The Guardians of the Halahala

by Shatrujeet Nath

  “You are wise with your words and your thoughts, my king,” she said at last. “I shall come to the palace with you.”

  ***

  “From what I understand, the devas and the asuras will not stop until one or the other has claimed this dagger. Is that correct?” King Harihara looked anxious as he studied Kalidasa’s face.

  “Yes, your honor.”

  Breathing deep, the king leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and pinched his lower lip as he considered the implications of all that the councilor had just revealed.

  “You say a good part of Ujjayini has already suffered great destruction from the first attack,” he said at length. “At this rate, the city will be devastated before long.”

  Kalidasa opened his mouth to respond, but checked himself. Arguing against Harihara was foolish denial. It was plain that if the attacks persisted, Ujjayini would be in grave danger of collapsing. Yet, an open admission would do nothing to allay the jittery king. Under the circumstances, Kalidasa said nothing.

  Unfortunately, Harihara construed the silence as a sign of tacit agreement. Throwing up his hands, he asked, “How does Vikramaditya intend defending the dagger?”

  “With courage and with faith.” This time Kalidasa knew he had a good answer. “That’s how we rid ourselves of the pishachas and the Ashvin cavalry.”

  The king of Heheya rose and began pacing the narrow confines of the private chamber that Kalidasa had been shown into upon his arrival at Mahishmati earlier in the morning.

  “And the Hunas and the Sakas?” the king asked in agitation.

  “What about the Hunas and the Sakas, your honor?” Kalidasa asked cautiously.

  “Will Avanti now abandon its campaign against them?” Harihara clarified.

  “There’s no question of that happening, your honor. Avanti will fight to the very end to keep Sindhuvarta free of invaders.”

  “Vikramaditya will fight the Hunas, the Sakas, the devas and the asuras, all at the same time? How?” Shaking his head, the king slumped back into his seat. Then, as a new thought occurred to him, he sat up. “There will be more attacks on Heheya too, I presume?”

  “From the devas and the asuras? We doubt it, your honor. Their only interest lies in the Halahala, which is in Ujjayini.”

  “Yet the pishacha army led by that blind rakshasa ravaged half of my kingdom,” Harihara sounded petulant. “Who is to say we won’t suffer more such attacks by asuras or devas bound for Ujjayini?”

  “The kingdom of Avanti deeply regrets the suffering that Heheya has been subjected to, your honor,” Kalidasa spoke stiffly. Though he understood Harihara’s concerns, he had begun developing a sharp dislike of the king’s display of pettiness. He got the distinct impression that Harihara was increasingly behaving as an ungrateful, fair-weather friend.

  “Regrets are all fine, Councilor Kalidasa, but you must realize Heheya is but a small kingdom with limited resources. We don’t possess the wherewithal to deal with such eventualities.”

  “I offer Avanti’s sincere apologies and a small token of our appreciation of Heheya’s friendship,” Kalidasa replied, making a mental note of the way the king had addressed him as ‘councilor’. The old warmth in Harihara’s tone was missing. “There’s a wagon waiting downstairs that has a chest of gold for your treasury, your honor. I hope it can be put to use in rebuilding the garrisons and villages that were destroyed by the pishacha army.”

  The king appeared mollified at the mention of the contribution from Avanti. “That will definitely be of help to us,” he admitted. Pausing for a moment, he asked, “Now that Vikramaditya has decided to take on the might of the devas and the asuras, what does he want from his allies?”

  Kalidasa abruptly got up from his seat opposite Harihara. Rising to his full height, he towered over the old king. “The samrat wants nothing, your honor,” he said, interpreting the import of Harihara’s question correctly. “I came as an escort for the cart downstairs, and to give you the news of the Halahala. My work is done. I would now like to take your leave.”

  Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the giant bowed and left the chamber.

  ***

  The Magadhan army was amassed on a broad, open plain on the western bank of the river Asya. Across the river lay another flat, treeless plain, receding into a ridge of gently sloping hills, beyond which lay the rich iron mines of Vanga and the mining town of Dandakabhukti.

