dagger in his hand, which glistened wet and white in the moonlight.

  The man was taller than Ghatakarpara, giving him superior reach, but the prince was much quicker. Even as the man drew his sword and swung it in a great curving arc, Ghatakarpara had narrowed the distance between them, ducking low under the man’s slashing arm and then coming up swiftly. He pulled in close, grabbing the man’s free hand and twisting it sharply so that the man yelled in pain.

  That moment of pain, of distraction, was all the prince needed. As the Saka fought to free his hand from the vice-like grip, Ghatakarpara stepped even closer and drove the ice dagger into the man’s midriff, just under his ribcage. The dagger eased in, and the man opened his mouth to scream, but the prince let go of his hand and clamped the man’s mouth shut instead. The man sagged to the ground moaning, his eyes wide in agony, and Ghatakarpara dropped to his knees as well, still pushing the dagger deep into the man’s side. Hot blood flowed over the prince’s fingers and he knew the dagger would melt quickly.

  The Saka coughed into Ghatakarpara’s hand and gave a strangled retch. The dagger was gone, water mixed with blood. It crossed the prince’s mind that he could take the man’s sword and put an end to his agony, but seeing the man was already losing consciousness, he decided against it. He had a more important thing to do, anyway.

  He scrambled to his feet and looked around. There was no one. The coast was clear.

  Ghatakarpara leaped over the Saka and ran blindly into the night, his stubby shadow sticking to him, chasing him over the flat, sandy desert.

  * * *

&nb
sp; Which father — the one who came yesterday or the one whose ashes we scattered in the holy Kshipra? Which one?

  I heard how you refused Indra the opportunity to question me in front of everyone. You stood up… you saved me the humiliation. But now you will have to do that again and again.

  Vikramaditya stroked Vishakha’s hand, white and inert between his, tracing a fine pattern along the network of veins with his finger. Outside the queen’s window, the rain that had finally arrived that evening pattered on the leaves of the nearby trees. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind clouds. Except for the king and queen, the bedchamber was empty, the matron and the maids having withdrawn to an adjoining chamber out of respect for their samrat.

  I can’t serve this palace any longer. I can no longer swear allegiance to the throne that was responsible for my family’s death. My duty towards Avanti ends here.

  The king took a deep breath and looked at Vishakha’s face, wondering what he expected to see there. A spark of recognition? A glimpse of understanding? A flare of sympathy?

  Will it be alright if I never remember? Or will it all come to a hopeless, grinding halt?

  You did remember, my love, the samrat said, speaking to Vishakha in his head. But then you went away again.

  As did everyone else.

  Walking into the council chamber earlier that evening, he had been struck by the number of vacant chairs around the council table. With only Dhanavantri, Kshapanaka and Varahamihira left in Ujjayini, his council was threadbare. He had no idea of the fate that had befallen Ghatakarpara, and he didn’t know what destiny had in store for the Acharya, Amara Simha and now Shanku. The Council of Nine had once been strong, resolute and unshakeable, an embodiment of Ujjayini’s resolve and preeminence. But now, it lay in tatters, torn from within and without, much like his beloved city.

  He was trying his utmost to hold everything together, but he was failing miserably. The council was coming apart. The palace was coming apart. The city was coming apart. Everyone and everything was drifting away from everyone and everything else.

  One by one, you have all gone away. Each of you who was dear to me.

  Vikramaditya raised the queen’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

  On whose shoulder do I lean now, in whose arms do I seek comfort? Where am I to go now, Vishakha? Where?

  * * *

  The sparks from the bonfire spat and rose in spirals like so many fireflies fleeing the flames, pinpoints of orange light swirling dervish-like in the desert wind to the clapping of hands and the gentle plucking of the khi’nor strings. One of the men played a small flute at a high-pitched melancholic note, while a pair of women sang a tuneless song whose words escaped Kalidasa but left him thinking of wide blue skies and blue mountains in the distance, hidden in haze.

  Dinner had yet to be served, but no one in the fort of Mun’h seemed much inclined to eating, what with in’tah, the local brew made from fermented rice water, in free flow. Kalidasa’s pewter jar had already been refilled thrice, and he was beginning to feel a little light-headed as he sat by himself in one corner of the fort’s open courtyard and took in the merrymaking.

  Soon after their return to Mun’h from witnessing the droiba conjure up the yah’bre, Khash’i Dur had sent a dozen messengers out to different corners of the horizon. In response to his summons, from that morning, large and small groups of Hunas had begun assembling outside Mun’h. These were different Huna tribes, Kalidasa learned, each headed by a minor shy’or who owed allegiance to Khash’i Dur. A couple of Saka chieftains had also come from nearby with their own bands of warriors, so they could take Khash’i Dur’s battle plans back to their own war-chiefs. The more important of the Huna shy’ors were introduced to Kalidasa, and all of them had a good word for Zho E’rami. And without fail, all of them were grateful to him for returning to the fold.

