The Guardians of the Halahala

by Shatrujeet Nath

  Ever since they had left the tavern, dull flashes of lightning and a near-constant roll of thunder had filled the heavens overhead. Now, as the drunk stood relieving himself, a sudden blinding flash of lightning hit the ground not far to his right. Reeling under the impact of rushing air, his skin tingling with heat, the explosive crack of thunder flooding his ears, the man turned and stared numbly into the darkness.

  As his eyes – which had miraculously escaped injury – adjusted to the feeble light, he thought he saw a hulking shape rise from the spot where the lightning had struck. Blinking rapidly, the drunk watched as the shape gained height and form and assumed humanoid proportions. Then, as another flash of lightning backlit the sky, he noticed the four large horns protruding from the figure’s head.

  Rooted to the spot, his face contorting in terror, the drunk watched as the four-horned figure turned its head slowly and surveyed him with cold eyes that shone like dull, metallic moonlight. Almost the same instant, the beast bared its teeth in a noiseless snarl and lunged at the drunkard.

  The drunkard let out a scream – but his own voice was lost in the flat hollow silence that now filled his ears.

  His friends, who had come to a halt a little way down the road, heard the scream though. It was a high-pitched shriek of horror that tore through the rasping growl coming from the beast’s mouth. The shriek leaped skyward and pierced the canopy of trees overhead, sending a flock of roosting birds into frenzied flight.

  As his two friends stood arm in arm, watching in shocked silence, the beast swatted the drunkard with its large hand. The blow lifted the drunkard off the ground and sent him tumbling and rolling into the middle of the road. He immediately tried to scramble back to his feet, but the beast took two loping strides and kicked him brutally so that he once again fell on his face. He lay sprawled in the dirt for a moment, whimpering and mewling for help.

  Then, clawing at the mud for support, he began to raise himself again... But before he could push himself off the ground, the beast raised its large foot and brought it down heavily on his back. The weight of the foot broke the drunkard’s spine, and his torso imploded to the sound of cracking bones.

  The two friends down the road trembled in unison and looked at one another. When they returned their gaze to the spot where their partner now lay dead, their eyes grew even wider in alarm.

  The giant, four-horned beast had turned its cold, quicksilver eyes upon them!

  Panic gripped the men’s hearts as the beast began striding down the road toward them, shoulders hunched, arms swinging purposefully, hands clenched in fists. Paying heed to the frantic signals being transmitted by their brains, they turned and lurched away, screaming and moaning in abject terror. But the beast continued its steady charge, rapidly gaining ground on the two fleeing figures.

  The beast was almost upon the babbling drunks when it unexpectedly broke its stride and drew to a stop, displaying a sudden change of intent. One of the drunkards threw a petrified glance over his shoulder to see the beast suddenly leap sideways and clamber onto the large trees lining the park. Then, as the two cowering men watched in wonder, the creature moved among the treetops with remarkable agility, pushing deeper and deeper into the park to the accompaniment of angry grunts and the snapping and cracking of branches.

  The next instant, six more bolts of lightning descended on Ujjayini, each following the other in quick succession, each landing in a different part of the city. Almost immediately, the sky opened up in a sudden, heavy shower.

  Their bodies quaking with fright, their breath catching raggedly at their throats, the two surviving drunks stumbled into a clumsy embrace. Clutching each other, drawing and imparting hope and support at the same time, not believing their good fortune, they shivered and watched the rain puddle around the broken body of their friend lying in the middle of the road.

  ***

  A trail of dripping water followed Dhanavantri as he stepped out of the rain and entered the palace. Mopping the rainwater off his head, face and arms, wringing out his clothes to allow free movement, the physician brushed past the guards milling around the doorway, toward a hall filled with the bobbing shadows of Avanti’s courtiers.

  “We have to first ascertain what exactly is happening,” Dhanavantri heard the echo of Varahamihira’s voice rise above the jittery hum. “We can’t act until we have more details, so please stay calm. Councilor Kshapanaka and Councilor Dhanavantri have gone to investigate matters. We should hear from them soon... ah, there is the royal physician!”