  As the shadows lengthened around them, the soldiers of Magadha cast their weapons and shields aside and eased their tired limbs by stretching themselves on the river bank. Quite a few of the men were already in the knee-deep water, washing away the dust and fatigue accumulated over the course of the long march. Behind them, tents were being pitched for the night, while large copper cauldrons were already perched on big wood fires.

  Despite the vastness of the army spread on the river bank, the landscape was dominated by the twelve mahashilakantakas that towered over the tents. Made of hard ironwood, the lumbering catapults were drawn by teams of four elephants each, and were capable of hurling massive boulders over great distances. It was a different matter that the catapults were of little practical use in this particular campaign – Vanga had no formidable forts that needed siege weapons to breach. Yet, General Daipayana had insisted on bringing them along for effect; he knew the sight of the mahashilakantakas was often enough to instill fear and break the back of resistance.

  “We shall cross the Asya and begin our eastward march at midnight tonight,” Daipayana announced, tapping his index finger on an embroidered map that lay spread out on a small table. He was inside a large pavilion, surrounded by half a dozen commanders and captains of the Magadhan army. To his left stood Kapila, who had ridden down from Girivraja to join the general in their opening assault on Vanga.

  “My plan is to cover half the distance to Dandakabhukti before the hot sun is up tomorrow,” Daipayana continued. “And by reaching the base of those hills under cover of darkness, I also want to surprise whatever scouts and soldiers Vanga has stationed in the hills.”

  “Vanga’s scouts will be shocked to see the Magadhan army at their doorstep at daybreak,” leered Kapila, stroking his thick moustache as he studied the map.

  “Indeed, your lordship,” the general agreed. Turning back to one of the captains, he began issuing orders. “Your job is to make sure there are enough fires lit along the river bank, and that there’s someone here all night to tend to the fires. And of course, there’ll be no dismantling of the tents. To anyone watching us, it must seem as if the army is still very much on this bank and has no intention of moving before dawn. Clear?”

  Seeing the captain nod, Daipayana addressed two senior commanders. “You will divide the army into four groups and oversee the river crossing. Remember the bank will be lit with fires, so the crossing will have to happen further upstream and downstream, away from the firelight. Identify the crossing points beforehand – everything has to happen swiftly. I want to be in those hills at sunrise.”

  “How do we go about the attack if we meet resistance in the hills, general?” one commander asked.

  “I’m coming to that,” Daipayana replied. “Whatever happens, under no circumstances is the cavalry to engage in any skirmishes with Vanga’s soldiers. That should be left to the infantry and archers. The cavalry’s task is simple – once it is over the hills, it has to ride hard, fast and straight to Dandakabhukti and take control of the town’s defenses. Next, it should secure all the mines and block all exit points toward the rest of Vanga. Nothing should be able to enter or leave the mines and the town without our consent.”

  “What about the townsfolk of Dandakabhukti?”

  “Who cares, as long as they obey orders and stay out of the way. But if anyone puts up resistance, show no mercy. We aren’t here to take prisoners. We’re here to take Vanga.”

  ***

  Because he wasn’t being able to make up his mind about anything, Amara Simha had resorted to curses and mood
y contemplation as he downed goblet after goblet of firewater.

  His problems had started early in the day when he awoke with a sore throat, and since then things had gone progressively downhill. First, he and Commander Dattaka had made no headway in their investigation into the Huna scout’s death, despite spending the entire morning interviewing the six guards who’d been on duty that night. No one appeared to have seen a king cobra anywhere near the command center, and all six guards categorically denied the possibility of any suspicious visitor to the scout’s cell. Yet the mystery of the killer snake persisted, with no satisfactory explanation to the reptile’s entry into and exit from the cell undetected.

  Amara Simha was almost certain some of the guards weren’t being entirely honest, but frustrating as it was, he knew he couldn’t pursue the matter more forcefully without some form of evidence at his disposal.

