The Guardians of the Halahala

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “You never asked, sir.”

  “I know, silly of me,” Satyaveda fawned over the commander. “Anyway, let’s forget about what I said earlier, okay? I was just stressed by this whole thing about the Hunas... I see you did the right thing by not waiting for me. Good, good... Now go with them, commander. And if you want any help with anything, just ask.”

  ***

  Vikramaditya and Kalidasa stood in front of a large red pavilion, which had been set up on a knoll overlooking a swathe of dry scrubland. Lower down and to the right of the pavilion were four tents pitched together, where a dozen samsaptakas – members of Avanti’s elite Warriors of the Oath – were huddled in discussion.

  Squinting in the glare of the midday sun, the king carefully inspected the sparse landscape, but all he could see was barren, undulating earth, scattered with clumps of stunted vegetation. Other than the vague shimmer of the horizon, nothing moved.

  Yet, the king knew that somewhere out in the scrubland were five young soldiers of the Imperial Army – the last five remaining cadets of the original thirty-two who had volunteered to join the service of the samsaptakas.

  “Can you see any of them?” Vikramaditya glanced at Kalidasa.

  “No,” the giant replied with a small smile of satisfaction. “These five are very good. All of them are worthy of enlisting with the Warriors of the Oath.”

  A few more minutes passed before Angamitra, a young captain of the samsaptakas and Kalidasa’s trusted deputy, detached himself from the group near the tents and approached the foot of the knoll. Looking up at Kalidasa, he spoke.

  “We think it’s time, commander.”

  On seeing Kalidasa nod in assent, the captain marched back to the tents and issued a command. Five samsaptakas immediately sallied some distance into the scrubland, each bearing a shield in his arm. As the samrat and Kalidasa watched with interest, one of the samsaptakas suddenly barked an order.

  “Charge!”

  Instantly, five disheveled figures rose, ghost-like, from under the burning dust of the scrub, throwing off their camouflage of prickly bushes. They were armed with broad swords, which they brandished wildly as they ran, screaming, toward the row of waiting samsaptakas.

  Four of the cadets reached the samsaptakas and began striking at them with great ferocity, but the samsaptakas used their shields with dexterity to fend off the deadly swords. The fifth cadet, however, stumbled and fell halfway to his target. Pushing himself upright, he swayed groggily for a moment before slumping to the ground with fatigue.

  “Halt,” commanded Angamitra, and the four cadets ceased their attack. Meanwhile, two samsaptakas from the tents ran to the fallen cadet. Lifting him gently, they proceeded to carry him back into the shade.

  “It looks like only four cadets will be taking the Death Oath, not five,” said the king, shaking his head. “I feel sorry for that boy. He almost made it.”

  “I should have expected this,” Kalidasa grimaced. “A few always fall at the last hurdle.”

  “It’s not surprising,” Vikramaditya turned and entered the welcoming shade of the pavilion. “They hardly get any sleep, and they eat and drink practically nothing for weeks. And of course, the exercises are grueling. There’s only so much punishment the body can take.”

  “The funny bit is that the real punishment starts only after cadets earn a place among the samsaptakas,” remarked Kalidasa, following the king into the pavilion. “One year of the most hellish training... I sometimes feel the cadets who don’t qualify are the lucky ones.”

  Vikramaditya smiled as he sat down at a table laden with food. “Yet, there isn’t a soldier in Avanti who hasn’t dreamt of becoming a samsaptaka and serving under the commander of the Warriors of the Oath.”

  “It is my honor to lead such fearless and capable men,” Kalidasa replied graciously, joining the king at the table.

  Silence prevailed as the two men chewed their food. At last, Kalidasa looked across at the samrat.

  “You are yet to give me your opinion on something that I shared with you,” he said.

  Vikramaditya stared at Kalidasa with a blank face, trying hard to recall what the latter was alluding to. Then his eyes lit up and he smacked the table.

  “Ah, the new poem you’ve written!”

  “So you haven’t entirely forgotten about it,” Kalidasa gave a playful smile.

