‘With pleasure, my lady.’
Both men wore light armour. Nishanta carried a shield in one hand and a machete in the other. Kubera held a sword, but his arms and head were bare. Only his upper body was covered with a brown breastplate, which seemed to be made of bull hide. Not as good as the polished iron armour the lord was used to, but it would have to do.
They huddled together and slid eastward, keeping to the bushes where possible. Every now and then Nishanta craned his neck and eyed the arid expanse of land that sloped down from the northern gate. The sky had just turned the faintest shade of poison blue, and if one stared hard enough at the horizon, one could make out the first stirrings of dawn.
When they had reached halfway down the slope, Nishanta led them off to the side into the trees. He ducked behind a thicket and motioned them down to their knees. He placed his palms on the ground and listened. Then he touched his ear down to the earth. ‘They are coming,’ he said.
On the count of four after the words had escaped his lips, Jahnavi heard the approaching sound of hooves pounding the hard land.
In the distance, twenty horsemen came into view, each with a lance, a shield and a helmet. At about the same time, twelve archers jogged out of the northern gate behind them and stood in position, with their arrows set, waiting for the enemy to come within striking range.
‘We fight them on foot?’ said Kubera.
‘I tried to get horses, my lord.’ Nishanta’s gaze was fixed on the cavalry units. He licked his lips. ‘We have the element of surprise. They will not expect us to attack them from the flank.’
‘I hope we do not surprise the archers as well. I do not think this armour can keep away the shaft of an arrow.’
‘It is too late now for second thoughts, Lord Kubera,’ said Nishanta, drawing himself up. ‘Lady Jahnavi will protect us, I am certain.’
They looked at one another for a moment, then at Jahnavi.
Then the three of them ran out into the open, Kubera and Nishanta moving across the dust toward the onrushing horses and Jahnavi up the slope toward the archers. When she came within earshot of the men, she waved her arms. ‘We come to help!’ she cried out, and the din of the horses filled her ears.
The archers relaxed their positions, confused as to whether to stay focused on their original target or to shoot at her. None of them had, perhaps, ever seen a woman on a battlefield, and it had frozen them into inaction. Thank the Goddess for small mercies.
The first thing she did on reaching the top of the hillock was to pull out the youngest soldier. ‘You are too young to fight,’ she told him. ‘Give me your bow and your quiver.’
The boy seemed relieved, but he looked at some of his comrades. None of them seemed to know what to say. ‘Do you want the armour as well?’
‘No, just the bow and your quiver. Then run back into the city and bring with you a few more archers.’
Picking up her weapon, she descended on one knee. She set an arrow to the string, and pulled it back all the way to its head. Twice for certainty. For a moment the sounds of the world died down. She picked out the horse she wanted to nail in the first row; fourth from the right. With a whizz the shaft tore through the air, traversed the length of the land between them in a silent arc, and drove into the neck of the beast. It neighed and careened to the ground, taking its rider down with it.
Both Nishanta and Kubera, from the distance, turned to look.
Jahnavi smiled at them.
‘Aim for the horses,’ she told the men. ‘Four of you, cover the two footmen, and the other six, aim for one horse at a time.’
They did not reply, so for a moment she did not know if they understood her words. Nishanta had just dodged the swipe of a lance and had leaped into the air to land a stroke at the back of the rider’s uncovered neck. Jahnavi pulled out two arrows and sent them one after the other into the horse’s throat. Then a third one – not hers – flew into the arm of the rider and threw him down.
She turned to grin at the archer by her side. He nodded.
They inched backward with each volley of arrows, both to gain elevation and to stay within fleeing distance of the gate. Now sixteen horsemen galloped at them at full tilt, with two staying behind to engage with Kubera and Nishanta. Jahnavi felt something cold touch her spine. In five seconds, the horses would be on them. They had time for two, perhaps three draws of the quiver.
‘Aim for the horses!’ she barked. ‘Aim for any horse you can hit!’
All eight of them shot into the dust cloud now, leaving Nishanta and Kubera to fend for themselves, hoping at least some of their arrows hit their mark. She pulled the string back to her chest until she heard the stretch in the bow, and when the arrows left her the string snapped against her wrist and left bruises. All around her she heard twangs, whizzes, neighs and cries of the enemy.
‘Move back!’ she yelled, as the cloud of dust covered them. ‘Spread out!’
With three other archers behind her, she ran toward the woods again, away from the dust, and when they got far enough, they shot three times each, at least three of them hitting their mark. But now she heard the sound of lances piercing human flesh, and the cries of death that rent the air paralysed her arms, and the arrow slipped from her grip to fall to the ground.
Back in Indra’s barracks, she had heard of battle cries, of the sound of people dying, of weapons digging into bodies. But that first cry of a soul on its way out …
She staggered back as she saw three horsemen gallop in her direction, their weapons hoisted. She looked around her, to see that the archers by her side had already fled.