  Then, a little after noon, his mood took a turn for the worse when news of the pishacha and Ashvin attacks came in from Ujjayini. The reports of death and devastation had rattled everyone, and all afternoon soldiers were seen huddled in conversation. While there was obvious alarm in the soldiers’ faces – and concern about the fate of loved ones in the capital - Amara Simha was also heartened by the awe and pride he saw when the men discussed the samrat and the manner in which the victories had been secured.

  Strangely enough, the tidings from Ujjayini had left Amara Simha feeling both glad and depressed. Although he was relieved that the attacks had been repelled, the fact that he had had no role in either battle rankled. He had left Ujjayini with the prospect of action in the frontier, but all he’d done so far was behead a corpse and bully a scout. His fellow councilors, meanwhile, had been awarded with not one, but two opportunities to test the strength of their swords. And the Hunas, for whom he had come all this way, weren’t even close to the border...

  “It’s just so unfair,” Amara Simha grumbled to himself as he emptied the goblet he was holding and looked around for the pitcher for a refill.

  “Pardon me, your honor?”

  The councilor turned to see Dattaka standing in the doorway. He shook his head.

  “Nothing. Care to join me?” As the commander took a seat across the table, Amara Simha waved the pitcher around invitingly. “Call for an empty goblet.”

  Dattaka looked out the window. The sky was fading to deep purple, but there was still enough light to tell the town of Sristhali from the shadows of the surrounding hills.

  “In a little while, your honor,” he said, deciding it wasn’t late enough to warrant a drink.

  Amara Simha shrugged and splashed a generous helping into his goblet.

  “Something’s troubling the councilor?”

  “It’s this king cobra thing,” answered Amara Simha unhappily. “I can’t decide whether I should spend more time here investigating it, or return to Udaypuri. It’s been a while since I left the garrison in charge of Commander Atulyateja, and there’s a lot of work to be done along the frontier. Yet, something happened here the other night, and I think it’s important to find out who was behind it.”

  “If it helps, I could continue investigating the matter for you,” Dattaka offered. “If I uncover something, I will let you know immediately.”

  “Yes, perhaps you can,” said Amara Simha, taking another big gulp from the goblet. But the cheer didn’t return.

  The two men sat quietly for a while before the commander noticed a small pile of palm leaves and a stylus lying by Amara Simha’s elbow. He could see the leaves were filled with Sanskrit words, arranged in tables in descending order.

  “If I may ask, what are you working on, your honor?” For a moment the burly councilor looked nonplused. Then, as he understood Dattaka, he glanced down at the palm leaves. “I’m creating a vocabulary of Sanskrit word roots,” he explained. “It’s a bit of grammar and a bit of poetry. I’ve been at it for the last two years.”

  “Not many men who wear the sword can do that.” The commander’s voice was filled with wonder. “You must be very learned.”

  “This is nothing – you must see what Councilor Kalidasa writes. But yes, I have been fortunate to learn from masters like the late Srigupta.”

  “You studied under Guru Srigupta of Bhojapuri?”

  Amara Simha nodded, detecting a hint of excitement in Dattaka’s voice. “You know of Guru Srigupta?”

  “He was a distant uncle of mine... though I admit I won’t be able to draw the family tree to prove it,” the commander smiled. “I have met him a couple of times as a small boy, when my mother took me to his house in Bhojapuri. I don’t remember him too well – he was old and had a long white beard... But he had a daughter I won’t easily forget. She was one of the nicest, kindest people I have ever met. Always smiling, full of laughter and sweets for us kids.”

  “Yes, she was one of the nicest people I have ever met.” Amara Simha repeated. His voice had acquired a melancholy that Dattaka failed to notice.

  “Of course, you studied under my uncle, so you would have known her too. Do you remember her name?”

  “Swaha,” the councilor looked down at his goblet. “It’s hard to forget the name of someone you dearly loved and got married to.”

  “You’re married to her? Oh, that makes us relatives!” Dattaka’s eyes lit up, but then he paused. “Wait... why do you say someone you dearly loved, your honor?”

