The Guardians of the Halahala

by Shatrujeet Nath

  The men in the square flinched, half expecting to be annihilated by the blinding bolt. But as the crack of thunder exploded around them and rolled over the city, they saw that they were mistaken. Miraculously enough, none of them had come to any harm.

  They also realized they were alone. There was no sign of the four-horned asura that had terrorized the square.

  ***

  At the palace gates, there was complete pandemonium.

  The asura waded into the defenders, slashing left and right, dismembering guards who were now fleeing in panic. Archers rained arrows down from the galleries above, but the beast kept advancing, the arrows snapping like twigs on its bone armor. The rakshasa loosened two bolts of energy into the galleries to good effect – the sight of a dozen of their mates shrivel and burn took the resistance out of the archers, and the arrows dried up. In a matter of moments, the demon had crossed the atrium of the palace and was making its way toward a stairway leading to the floors and galleries above.

  Sensing a rout and desperate to rally the defense, the chief of the Palace Guards sprang at the beast, trying to block its path.

  “Surround the thing, men,” he shouted, slashing at the asura. “The fight isn’t over yet. We can still get it...”

  One foot on the lowermost stair, the rakshasa spun around to face the challenge from Sadguna. Four guards responded to their commander’s call – but all four were slow in reacting. With an effortless swipe of its sword, the demon first disarmed the old warrior. Then, as the chief stood petrified and weaponless, the cruel beast struck again, decapitating him.

  Shock and outrage boiled over Kshapanaka at the sight of the old, faithful soldier’s head rolling across the atrium, a wheezing scream escaping those lifeless lips. Nocking another arrow into her bow, she ran through one of the galleries, her mind clamoring for revenge. But beneath the anger and the lust to settle scores, a sane part of her mind reminded her of the more pressing task: stopping the beast from coming upstairs.

  Rounding the head of the stairway, Kshapanaka saw the asura come tearing up the steps, its eyes on her, its bloodied sword waving drunkenly in the air. The councilor wondered if she should swap her bow with her sword – she had already emptied many quivers on the beast to no avail. On the other hand a sword would... She promptly abandoned the idea. Her short sword would be no match for the demon’s giant one, she realized.

  She also thought she heard a voice instructing her to use an arrow.

  Drawing the bowstring back, Kshapanaka let the arrow fly at the rakshasa’s head. The shot had been aimed straight between the eyes, but the beast had been expecting it. Raising its left arm, it blocked and deflected the arrow’s flight. The arrow just grazed the exoskeleton.

  Kshapanaka felt the anxiety and fear well up inside her. At any moment now, the beast would be upon her. There was no time to nock a fresh arrow into her bow. There was no place to run. This was the end.

  But to her surprise, the rakshasa had come to an abrupt halt on the stairway. She was within striking distance of the demon’s fiendish sword, but instead of attacking her, the asura was staring down at its left forearm in what looked like puzzlement.

  Following the asura’s gaze, Kshapanaka saw that the exoskeleton that covered the beast’s forearm had started discoloring at the point where her arrow had struck. The white, bony shell was turning brown, and had begun flaking and crumbling. A filigree of widening cracks branched out from the spot, spreading rapidly across the rest of the asura’s armor, and the discoloration chased the cracks, turning the entire exoskeleton brown and brittle.

  Without wasting a moment, Kshapanaka slipped another arrow into place and shot it at the rakshasa. This one hit the beast in the middle of its chest, and the molding, decaying armor splintered. The same instant, the beast dropped its sword, which fell on the marble stairs with a rattle and broke into pieces. As more arrows thudded into the asura, piercing its weakened armor, it turned and dashed down the stairs, across the bloodied atrium and out of the shattered palace gates.

  Wary, disbelieving eyes followed the asura’s progress onto the palace causeway. The demon was halfway across the bridge when it was struck by a bolt of lightning. The next instant, the causeway was empty, except for the bodies of Avanti’s fallen sprawled across it.

  ***

  Outside the king’s bedchamber, Kalidasa was locked in a fierce struggle with the Marut from the lake.

