‘Achyuta and Nagasena are our vassals, not equals,’ I had shot back. ‘If they raise their hoods, father will break their backs this time. Remember, they asked for father’s protection with a marriage alliance, not the other way around.’
‘That’s not true,’ Jivita butted in. ‘They accept father as overlord because they love and respect him as kinsman.’
‘And there are other Naga kingdoms that don’t bend their knee to the empire of Magadh,’ shouted Bhasma, his pallid face red with rage. ‘If push comes to shove, all the Nagas will have each other’s back.’
‘That’s treason, you know,’ I replied calmly. ‘If I tell father, you and your precious Naga relations will be in trouble, brother.’
That threat always worked like a charm, and this time was no exception. Jivita pulled his brother away, furiously scolding him under his breath. ‘That’s quite enough. Come away before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.’
The fight had fizzled out for the day, but Bhasma’s outburst gave me something to think about. I realized that the only thing keeping our Naga relations at bay was the fear of father’s sword. As his successor, I knew not to enjoy that luxury till I proved myself on the battlefield.
That memory now came back to haunt me. I knew my half-brothers were very close to their Naga relations, including distant cousin Ganapati Naga, ruler of Mathura. If Byagra, whose territory is more than a week’s ride from Pataliputra, already knew about father’s death, the Naga kings had to know too because it would be in Bhasma’s interest to inform as many alliance rulers as possible. If they were to rebel, it would be good for him. After all, it’s always easier to fish in troubled waters.
I looked up to the sky, trying to see if my future – the real one, not what Datta and I dreamt up – was still written in the stars. Don’t grieve now, I told myself. If you allow yourself to break down, your legacy will be snatched away from you and you will have let father down. Let the world know what Lichchavidauhitra Kacha can do. Unsheathe your sword, and destroy all those who stand between you and your destiny. Uproot them. Obliterate them. Purge your world of them.
Mother, I am coming home.
On the ninth day, we reached the outskirts of Pataliputra. From a distance, we could see that the capital’s enormous, spiked, wood-and-iron gates were closed, and there were soldiers patrolling the ramparts of the fort. I saw the imperial Garuda Dwaja pennant fluttering gaily from the palace tower in the mellow golden sunshine, untouched by the tragedy and the uncertainty that tainted this gorgeous autumn morning. The jetty on the River Ganga – usually crowded with boats ferrying everything from flowers to Roman Sura wine to the capital – was curiously empty but for a posse of liveried guards, their ochre uniforms clearly visible despite the distance. The guards stood with their weapons drawn, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Clearly, the city was watching its back.
As a precaution, Ananta Varman decided to split our party up. Harisena and a handful of our men rode on towards the city to recce the situation. If all were well, he would send word for us to follow before mid-day. We had to wait for their signal and escape quickly should things not go as planned. ‘I know you are anxious to see your mother, but it is better to be safe,’ said Ananta Varman, apologetically. ‘So many things could have changed in these two weeks that I have been away.’
I nodded in agreement. We had no way of knowing if Bhasma, Jivita and their band of Naga sympathizers had already usurped power. We didn’t know if mother was all right, or under house arrest of some sort. Riding in without any information would have been foolhardy. So we kept our weapons handy and waited for Harisena’s signal. It seemed an endless wait but just before the noon prahar gong, we saw the signal we were waiting for – my tiger pennant being hoisted alongside the Garuda Dhwaja. Almost immediately, we heard the trumpets from the watch towers blow their welcome as the city doors creaked open, bit by bit, revealing a company of palace guards led by Harisena.