  “Swaha died two years after our marriage, during childbirth. She and the baby, both.”

  The commander dropped his eyes. The silence of the evening filled the room as the two men sat opposite one another, one not knowing what to say, the other left with nothing to say.

  At last, Amara Simha raised the goblet to his lips and drained its contents. Rising to his feet, he began gathering the palm leaves together. “I have decided to return to Udaypuri tomorrow morning,” he said. “I will be taking the Huna scout with me. When Ghatakarpara returns from Dvarka, ask him to come to Udaypuri.”

  “And the investigation?”

  “I believe I can trust a relation by marriage to do what’s needed to uncover the truth,” the councilor replied with a small smile.

  ***

  Nearly half the night had passed by the time Captain Angamitra and four of his samsaptakas reached the city of Kausambi and made their way to the palace of King Chandravardhan. Kalidasa had entrusted his deputy with the task of delivering the news of the twin attacks on Avanti to Chandravardhan, and the young captain had diligently followed orders, resting sparingly through the long journey to the court of Vatsa.

  The samsaptakas had been stopped at the gates of Kausambi, but once they proved their bona fides – and established the urgency of their mission – they were formally escorted to the palace, large but otherwise shapeless in the dark of the night. Dismounting from his horse, Angamitra divined that they were close to the Yamuna by the splashing of water against a stone embankment.

  The soldiers from Avanti were shown into a large, almost empty room and told to wait for a palace official to attend to them. For nearly ten minutes, they were left to themselves, before they heard footsteps echoing down a corridor that gave into the room. Pushing aside the rich brocade curtain that hung over the doorway to the corridor, a thin elderly man entered the room.

  “Captain Angamitra?” the man inquired, searching the faces in front of him.

  The captain stepped forward and the man turned in his direction. However, on account of his pronounced squint, the man’s eyes appeared to settle on the samsaptaka standing to Angamitra’s right.

  “Greetings,” the man said and took a step in the direction of the captain, continuing to look at the other samsaptaka. “I am Councilor Yashobhavi, minister to King Chandravardhan. I take it that you have a message for the king from Samrat Vikramaditya?”

  “Indeed, councilor,” replied Angamitra. “We apologize for turning up at the palace at such a late hour, but the message is of considerable importance. We would like to deliver the message to King Chandravardh
an right away, if that is possible.”

  “I’m afraid that would not be possible, captain,” Yashobhavi said solemnly.

  “Well...” Angamitra was a little taken aback. “Maybe we can deliver it to him in the morning then?” He found the minister’s squint quite disconcerting.

  “Even that wouldn’t be possible.”

  “The king isn’t in the palace?”

  “Oh, he is,” replied Yashobhavi. “But the problem is that earlier in the day, our king suffered a severe paralytic stroke. He isn’t responding well at all, and the royal physicians say his condition is very critical.”

  The samsaptakas looked at one another. They hadn’t planned for such an eventuality, and it was plain they had no idea of what to do next.

  “What I can do is have the attendants show you to your rooms,” Yashobhavi came to their rescue. “Rest for the night, for you must be tired. Meanwhile, Prince Shashivardhan is expected to reach the palace by dawn tomorrow. Perhaps you can meet him in the morning and give him Samrat Vikramaditya’s message.”

  Healer

  S

  tunned disbelief had taken permanent hold of Pallavan’s face as he listened to Vetala Bhatta and Vararuchi recount the chain of events that had led to the Ashvin and pishacha attacks on Avanti. The diplomat’s eyes strayed regularly to the windows of the council chamber, as if seeking validation for what he was being told, but Pallavan had seen enough of the battered city in his ride to the palace to know that it was the truth.

  When the Acharya concluded his narrative, Pallavan sat in silence, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as he stared at the intricate patterns of the sun-crest embossed on the council table.

  “We can show you the dagger, if you wish to see it for yourself,” Vikramaditya’s solemn voice dispelled the quietness.