  The councilor had been the first to attack, moving in suddenly with the intention of surprising his opponent. The Marut, however, had been sharp, and Kalidasa had lost his scimitar to a well-placed blow from the Marut’s sword. Seeing its foe unarmed, the rakshasa had launched a savage assault, but far from being overwhelmed, the councilor had successfully parried the withering blows with his shield, until the bone-sword had shattered on its dented face. Casting the broken sword aside, the Marut had made a rush at Kalidasa, and the two now grappled barehanded.

  The Marut tried to subdue Kalidasa with a series of head butts, but the councilor avoided the lethal horns, using his big arms to restrict the rakshasa’s movements. However, the Marut had the advantage of bulk and height, and using its long arms, it delivered a series of crippling blows to Kalidasa’s midriff and ribs. The blows knocked the councilor’s breath out and sent jabs of pain along his body, causing him to double over. Seizing the opportunity, the Marut trapped Kalidasa from behind in a vicelike grip. The councilor fought to free himself from the rakshasa’s grasp, but the more he struggled, the tighter those powerful arms went around him, squeezing, crushing, choking, sapping the life force out of him...

  Drawing from the last reserves of strength, Kalidasa wrenched off the hands that were clasped around his chest and throat. Breaking free of the death grip, he twisted around and curled his right hand into a tight fist, which he slammed into the Marut’s plated stomach. An agonizing current shot up the councilor’s arm as the flesh over his knuckles split open, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the rakshasa’s armor crack under the impact of his blow. He immediately drove his left fist into the same spot. More stinging pain, but Kalidasa’s hand went in deeper this time, the chitinous shell caving in and breaking.

  The Marut staggered back in surprise, but instead of giving it time to recover, Kalidasa rammed his shoulder into the rakshasa, driving it backwards. The Marut tried to break the charge by smashing its fists into Kalidasa’s back, but the councilor pushed with every ounce of strength, exerting pressure, his hands locked around the demon’s torso for leverage. Gaining momentum, the two hurtled down to the end of the passageway and out onto an open terrace. Still Kalidasa pushed on, relentless in his intent, driving the Marut in front of him until they came to the stone parapet bordering the terrace.

  The two combatants broke through the parapet, sending a shower of masonry into the water below. For a moment they teetered on the edge of the terrace – and then with final heave from Kalidasa, they tumbled into the lake in a colossal splash.

  On hitting the cold water, Kalidasa’s grip on the Marut weakened and the rakshasa broke loose, kicking itself free. As the councilor went underwater, he looked up, searching for the Marut. Seeing the attacker pulling away, Kalidasa propelled himself upward to give chase when the water’s surface lit up with a flash from above... The same instant, a jolt of numbing pain surged through the councilor’s body and he felt the water boil around him.

  Thrusting the pain and heat out of his mind, Kalidasa broke the surface of the water. Taking in huge gulps of air, he scanned the sizzling lake for the Marut. But the beast was nowhere in sight.

  ***

  Shaking her head in bewilderment, Shanku stared at her surroundings.

  She was standing in a narrow alley lined with small houses that crowded into one another. The houses all appeared deserted, and from what she could tell in the darkness, many of them were in a state of ruin, some listing dangerously, others nothing but broken skeletons jutting into the night. There was a smell of old, burned wood in the a
ir, and as she walked down the alley, she thought she could taste ash on her lips.

  It wasn’t until she exited the winding alley and came into a plain that Shanku realized where she was. To her right, she saw the jumble of houses extend to a huge wall, with a big gate built into it. A row of watchtowers poked out from behind the wall like cautious heads.

  Shanku understood she was looking at the northern gate of Ujjayini, where she had made a stand against the Brotherhood of the Ashvins not many nights ago. And the huts that surrounded her were the charred remains of the same Ashvin attack.

  She shook her head once again in confusion.

  Moments earlier, she had been in the southern quarter of the city, lying in a wet, rain-soaked street, staring up at the face of one of the attacking asuras. She had watched in horror as the beast had raised its large foot to trample her to death. She had seen the foot descend, blotting out the sky above. The next moment, she had found herself alone in the charred and deserted alley, way outside Ujjayini’s northern wall, with no sign of the beast or the soldiers of the City Watch.