Frantically, she drew an arrow and shot at the horse to the right. The horseman bore it on his shield. She sent another, this one aiming at the horse’s neck, sending it crashing to the ground. There were two others. The riders brandished their swords above their heads. Even in the glum light of the morning the blade gleamed.
Her hand wavered. Her throat dried up. Which one should she shoot first?
‘Ah! Ya!’ Two horses pounded in from the left, and in two blinding swipes, one of a machete and one of a sword, Nishanta and Kubera sent the two enemy horsemen rolling to the ground. Then they rode toward the gate, where the other archers were fighting.
Jahnavi found herself flanked by men again. They ran behind the horses, and wherever they saw a Magadhan horseman on foot, they shot him through the arm. By the time they reached the northern gate, the dust had settled, and Jahnavi saw three Mathuran men, bruised and battered, huddled around the mounted Kubera and Nishanta.
Out on the slope, bodies of horses lay strewn. Some of the horsemen were hobbling back on foot. Some of them lay dead. Jahnavi tried to swallow, but found that she could not. Her eyes bulged and her mouth stayed open. Her lungs would not stop heaving.
Nishanta jumped off his horse and came to her. ‘My lady, are you all right?’
She did not reply. He put his arm around her and held her to his chest. ‘It has gone well. You have done well. You have done well.’
The oldest of the archers took off his helmet and stepped forward. ‘Who are you men? And where do you come from?’
‘We are friends,’ said Kubera. ‘We have come from afar, and we seek an audience with High King Kamsa.’
The old man stared blankly for a second. Then he said, ‘Friends. Yes. You saved our lives. These skirmishes – they always end with our archers dying, and they laugh and return to hide behind their walls.’
‘Well, not today.’
‘Yes. Not today. Thanks to you!’
All the archers raised their bows. ‘Yes! Thanks to you!’
Jahnavi felt her breath return to normal. She pressed her cheek to Nishanta’s rough chest and closed her eyes.
‘Take us to High King Kamsa,’ she heard Kubera say. ‘We have something of grave importance to tell him.’
And the old archer said, ‘Sire, it shall be an honour to present you to the king. Guards, open the gate!’
Kamsa’
s court was smaller than Jahnavi had expected. She was used to small gatherings – Indra’s court often had no more than ten attendees – but she had always imagined the courts of Earth to be teeming with people. So when the old soldier took them to a room that contained only five people besides the king, she traded glances with Kubera. He seemed to find nothing strange in it. They stood by the door because the king had not summoned them in yet.
She took a long, deep look at Kamsa.
He had a face that reminded her of the grinding stone in Lady Ganga’s hut, round and hard, with smooth edges. The ears were so small that they were covered by the crown, and only tufts of black hair sprung out from under it. He wore white cotton robes and his garments were edged with golden silk. The sandals were encrusted with gems, as were the rings that adorned each finger of each hand.
Jahnavi found herself drawn to his eyes, though. At first glance they had a common look about them, black, not too small, not too large; but whenever he asked someone a question and listened for their answer, they turned into sharp daggers and bore through their subject. His mouth, full and large, was set in an eternal pout, the corners dragged down by two ridges that travelled all the way down to his chin.
Kamsa was not the kind of man who would smile a lot, thought Jahnavi.
Two of the noblemen around him got up from their seats, bowed to him, and left. Kamsa looked over at the door, and his eyes met Jahnavi’s for a moment. It took her a second to realize he had caught her staring at him, and she quickly averted her gaze.
‘Yes, Siddhanta,’ said the High King. ‘You have come to report another loss to the horsemen of Magadha.’
The old man who had accompanied them hurried to the centre of the court. Only an archer could be so rotund and still be deemed fit to fight in the king’s army. The three of them followed him.
‘My lord, king,’ he said, ‘I finally – finally – have some good news about the battle today.’
Kamsa smiled, a harsh, grim smile that deepened the lines around his mouth. ‘You had the good sense to flee with some of your archers before they all got killed?’ He looked around and the three courtiers laughed on cue.
‘No, Your Majesty. We won the battle. Six of our archers have returned alive. We lost only two, and we drove them back to their gates, my lord. Drove them back!’
Kamsa frowned, but leaned forward in interest. ‘Siddhanta, did you stop at the arrack shed on your way here?’
‘No, my lord,’ said Siddhanta, and remembered to chuckle. ‘I am sober as they come. We beat the horsemen from Magadha, and I daresay we shall beat them tomorrow as well, if they return.’
Kamsa rubbed his chin, the frown not leaving his brow. ‘Who are these men?’
‘These – yes, my lord – these are the kind strangers who helped us defeat the horsemen. They saved our lives, my king.’