  Dhanavantri ploughed through the assembly instead of waiting for the courtiers to make way. The gathering fell back, allowing the physician access to Varahamihira, who stood in the middle of the hall in the company of Shanku, Queen Upashruti, the chief of the Palace Guards and a couple of senior courtiers. Looking at the circle of inquiring eyes, the physician spoke bluntly.

  “We are under attack,” he announced.

  “Again?”

  The question exploded softly from somewhere to Dhanavantri’s right, muffled by gasps and hisses of dismay. An incredulous silence followed, filled with the patter of rain and the plaintive pealing of the alarm bells in the distance. The shock of the Ashvin attack was still fresh in memory, Dhanavantri reflected, so in spite of the warning of the brass bells, the courtiers had probably been hoping to hear that nothing was the matter after all.

  “Who is attacking us?” asked Varahamihira, leaning on his crutch as if the weight of the news was an additional burden on his shoulders.

  “We don’t know,” Dhanavantri shook his head. “But it seems some... things... are attacking the city randomly. Big and large and very violent things.”

  A collective sigh of despair fluttered through the hall before settling on slumped shoulders.

  “Where have the attacks occurred?” pressed Varahamihira.

  “Everywhere. In every quarter of the city. Houses, shops, City Watch pickets... anything and everything is being attacked. They are just maiming, killing and destroying. Soldiers of the City Watch are trying to engage them in combat, but these things are simply too powerful.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “No one knows,” Dhanavantri shrugged unhappily. “But given the scale of the attack, too many.”

  “What are these things?” This was one of the senior courtiers, his voice strained. “Surely someone must have seen them, respected Councilor.”

  “It’s dark and raining heavily,” the physician replied.

  “And these things apparently move very fast. No one’s caught a clear sight of them – no one who’s alive, at least.”

  “Someone who’s still alive has.” Kshapanaka’s voice came from far back near the door. “These things are asuras, in all probability.”

  Heads swiveled and the courtiers quietly parted way for the councilor. Kshapanaka walked into the hall, bow in one hand, sword dangling at her hip. Like Dhanavantri, she was wet with rainwater, her clothes clinging to her sensuous form.

  “A soldier of the City Watch reports that two drunkards in the eastern quarter saw one of these things appear,” she explained. “According to the drunks, the thing materialized in a bolt of lightning.” Seeing Dhanavantri cock an eyebrow, she inclined her head. “The thing apparently crushed one of their friends to death under its foot.”

  “Can drunkards be believed?” one skeptic courtier protested. “They may well have imagined the whole thing.”

  “The soldier of the City Watch confirms that a horribly mangled body has been found on a road by a park in the eastern quarter, where the drunks claim their friend was killed,” Kshapanaka spoke evenly. “The man was crushed by something impossibly heavy – like a huge boulder or a tree trunk or a heavy foot. And no boulders or tree trunks were found near the body.”

  She paused to let this sink in. “The drunks say the beast had a human body, but was much larger and heavier, with eyes that shine like moonlight. It also had four horns on its head.”

  “Ye
s, rakshasas from Patala,” Varahamihira exchanged glances with the physician. Raising his voice so he could be heard clearly, he added. “They’re here for the dagger, courtiers.”

  More anxious looks passed around the room. Sadguna, the elderly chief of the Palace Guards, cleared his throat. “We must raise the samrat,” he appealed to Varahamihira.

  “We can’t,” the councilor answered sharply. Reining his voice in and dropping it to a conspiratorial whisper, he took in the ring of distressed faces. “The samrat mustn’t be disturbed in his journey to the Borderworld. It’s too dangerous – you all know that. The Acharya can bring the samrat back only when he is ready to return.”

  “Can’t Councilor Kalidasa do something?” Sadguna pressed. The swell of approval in the hall made it obvious that the courtiers were pinning a lot of hope on the commander of the samsaptakas.

  “He has instructions to prevent anyone... or anything from disturbing the samrat and the Acharya.”