  Shanku wondered if she was dreaming. Perhaps she was dead, crushed under the rakshasa’s foot, and this was her soul, rid of her body, roaming her beloved Avanti in freedom?

  But if she was nothing but soul, why did her head hurt at the spot where it had hit the cobbled street when she had fallen off her horse? Lifting her hand, she gingerly touched the tender spot and flinched. When she brought her hand down, she could feel the sticky wetness of blood on her fingers. She was bleeding and she could feel pain. She wasn’t dead, that much was certain.

  Just then, a bolt of lightning came down upon Ujjayini. Even as its crash shook the ground, Shanku saw a second and a third bolt hit the city – then a fourth, in quick succession. In all, she counted seven.

  She remembered that the asuras had appeared in Ujjayini in bolts of lightning. Could this mean more were coming? She broke into a run, heading for the north gate, still wondering if it was all a dream that she would wake up from.

  ***

  Vetala Bhatta’s hand quivered on the king’s forehead and his lips moved in frantic incantations. The light from the sockets of the skulls waxed and waned, sometimes glowing bright red, at other times dwindling almost all the way to black.

  The dagger had disappeared from Vikramaditya’s hand around the time a violent struggle had commenced in the passageway outside, and the raj-guru had tried his utmost to shut out the noise so that he could concentrate his energies on leading the samrat back. He had almost succeeded when the lightning had commenced once again, two bolts hitting very close to the palace. The Acharya did not know what to make of them, but it was becoming harder for him to focus on the king’s revival from death-sleep.

  Vikramaditya was barely breathing, his body slumped on the bed, face deathly pale.

  The Acharya kept his eyes closed and stayed with the task until he felt a cold sweat break on the king’s brow. Opening his eyes, the raj-guru saw the bedchamber flood with an intense red glow and his spirits soared. But the next instant the light dimmed, and then died out completely. The samrat convulsed and went rigid, then fell back on the bed.

  Licking his parched lips, his face white with anxiety, Vetala Bhatta closed his eyes and went back to reciting the mantras.

  “How long was I in the Borderworld, raj-guru?”

  Relief flooded Vetala Bhatta’s heart. For a moment he sat still, eyes shut, calming his strained nerves. At last he looked at the king, who had propped himself up on an elbow and was studying the chief councilor with tired eyes.

  “You’re back, Vikrama!”

  “Yes, but how long was I in the Borderworld?” the samrat asked again.

  “Too long, I’m afraid. Ujjayini has come under attack while you were away.”

  “Who’s attacked us?”

  The king’s expression brimmed with anxiety and he made an attempt to rise, but his tortured body would have none of it. As his head flopped down on the pillow in fatigue, the Acharya reached out a steadying hand.

  “No Vikrama, you mustn’t,” his tone was gentle but firm. “You’ve just recovered from death-sleep...”

  “But who’s attacked us, Acharya?” Vikramaditya insisted with growing agitation.

  Before the Acharya could answer, the door to the bedchamber swung open. The raj-guru turned, his spear raised in defense, to see Kshapanaka in the doorway, arrow nocked and pointed into the room. Behind her were a handful of palace guards.

  “Oh, the samrat is back.” Lowering the bow in relief, she entered the room. “We came to see if everything was all right here.” Looking from the Acharya to the samrat, she asked, “Is the dagger safe?”

  Vetala Bhatta nodded. “What’s happening outside? Where’s Kalidasa?”

  “He isn’t here,” Kshapanaka glanced in the direction of the passageway, as if half-expecting Kalidasa to appear and contradict her. “But it looks like we’ve beaten the asuras back once again, raj-guru.”

  “They’ve left?” the Acharya’s shoulders relaxed. “All of them?”

  “The rakshasa that attacked the palace gates certainly has – in a flash of lightning. There was more than one bolt over Ujjayini, and Varahamihira thinks they’ve all gone back the way they came.”