  “Of course not... I was going through it the night the Omniscient One brought the dagger.” The king paused and sighed. “So much has happened since then that it slipped my mind.”

  Kalidasa nodded. “So what do you think of it?”

  “I confess I haven’t finished it,” Vikramaditya replied. “But from what I’ve read, it’s rich and exquisitely beautiful, as usual. I’d even say possibly your best so far.”

  “Amara Simha thinks so too,” Kalidasa smiled self-consciously at the praise.

  “There you are – straight from the critic whose opinion really matters,” the samrat spread his hands as if to rest his case. “Few men have studied Sanskrit grammar and verse as well as Amara Simha has. If he says you’re the most talented poet and playwright in Sindhuvarta, the debate ends there.”

  “I have you to thank for that, Vikrama. I owe you everything I have today – including my name.”

  “You owe me nothing but brotherhood and friendship,” the samrat smiled affectionately. “And I owe you the same. And as far as your writing is concerned, credit goes only to your passion, and the way you have applied yourself to the craft.”

  The men returned their attention to the food, but the king couldn’t help but marvel at the giant sitting opposite him. He still recalled that blustery evening outside the town of Lava, the red flag fluttering atop the old Kali temple at the edge of the forest. The boy was around eight, and had been found cowering inside the temple, a haunted look in his eyes. He had barely spoken when the guards had brought him to Vikramaditya, and when he eventually did, it was plain that he had no memory of who he was and how he had got to the temple.

  Taking pity on him, Vikramaditya – himself not a day older than fourteen – had brought the boy to Ujjayini. There the boy, whom Vikramaditya named Kalidasa after the goddess Kali, had grown as a member of the palace household, training under Vetala Bhatta and Amara Simha, mastering the art of war and verse with equal élan. And it was during those growing years that Kalidasa and Vikramaditya had forged a tight bond of friendship and loyalty.

  The two men dined in silence for a while before Vikramaditya glanced at his friend. “I loved the way you have described the beauty of Ujjayini in your poem,” he said.

  “That wasn’t very hard,” Kalidasa brushed off the compliment with a shrug. “Ujjayini is the most beautiful city on earth, so it came naturally.”

  The king nodded. “You have also celebrated the beauty of Ujjayini’s women in much detail.” He paused to glance at Kalidasa, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Did you mean its women in general or was there a specific woman in mind while you were writing?”

  The giant looked up at the king, then dropped his gaze to his plate, a shy smile on his lips.

  “Why don’t the two of you marry?” Vikramaditya said abruptly. “You like Shanku a great deal, and even though she may be adept at hiding her feelings, I know she has immense admiration for you. You really should ask her.” He paused suddenly, his face growing serious. “Or, does the thought of her father’s treachery bother you?”

  “No, that has nothing to do with it,” Kalidasa spoke sharply, betraying his feelings for the girl. “I see no reason why she should suffer because of what her father did.”

  “Then where’s the problem?”

  “I am a samsaptaka, Vikrama,” Kalidasa sighed. “I have taken the Death Oath – the oath to return from battle either victorious or dead. I can’t wed Shanku knowing that every time I ride into battle, death is my only companion.”

  The king was about to respond when the door flaps of the pavilion parted and a rider entered.
/>   “Salutations to Samrat Vikramaditya,” he said, bowing. “I bring a message from Acharya Vetala Bhatta.”

  “What is the message?” the samrat demanded.

  In reply, the messenger proffered a rolled palm leaf scroll that he held in his hands. The king took the scroll, his eyebrows rising at the sight of the wax seal bearing the sun-crest of Avanti. The message from the raj-guru was important, urgent and confidential, he surmised.

  Breaking open the seal, Vikramaditya read the short note inside. He then nodded to the rider and spoke briskly to Kalidasa. “We need to leave for Ujjayini straightaway.”

  In a matter of minutes, the king and Kalidasa were on horseback, making their way across the scrubland, an escort of eight horsemen trailing some distance behind them.

  “What did the Acharya’s message say?” Kalidasa’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

  “We have a visitor at the palace,” Vikramaditya replied, urging his horse into a gallop. “A visitor from Devaloka, an envoy of the devas.”