  “Why did Vararuchi pick such a time to visit his mother?” Queen Upashruti’s lips were thin lines of disapproval; she made it a point not to mention Ushantha by name. “He should be in the palace during times of crisis. Surely he was aware of the Mother Oracle’s warning.”

  “He must have had some important reason to visit badi-maa.” Varahamihira stole a glance at Dhanavantri, who averted his gaze. “He also probably didn’t expect an attack so soon. To be honest, even I didn’t.”

  The Queen Mother didn’t reply, but the petulance with which she crossed her hands and looked away told Varahamihira that she didn’t appreciate his opinion on the subject.

  “It doesn’t matter who isn’t here,” Kshapanaka’s voice rose by a few octaves, the ring of authority masking a slight exasperation. “We are here. If the asuras want the dagger, they are bound to come to the palace. We have to protect the palace with everything we’ve got. Let us prepare for that.”

  Almost as if they had found sustenance in her words, the courtiers nodded in agreement. Relieved though he was, Varahamihira raised a cautionary hand.

  “Yes, but we have to try and stop those rakshasas from wreaking havoc in the city as well.”

  “How can we do both?” asked one courtier. “We can defend either the city or the palace.”

  “We have to defend both,” Varahamihira was adamant. “If it’s our job to protect the dagger, it’s also our job to protect the citizens of Avanti. There’s no question of choosing one over the other.”

  “I agree, honorable courtiers,” said Shanku, speaking for the first time. She turned to Varahamihira. “Let me ride into the city, your honor.”

  “I shall come with you,” Dhanavantri stepped forward. “I will help you marshal the City Watch.” Looking from Kshapanaka to Varahamihira, he added, “The raj-guru and Kalidasa can’t leave the samrat’s side, so it’s up to the two of you and the palace guards to defend the palace. But I shall dispatch some samsaptaka units to assist you.”

  “We will do our best,” assured Varahamihira. “Fight well, my friends.”

  As Shanku and the physician left the hall, Varahamihira addressed a courtier. “Have word of the asura attack sent to Kalidasa and the Acharya. They should know of the nature of the threat we’re facing.”

  Turning to Sadguna, the councilor continued reeling off instructions. “Please escort the queen mother and all the other members of the royal household to the safety of the Labyrinth. Have your men make sure that the palace is emptied, the Labyrinth is sealed and booby-trapped, and no one is at risk.”

  The chief turned to Queen Upashruti, and the two made their way to the staircase leading to the chambers above accompanied by a posse of palace guards. They were halfway up the stairs when Varahamihira called after Sadguna.

  “I shall be in the council chamber with Councilor Kshapanaka. Meet me there once the palace has been secured.”

  Palace guards jumped to obey instructions and junior courtiers huddled around in hurried discussion as Kshapanaka, Varahamihira and three senior courtiers adjourned to the council chamber. Outside the palace, the rain kept pelting down, and the pealing of the brass bells increased in number and intensity all across Ujjayini.

  ***

  “Has the dagger been handed over to the Ghoulmaster yet, raj-guru?”

  Vetala Bhatta started on hearing the low voice. He had been staring uneasily at the closed window, consumed by the sound of the alarm bells outside, wondering what impending danger they portended. But what also worried him was their growing clamor – if it permeated and disrupted his king’s death-sleep, the samrat might never be able to find his way out of the Borderworld.

  There was one more thing that troubled the Acharya. A phrase he had picked up just as the king had crossed over, a half-remembered warning that nibbled at the fringes of his mind...

  Beware of... Beware of the...

  Turning to his left, he saw Kalidasa’s form towering down from the middle of the bedchamber. The giant wielded his scimitar in one hand, while the other held a broad shield made of bronze. The sight of the weapons disconcerted the Acharya.

  Glancing down at the inert form of Vikramaditya, the raj-guru motioned with his hands, instructing Kalidasa to leave the room. Getting up softly, he followed the giant out of the bedchamber. It wasn’t until they were in the passageway outside that Vetala Bhatta spoke.

  “No, the dagger is still with the king. Perhaps he hasn’t met the Betaal so far. Perhaps the Betaal hasn’t taken possession of the dagger yet.”