  Rage

  D

  andakabhukti was an ugly, unpleasant town, a shabby clutter of buildings, hovels and shanties that staggered down from the hills amid the slag heaps and foundries, and spilled like effluvium onto the plains below. Long before the first iron mine, the place had been a peaceful, nondescript village, but now there was evidence of nothing but economic greed raking the earth that had yielded life-sustaining crops and fruit trees. It was clear that the inhabitants of this town were more interested in what was below the ground than above it.

  Dandakabhukti was a blight upon the landscape, yet Shoorasena looked at it with great joy and pride as he sat in the shade of a verandah of the central armory. Even under Vanga rule, the armory had been the administrative epicenter of Dandakabhukti – it now served as the makeshift headquarters of the Magadhan campaign into the republic.

  “Have there been many casualties?” Shoorasena asked, tearing his appreciative gaze away from the town to glance at Kapila and General Daipayana, who were keeping him company. The glare from the hot morning sun made him blink and squint a little.

  “We lost four men when they...” Kapila began, but he was cut short by an impatient wave of his brother’s hand.

  “I’m not talking about our losses. Did a lot of the locals die?” The Magadhan prince looked briefly toward the south, where carrion crows could still be seen in the air, searching for scraps among the bones of those recently dead. “Especially workers?”

  “We killed all the soldiers and official representatives of Vanga,” replied Daipayana. “That’s always recommended, to enforce compliance among the populace. But no, I don’t think more than half-a-dozen workers were killed. Those who died were rebellious and had to be made examples of.”

  “For compliance,” Shoorasena nodded. “But make sure we don’t make examples of too many of them. We need labor to continue working the mines and the foundries. And I hope the mine engineers are still around. They’re needed for another two days, at least, until our own replacements come from Girivraja.”

  “I understand, my lord,” said the general.

  For a while, the three aristocrats sat in silence, sipping cool, fermented coconut water from large goblets. At last Kapila spoke.

  “This messenger of Vikramaditya who came to the palace with news about the deva and the asura attacks on Avanti... was he seeking Magadha’s assistance in some way?”

  “That’s what I expected, given Vikramaditya’s obsession to defend Sindhuvarta from the Hunas and Sakas,” replied Shoorasena. “But the messenger just said that Vikramaditya wanted Avanti’s allied kingdoms to know about the attacks and the reasons behind them. There were no requests made for soldiers... or anything.”

  �
��Could it be true, this story about the Omniscient One giving Vikramaditya the Halahala?” Kapila seemed both skeptical and awed at the same time. “Why would an Ancient God trust a human?”

  Shoorasena shrugged. “I have ordered scouts to verify the facts, but I see no reason why Vikramaditya would lie – his righteousness would never permit him to do that,” he snorted. A sly smile spread slowly across his face. “In fact, I hope everything we’ve been told is true.”

  Kapila and Daipayana looked at Shoorasena in anticipation.

  “One thing has always worried me in this campaign against Vanga,” said Shoorasena, rising from his seat.

  Kapila and the general’s eyes followed him as he leaned against a railing and squinted into the sunlight at the row of mahashilakantakas ranged along the town’s northern limits. “That fool Sudasan could end up appealing to Vikramaditya for help, offering who knows what concessions in lieu of Avanti’s support. And if Avanti steps in, we can expect the puppets across Sindhuvarta to throw their weight behind Vanga.”

  Shoorasena turned to face the other two men. “But if Vikramaditya does indeed have the Omniscient One’s dagger and the devas and asuras want it, he will have a lot more to worry about than Chancellor Sudasan’s plight in faraway Vanga. Between the Halahala and the threat from the Hunas and the Sakas, I expect we would be free to pursue Magadha’s expansion unhindered. Vanga first, Kalinga and Odra after that. Then perhaps Pragjyotishpura...”

  “In that case, shall we begin preparations to take Tamralipti, my lord?” Daipayana asked, rubbing his hands in eagerness.

  “We should, general. Without delay.”

  ***

  “Is this the final tally?”

  Vikramaditya glanced up from the palm leaves that lay scattered before him on the council table. He surveyed the faces around him with tired, sleepless eyes, his own countenance drawn and sallow from the previous night’s exertions. The palm leaves were scrawled with figures and annotations, with numbers marked against the names of various precincts and localities of Ujjayini.