  ***

  “You must pardon me for the delay, deva,” said Vikramaditya, approaching the council table. “I was out of Ujjayini and it’s an hour’s ride back to the palace.”

  “No apology is needed, samrat,” the deva answered with a wave of his hand and a charming smile. “You have important matters to attend to, and I came unannounced. But I was very well looked after by the Acharya and the rest of your council – indeed, the hospitality of Avanti is without parallel.”

  “Thank you, good deva.” The king’s tone was guarded, conscious of the deva’s attempt to flatter. He took in the visitor’s stately robes and the elegant, handsome face with its sharp nose and broad forehead, which was crowned by a fine crop of silvery hair.

  “Address me as Narada, please. There should be no formality between friends.” Brown eyes twinkled amiably as the deva considered the faces around the table.

  As his councilors exchanged glances, the king lowered himself into his seat at the head of the table and inclined his head. “Now if I may ask, what can we do for you?”

  Narada’s smile broadened as he drew himself closer to the table. “I have come to propose friendship on behalf of the devas – friendship that would be beneficial to both of us.”

  “We have never had a deva calling on us before and broaching the topic of friendship, so the timing of your visit is striking,” Vikramaditya smiled thinly in response. “If I’m right, your proposal has to do with the dagger, doesn’t it?”

  For a moment, Narada was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. But he quickly regained his composure. “It’s not just about the dagger, samrat. As I said, I’m here to offer a hand of friendship. We must both realize that we should work together to undo the evil designs of the asuras. If peace and prosperity have to prevail in Devaloka and on earth, our cooperation is critical.”

  Anticipating a response from Vikramaditya, the deva paused. But when he saw none coming, he resumed his well-rehearsed speech.

  “I can promise that you will benefit greatly by befriending us,” he said. “We are aware that you and your allies face a serious threat from the barbarian tribes to the west of Sindhuvarta. We can help you counter that. There’s trouble brewing in the east – we can assist you with that as well. Accept our friendship and you won’t regret it, samrat.” As an afterthought, he added, “You must know that we devas seek your friendship because we see you as a worthy ally against the asuras.”

  “We are always happy to make new friends,” Vikramaditya spoke after giving the emissary’s words some thought.

  “Excellent,” Narada beamed at the council members. “Lord Indra would be pleased to hear this.” He looked around the table expectantly, but the king and his councilors said nothing.

  “I take it that you are willing to give us possession of the dagger?” the deva asked.

  “So the devas do want the dagger in exchange for their friendship,” the council chamber echoed with the sarcasm in Vikramaditya’s voice. “That means your offer of friendship is conditional. How come you didn’t mention this earlier?”

  “It’s... it’s just a token... to seal our alliance.” For the first time, Narada faltered, groping for words. “Don’t look at it as a precondition.”

  “In that case, we could give you something else as a token of our friendship. That would work just as well as the dagger, wouldn’t it?”

  The visitor was quiet as he gauged the mood of the men around him. At last he shook his head. “I’m afraid it has to be the dagger, samrat.”

  “If we are going to be allies, how does it matter who has the dagger?” asked Vikramaditya.

  “We devas can protect it better against the vicious asuras,” said Narada. “We want to free you from the responsibility of having to guard it from them.”

  The king appraised the envoy for a while. At last, drawing himself erect, he said, “The only one who can free us from this responsibility is the one who placed the dagger in our hands, deva. We have given our word to the Omniscient One – and we intend keeping it.”

  “Don’t make a hasty decision, samrat,” Narada entreated, barely keeping the disappointment out of his voice. “I am more than willing to wait.”

  “Hasty or not, the decision has been made,” Vikramaditya smiled. “I have nothing to add.”

  Narada rose from his seat. His face had lost all the earlier charm, and his poise was missing. “The storm of war is already building in and around Sindhuvarta,” his voice had become gravelly, like a low snarl from a dark cave. “Soon, the asuras will also be at your doors. You shouldn’t have squandered the opportunity of making friends with the devas, samrat.”