Looking back, I can recall that ride back home as vividly as if it were just yesterday. I remember every small, insignificant detail – the bright golden yellow of the turmeric-smeared rice that people showered on us in fistfuls. The fragrance of the champak garlands mixed with the heady smell of wet earth, as the women sprinkled water on our path to settle the dust. The roar of greeting that rose from the crowds lining up alongside the wide brick-and-mud-baked thoroughfare, leading up from the main gates into the palace complex at the heart of the city. The skyline gleaming with its row of copper urns adorning the doorways of prominent noblemen. The vermilion and turmeric wall paintings depicting everything from Vishnu’s conch shell to ears of rice, Laxmi’s footprints and the swastika symbol. Little children playing hop scotch beside the road. Rows of shops selling betel leaf and areca nuts, beads and bangles, sweetmeats and salty spiced yogurt shakes. All the excited voices. The combined cacophony of kettledrums, town criers and the clop-clop of horse hooves … every sound and sight remain seared in my mind’s eye to this day. I remember drinking it all in greedily as my heart swelled … I was never more in love with Pataliputra. This rambling, brick-laid city of princes and paupers, aspirations and avarice, virtue and venom, was more than my home. It was my destiny. And I knew in that moment, no matter how many times I lost my heart, Pataliputra would always claim it back.
Our cavalcade took the better part of an hour to reach the palace as we stopped again and again on our way to accept water, sweetmeats and flowers. We were greeted at the palace gates by the Twelve Elders and my half-brothers, Bhasma and Jivita. ‘Welcome home, Kumar Kacha,’ said Brahma Deva, the senior-most member of the Council of Elders and one of mother’s biggest supporters in court. ‘I know how difficult these past few weeks have been for you. But as heartbroken as you are, this is the time you will need to put all your personal concerns aside, and take up the responsibility your father has entrusted to you. The Aryapatta throne awaits you, Lichchavidauhitra Kacha. The sooner we have the coronation ceremony, the better it is for this realm.’
I nodded in agreement, even though every bone in my body was aching to meet my mother first. ‘I am at your disposal,’ I replied. ‘All I ask is that I be allowed to meet my mother first.’
Brahma Deva stepped aside, allowing Datta and me to walk right through to the antarmahal, the private living quarters of the imperial household. I broke into a jog and ran down the long corridor – with its fresco-painted sandstone ceiling and carved sandalwood pillars – with Datta close behind me. As the queen empress, mother occupied the entire western wing of the palace overlooking the Sonbhadra, the second of the two rivers that form a natural moat around the capital. As I walked in through the silver inlaid doors leading to her private wing, the sweet fragrance of jasmine blossoms wafted in. Mother loved those tiny white flowers and every window in her part of the palace was overgrown with Jasmine creepers.
I found her in her favourite spot: an airy colonnade overlooking the river where she liked to spend most of her private time. I am not sure what I was expecting but when Datta and I entered the room, we were greeted with a scene almost breathtakingly routine. Mother was seated on a low wooden stool, going through what looked like the household expense ledger. Her two ladies-in-waiting sat at her feet, threading a heap of white-and-orange coral jasmine flowers into an intricate garland. She looked up as we walked in and opened her arms to us. Datta and I walked into the tight familiar hug, our biggest comfort and refuge all through childhood and adolescence. ‘It’s all right, my children,’ she whispered. ‘Welcome home.’
I pulled away and looked into her eyes. Suddenly, I knew how wrong I was to think nothing had changed. Nothing gave away the tempest raging inside her, except that close-set, piercing gaze. Not the tangled hair, unoiled, uncombed and untied in mourning. Not the rough white sari, wrapped tightly to fend off the autumn nip. Not even the bare neck, wrist, arms and ears. It was never easy to hold her stare. When Queen Empress Kumardevi looked into your eyes, she could see your soul. The only time that gaze soft
ened was when she smiled, which wasn’t often. Now, when she looked at Datta and I, she seemed to be willing herself to smile. When she finally did, it did not reach her eyes.
‘I stayed alive so I could hold the two of you to my heart one more time,’ she said, softly. ‘My children, get ready to fight the enemies within.’
Datta frowned. ‘I do not understand, mother,’ she said simply.
‘Padma tried her best to make me accompany your father on his funeral pyre. She said as the Patta Mahadevi, it was both my duty and privilege.’
My grip tightened on her slender arms. My tongue went dry. A vein throbbed uncontrollably at my temples and I felt dizzy with anger and fear.
‘How dare she,’ I said, through gritted teeth.
‘Well, half the council agreed with her actually,’ said mother, her voice strangely matter-of-fact and devoid of emotion. ‘Piety can sometimes be an excellent cover for perfidy.’