  “Would he refuse to accept the dagger?” asked Kalidasa. “Could he?”

  “He could.” The Acharya shrugged. “He is not bound to accept it. But Vikrama appeared certain that the Betaal would honor the pledge. That’s why he has braved this journey into the Borderworld.”

  Kalidasa nodded and cast his eyes around the corners of the passageway.

  The raj-guru looked at the scimitar. “What’s outside?” he gestured with his head.

  “Rakshasas,” the giant replied. “They have stormed the city and are causing mayhem. I was told we’ve already lost many lives, both soldier and civilian.” His grip tightened on his sword, jaw hardening in anger and impatience. “Dhanavantri and Shanku have ridden into the city. Kshapanaka and Varahamihira are below, fortifying the palace against attack.”

  “And Vararuchi?”

  “It seems he has gone to visit badi-maa.” Kalidasa’s broad chest rose and fell as he heaved a big sigh. His eyes looked disturbed. “I don’t know if he will make it back in time.”

  “I know you want to be out there with the others, fighting off the attack and saving lives,” said Vetala Bhatta, his tone kind but firm. “But we can’t, you and I. We are needed here.”

  Seeing Kalidasa nod, the raj-guru turned back to the bedchamber, closing the door behind him. He knew what he’d said had been unnecessary – no matter what happened, Kalidasa could be trusted to stand outside that door and fight for his king until his last breath.

  Vetala Bhatta remembered the day he had first set eyes on the little orphan, a scrawny boy of around eight, but tall for his age. Vikramaditya had brought the boy to the royal library where the children of the royal household were tutored, and had introduced him as Kalidasa. The young Vikrama had explained that he had found the boy hiding in a temple near Lava, and that the boy had no recollection of his past. So he had brought him to Ujjayini, and he wondered if the Acharya would accept Kalidasa as one of his wards as well.

  The raj-guru had his reservations – fairly deep ones at that. Kalidasa hardly spoke, and his social skills were awkward at best. But the Acharya had persevered, partly out of respect for the young Vikrama’s faith and affection for the boy. Not that Kalidasa ever showed signs of reciprocation; the boy was almost obstinately uncommunicative and withdrawn. Things came to such a pass that the Acharya was close to telling the prince that he couldn’t tutor Kalidasa any longer when, one evening, Amara Simha paid him an unexpected visit. The councilor handed Vetala Bhatta a palm leaf scrol
l, on which was penned a short, but incredibly touching poem on gratitude and friendship.

  Seeing the caliber of the work, Vetala Bhatta had begun heaping praise on Amara Simha for his writing when the grammarian had restrained him – revealing that the poem had actually been authored by Kalidasa for Vikramaditya!

  That evening, a little over a year after he had been brought to Ujjayini, something had shifted inside Kalidasa.

  Outside the palace, the rain increased in intensity, muting the sound of the alarm bells a little. The raj-guru smiled to himself and shook his head. That evening, something had shifted inside Kalidasa permanently. The young boy had found a key to unlock the kinship he felt for Vikramaditya.

  That evening, Kalidasa had been reborn as the Kalidasa they had come to love, admire and respect – the Kalidasa who now stood outside the door of the bedchamber, willing to fight until his last breath for his king.

  For his oldest friend.

  ***

  The ringing of the bells had reached Vararuchi and Shukracharya’s ears long before Ujjayini had come into their sights. The councilor had charged through the dark and the rain, driving his mount harder and harder as they neared the city, and Shukracharya had struggled to keep pace. The high priest had hollered to Vararuchi a couple of times, demanding to know what was happening, but the king’s half-brother had merely beckoned with his hand, urging greater speed.

  Now as they reined in their horses to a thundering halt on the west bank of the Kshipra, Vararuchi leaped off his mount and strode to the river’s edge, where in the light of a covered lamp a boat could be seen riding the water. A couple of soldiers of the City Watch stood by the boat, waiting. Across the Kshipra, the lights of Ujjayini reflected and diffused through the rain, spilling softly over the city’s ramparts like a river of ocher mist breaking its banks.