  More would come from all over the desert over the next few days, Khash’i Dur had told him. More than a dozen tribes, all armed and united under the banner of the hriiz, all prepared for the long march east, over the mountains and into zaa’ri ulla, the land of plenty.

  A new song broke out, a ribald duet between the men and the two women, loaded with innuendo. There was much hugging and backslapping as tribes met, and the night filled with the clinking of pewter jars, the rumble of familiar laughter and the sighs of nostalgia — sounds of old friendship that thankfully never changed, thought Kalidasa.

  A fourth round of in’tah had just been tipped into his jar when Kalidasa felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking around, he saw Khash’i Dur, who motioned with his other hand, asking Kalidasa to come with him. Nudging and smiling their way through corridors packed with happy tribesmen, Kalidasa and the shy’or climbed a staircase that brought them to a secluded balcony, where three senior Huna chieftains lounged on sheepskin blankets. They greeted Kalidasa as if they had known him forever, making room for him on the blankets. The droiba sat drooping in one corner, eyes shut, though Kalidasa very much doubted he was asleep.

  When Khash’i Dur had ensured that Kalidasa was comfortable and his jar was full, he lowered himself to the blankets as well. “As you know,” he said, addressing Kalidasa in Avanti, “We are assembling for the march into Sindhuvarta.”

  Kalidasa inclined his head.

  “There is obviously a lot that you know about Sindhuvarta and its kingdoms that we know nothing of. Avanti, of course, is of particular interest to us, because it leads the alliance of Sindhuvarta’s kingdoms. We are interested in Avanti and in Vikramaditya. Tell us about him. Tell us about the others in his council as well. Tell us everything that we should know before we set foot on Avanti’s soil.”

  Kalidasa nodded and took a big gulp from his jar. Then, in slow and halting Huna, he spoke about Avanti, Vikramaditya and the council.

  He spoke late into the night and told the Huna chiefs everything.

  * * *

  A shadow slipped through the galleries of Ujjayini’s palace, unseen because of the lateness of the hour, and because the shadow did a very good job of staying undetected from the eyes of any palace guards who happened by. It slipped from one patch of darkness to another, from one recessed alcove to the next, sometimes even disappearing altogether when crossing a pool of light, so that none but the alertest of guards would even have sensed anything strange in the shifting play of brightness and dark caused by the torches guttering in their brackets in the breeze.

  The shadow moved up a staircase and down one gallery before turning into a passage that led towards Pralupi’s chambers. In the seclusion of the passage, the shadow became more stable, as if now confident of not being discovered, and as it passed under the weak glow of the lamp illuminating the passage, its face showed fleetingly.

  Vismaya.

  The chief of the Palace Guards reached the end of the passage, where the door to Pralupi’s chambers blocked his way. He stopped in front of the door, as if undecided — and then he slipped right through the closed door, oozing through the dark and heavy wood, so that one moment he was outside the door and the next he was through to the other side.

  Once inside the princess’ chambers, Vismaya looked from side to side, unsure about which way to go. Peering through the crack in the door to the right, he drew back and struck out to the left, across the landscaped balcony with its forest pond and waterfall. Disturbed by the presence of a trespasser, the birds in the cages overhead shifted in their perches and ruffled their feathers, and one of the ducks gave an annoyed quack.

  “Careful or you’ll wake the birds, and they’ll end up waking the princess.”

  Vismaya turned towards the voice and saw Mithyamayi step out of the far corner of the balcony. “We don’t want the king’s sister discovering the truth about us, do we?” she said as she approached him.

  The chief of the guards shook his head.

  “What brings you here at this late hour, Matali?”

  Vismaya’s face underwent a subtle transition, and for the briefest of moment
s, it took on the hooded features of the deva, his eyes droopy and cold, his mouth turned down in a ruthless half-snarl. Then he was back to being Vismaya, his eyes keen above his disfigured nose over a short, grey beard.

  “I have a message from our lord, Indra,” he said in an undertone. “He wants to know what progress you have made in discovering the whereabouts of Veeshada’s dagger.”

  The woman stared at the deva, and the deva stared back. The balcony was still. The birds had gone back to sleep in their cages.

  “What am I to tell him, Urvashi?”

  “Tell him I haven’t found the right opportunity yet. It has been only two days since I entered the palace, and I am yet to gain the princess’ confidence.”

  Matali nodded. “I would suggest you move a whole lot quicker at gaining everyone’s confidence. Our lord is running out of patience.”

  “He wouldn’t be if you had done your job and discovered where the dagger is hidden. It’s because you couldn’t that I had to come here as Mithyamayi…”

  “I tried; I am still trying,” Matali interrupted with a low snarl.

  “Good, that makes two of us. Let us both work quicker and harder.”

  With a curt nod, the deva turned to depart. But checking himself, he looked back.

  “Just out of curiosity, what is this right opportunity that you are waiting for, Urvashi?”

  The apsara tilted her head, and her eyes caught the light from a lamp hanging in one corner of the balcony. In them, Matali saw a cold, manipulative gleam, fleeting like lightning on the far horizon.