  “The way you put it, it seems we will now have to bear the consequences of denying Indra possession of the Halahala,” replied Vikramaditya, rising from his chair. “But we are prepared for it. Let your king know that.”

  ***

  Hiranyaksha’s face was etched with impatience as he gazed out of an arched, crenulated window overlooking the boiling torrents of the Patala Ganga. Every now and then, he cast his eyes over his shoulder, looking into the chamber in the direction of a large crystal table where Shukracharya stood bending over a mandala. Beyond the table, on a divan at the far end of the chamber, Holika sat nursing an infant, her keen eyes observing the high priest as he shuffled the six pieces of vertebrae around the mandala.

  “Aha!” Shukracharya finally broke the silence, his voice bearing a ring of triumph.

  “What is it, mahaguru?” Hiranyaksha took four long strides to the table.

  The sage raised his head, his single eye burning with excitement. Seeing the asura lord’s dark face staring down at him, eyebrows raised in inquiry, Shukracharya’s lips peeled back in a wide grin.

  “Brihaspati’s mission has been a washout. Narada is returning to Devaloka empty-handed – just as I had expected,” he gloated. “The fool employed the usual tricks to get Vikramaditya to part with the dagger, but he failed utterly in shaking the human king’s resolve.”

  “And the dagger is still safe in Ujjayini?” the Witch Queen asked from the divan. Her eagerness lent her voice a shrill edge, upsetting the baby suckling at her breast. Puckering its mouth, it studied her face with its large golden eyes, which were facsimiles of Hiranyaksha’s.

  “Very much,” the sage answered, consulting the six bone pieces just to be sure.

  “With all due respect, I still think we took a big risk in letting the devas make the first move,” Hiranyaksha grunted, stepping away from the table and walking back to the window.

  “Not at all,” Shukracharya insisted. “It was a calculated gamble. I was right in concluding that Vikramaditya couldn’t be swayed into surrendering the Halahala through inducements and threats. But I knew Brihaspati would try that tack, so I let him be frustrated. Now the devas have wasted time and effort, and have nothing to show for it.”

  “But we have to act quickly now,” the asura lord growled, raising his voice to make
himself heard over the noise of the doomed river. “Indra isn’t going to take this rejection lightly.”

  “Indeed, mahaguru,” Holika urged. Setting the gurgling infant down on the divan, she rose and approached the high priest. “The devas are bound to redouble their efforts, and the next time they will certainly use force. We must preempt them.”

  “Yes, the time to make our move has come,” Shukracharya concurred, clearing the table. Looking at the asura lord, he added, “You may give the orders to prepare for battle.”

  “The preparations are already underway, mahaguru,” Hiranyaksha’s golden eyes gleamed in his granite-hard face. “A force of pishachas is being assembled, and I have summoned the dead-eyed rakshasa Andhaka to seek your blessings and lead an assault on Ujjayini.”

  Andhaka

  K

  ing Siddhasena closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his aged lungs with the cool, early-morning air infused with the sweet fragrance of jasmine and frangipani.

  He was seated on a stone bench in the middle of a large, leafy garden, with none for company other than his loyal bodyguard Sajaya, who stood a few paces to his left. Further to the left, some way behind the guard, was an ornate gazebo with five iron swings arranged around a central fountain. The pathway at Siddhasena’s feet led out from the gazebo and meandered across the garden toward the royal palace of Magadha, which was partially visible from between the flowering shrubs and trees.

  For a while, the king sat quietly, soaking in the peace and silence. Then, opening his eyes, he reached for his wooden stick, while raising his left hand toward his bodyguard, signaling a desire to be helped to his feet.

  The guard took a step forward, but was interrupted by an authoritative voice that cut through the morning calm.

  “Let it be, soldier. I shall assist the king.”

  Even as Siddhasena raised his head to look down the path, his face clouded at the familiarity of the voice, his old eyes registering weariness. And on catching sight of Shoorasena’s approach, the king’s mouth turned down at the corners, as if full of some bitter aftertaste. Still, he looked back at his bodyguard and nodded.