I could feel Datta trembling next to me, but mother didn’t seem to notice. ‘They even tried to anoint Bhasma the interim crown prince in your absence,’ she said, turning her unflinching gaze towards me. ‘His Majesty was too ill to command otherwise and the Nagas suddenly became very vocal in court.’
‘Why didn’t you send word?’ asked Datta. ‘We could have come back earlier.’
‘I gave you my word that I wouldn’t disturb the two of you unless it was a matter of life and death,’ mother replied. ‘I waited till it was.’
Datta gave me a sidelong glance and I saw nothing but regret in her large, tear-stained eyes.
‘What about our Lichchavi cousins?’ I asked.
‘Thank god for them,’ replied mother. ‘They sent for reinforcements the moment your father fell ill, and in court Brahma Deva and my other friends rallied around me. The Council was almost evenly divided but the matter was decided when Brahma Deva produced a letter your father had written to him many years ago. “Should I die before her, let Kumardevi continue as she always has,” he had written. “She’s Magadh’s Kula Lakshmi. I am what I am because she’s by my side. The empire will thrive under her guidance.”’
A shiver ran down my spine. I realized just how close I had come to losing both my parents and my future. ‘How do things stand now?’ I asked.
‘The Lichchavi reinforcements have arrived so the Nagas are outnumbered and quiet,’ replied mother. ‘But your brothers won’t stop plotting against you, Kacha. You need to get your bearings right and ready your weapon arm as quickly as possible. Make no mistake, son – your coronation won’t go unchallenged.’
Our conversation was rudely interrupted as Harisena burst into the room. He knelt down before us and said, his voice quivering with anger and agitation, ‘I bear bad news. A Naga confederacy is planning to rebel against Magadh. My spies have just brought me the news.’
‘What is a Naga confederacy?’ asked Datta, not able to wrap her head around this latest sling of fortune.
‘What he means is that Naga kings, Achyuta of Ahichhatra, Nagasena of Padmavati and Ganapati Naga of Mathura have joined forces,’ I explained, suddenly feeling calm. ‘May be others too.’
‘They are coming for us,’ said Harisena.
‘They are coming for me,’ I replied.
3
Throne of Blood
LOOKING BACK, DATTA ALWAYS says she remembers very little of the coronation week. For her, it was one big blur. Not for me though. I remember every detail of those nail-biting days. Those long meetings which stretched well into the night. The twice-a-day updates from our network of spies. The anxiety. The suspense. The nervous tension in the air. And through it all, my mother’s piercing gaze, unwavering in its faith in my ability to rise above anything and everything that came my way.
In a sense, it all began when Harisena burst in with the news of the Naga uprising. I saw mother’s eyes flash with fury. Datta looked stunned and Harisena seemed flushed with adrenalin. I should have felt that same battle rush, except I didn’t. The uncertainties and apprehensions of the past two weeks suddenly melted away. The Naga rebellion gave me clarity – now I knew what I had to do and how I had to do it.
The first test was the meeting of the Council of Elders and the entire royal family the next morning. ‘Bhasma will have his supporters stake their claim on his behalf – make no mistake,’ said mother.
‘Then we must create enough confusion to throw their plans into disarray,’ I said.
‘How will you do that?’ asked Datta, still a bit dazed at how quickly things were moving.
Harisena and I exchanged a quick glance. Then he smiled. ‘We have to tell them that we will be in two places at the same time.’
‘How’s that possible?’ asked mother, her brow creased in a deep frown. ‘This is no time for childish pranks.’
‘It’s no prank, mother,’ I assured her. ‘If we can pull this off, my coronation will go through without a murmur.’
Mother didn’t look particularly convinced. ‘So what do you boys have in mind?’
‘The Chakrapani Vishnu temple in the outskirts of the capital,’ I said. ‘Before coronation, the emperor-elect and his queen normally ride out to pray in this sanctum. I shall tell the Council of Elders that Datta and I intend to go there this evening so that the coronation can take place immediately after the council meeting tomorrow morning.’
‘You do realize that route is lonely and perfect for an ambush?’ asked mother.
‘I do.’ I smiled at her. ‘I know Bhasma and his cronies will not want to miss out on a chance like this.’
Harisena’s eyes lit up as he understood my plan. ‘I will dress up like a woman and take my place beside Kacha instead of Datta,’ he said. ‘A handful of my best men can wear their gaudiest veils to pass off as ladies-in-waiting.’
‘You’re offering yourself as bait?’ asked mother, her voice sounding shrill with alarm.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘That’s the only way to draw them out.’
‘But how do you know Bhasma will be there too?’ asked Datta. ‘He could well send in his henchmen to take you out.’
‘Simple,’ I replied. ‘I shall invite him to ride out with me. If he’s as cocksure of being chosen the emperor-elect as I think he is, thanks to the Naga rebellion, he’ll come. He won’t allow a small thing like that to delay his coronation tomorrow.’
As we rode out in silence, I stole a glance at Bhasma. His face was bony and pale, like his mother’s. With his hooded eyes and thin lips, he looked not unlike a serpent himself, even though the women in court fancied him the handsomer of the two of us. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to draw him out. ‘Tomorrow will decide our fate – yours and mine,’ I had told him. ‘But the coronation cannot happen unless we do a full fire sacrifice at the Chakrapani temple. I am going this evening. You can come if you want to.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he sneered. ‘But you do know that you’re not allowed arms or guards when you go to the temple?’ he asked.
‘Of course; Datta and I shall go unarmed and alone except for a few of her ladies-in-waiting.’
Secretly, I was thankful Jivita was not around to suspect foul play. Imperious and arrogant, Bhasma fancied himself much more than all the girls who fancied him. But for all his bravado and skill with the Tomara iron club, he was still easy to read. It was his mother and younger brother who did most of the plotting; Bhasma was too busy brawling to be interested in the realpolitik of Chanakyaniti. Mother called him a fool but I found him bitter and bumptious, but blunt. With Bhasma, what you saw was what you got.
Looking away, I glanced at Harisena riding beside me in a demurely covered litter. His lithe, athletic frame was wrapped in a bundle in Datta’s heavy gold-bordered red uttaria veil that covered his head and fell well below his face. He didn’t look particularly ladylike to me – his only concession was to shave off his thin moustache and paint his lips with betel juice. Indeed, his distinctly unfeminine feet – hairy toes, unseemly bunions and all – sticking out f
rom under the white antariya sari were a dead giveaway. Still, Bhasma seemed too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, which was a blessing. I wasn’t carrying any arms myself, except a long, sharp jewel pin tucked in my cummerbund. Harisena and his men-in-disguise were, of course, carrying knives and swords hidden in the voluminous folds of their saris.
Our ambush point was just short of the large boulders at the base of a small hillock on which the temple stood. Apart from the bramble dotting this bleak landscape, there was little vegetation cover on the hillside or along the 400-steps cut into the rock face that led up to the temple. It was a lonely stretch. There was light forest cover on the right of the mud track road, a mere 100 paces away. Close enough for a tactical retreat if needed, yet allowing enough clean ground for an open sword fight. The left was a sheer craggy rock face, so we were safe from any attack on that side. Most importantly, the spot was too far away from the hilltop temple for the priests to notice any scuffle. It was perfect.
Our enemies clearly thought so too for the attack came just as we reached the boulders. A hail of arrows from the bramble bushes that sprouted between those giant pre-historic rocks made us duck for cover. Almost immediately, Harisena’s guards threw off their scarves and unsheathed their swords. I saw surprise in Bhasma’s eyes – the fool actually thought his ambush would go unchallenged. We were riding side by side, so my first reaction was to grab the reins of his horse. Before he could react, I had wrapped one arm around his neck in a stranglehold and pulled him over onto my horse. Holding him in a death grip, I pulled out the long jewel pin from my cummerbund and dug its tip into his belly. ‘It’s just a jewel pin,’ he laughed nervously.’
‘It’s poisoned,’ I replied. ‘Tell your friends to back off or I’ll dig this in. Do it NOW.’
‘You can’t kill me brother, I am a prince of the blood,’ he sneered. ‘And even if you do, my friends won’t let you live either. Though I must say you’re smarter than I thought. Still, you and your men are horribly outnumbered. And you’re not carrying your long bows either. What a pity.’
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