‘Indeed?’ His gaze turned, full and curious, upon Jahnavi. ‘The lady fights too?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. I have never seen an archer quite like her. Single-handedly she fought them off. It was as if, as if’ – he waved his hands – ‘arrows were raining from her bow.’
Jahnavi stepped forward. ‘Your chief archer exaggerates, Your Majesty. We did come to your soldiers’ aid, but it was nowhere near as heroic as he makes it sound.’
‘And the two men with you? I get the sense I have seen one of them before, the dark one. Is he from Mathura?’
Nishanta bowed. ‘My brother is a trader in your city, my lord. We look quite like each other.’
‘Where are you people from? And why did you risk your lives to save those of my soldiers?’
Kubera, falling in step with the others, said, ‘We come from the kingdom of Pundra, my lord, a western city that once flourished on the banks of the Saraswati.’
‘And what brings you to Mathura? It is a long way from your city to ours.’
‘There is not enough water to keep us alive, sire,’ said Kubera. ‘We have heard of the great irrigation canals of Mathura, and we have come to see how they are built, so that we can take some of your knowledge back and build some water reservoirs of our own. We get two months of rain every monsoon, my lord, and the rest of the year is a hard toil.’
Kamsa said, ‘And what do you have to offer in return?’
‘Pundra lies on a vast expanse of arid land, Your Majesty. And we are descended from wandering tribes who had to fight for every meal, sometimes against other men, at other times against beasts.’ Kubera eyed the noblemen, who, Jahnavi saw, were now paying attention. ‘We fight better than most in North Country on open land. We are experts with the bow and arrow. We have noticed that while Mathura stands on a hill, the land surrounding it is flat and uncovered. We think we can teach your armies how to fight better when in plain sight.’
‘We have no horses,’ said Kamsa. ‘If we had horses, we would never lose a battle.’
‘Horses are expensive, Your Highness,’ said Kubera. ‘As you heard today, skilled warriors on foot can bring down any horseman.’
One of the noblemen got to his feet, held the ends of his silk robe, and bowed to the king. He said, ‘We have not ascertained whence these men have come, my lord. It is my view that we must not trust them until they show us they have our good at heart.’
‘They won a battle for us, Akrura,’ said Kamsa, ‘at great risk to their own lives. What more need one do to display one’s loyalty?’
‘But, sire, certainly you remember what happened with the black stones—’
‘Enough! We have spoken about the black stones enough. We must move on from the things we have lost, Akrura. These travellers – I think it is our duty to honour them, first as guests, then as saviours. For they shall strengthen us in our enmity against Magadha.’
He looked over at Kubera, who bowed low but said nothing. Nishanta and Jahnavi did the same.
Kamsa clapped his hands, and two maids appeared from the side door. ‘Show our guests to our best rooms. Arrange for their baths. Have the fattest hen from the farm cooked for lunch.’ He stood up and bowed in their direction. ‘You have had a dangerous morning, my lady, my lords. Rest awhile, and partake of Mathura’s famed hospitality. I shall come by your chambers before sundown, and we shall speak at greater length.’
Jahnavi’s eye met Nishanta’s. A smile appeared at the corners of his black mouth.
‘Your Majesty is very kind,’ Kubera said, and bent to pick up his sack.
As they moved to the side of the room, toward where the maids were standing, Kamsa tossed a golden earring at Siddhanta. The old man scrambled after it on the polished floor. When he secured a grip on it he tucked it under his waistband and then joined his dirty hands.
‘God bless Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘God bless Mathura.’
CHAPTER FOUR
J
ahnavi felt a lot better after her sandalwood-scented bath. The maids had rubbed her body with wet wheat flour and had treated her hair with sunflower oil, before washing her off with water. Four of them had been present, one tending to her hands, one pressing her feet, one massaging her neck, and the last bathing her.
None of the ingredients they used were as good as what was found on Meru, but she felt she could get accustomed to being attended to in this manner. On the mountain, even the Lady of the River cooked her own food and bathed herself.
Now, dressed in fresh, dry linen, she felt the burn of some of the scratches and bruises from the morning. Her left wrist had four deep red lines lashed across it, as if it had been whipped. It had been a while since she had shot so many arrows at once; she would need to practise more after she got back to the mountain.
The door opened and a maid entered. ‘Your friends to see you, my lady.’
‘Let them in.’
Both Kubera and Nishanta were dressed like her, in white robes. Both wore wide smiles on their faces, and Jahnavi could guess that their bath and meal had been as comforting as hers.
‘Leave us alone,’ said Kubera, and the maid left
, closing the door behind her.
‘There was no need for inns, was there, my lord?’ said Nishanta.
‘It was still a dangerous thing that we tried,’ said Kubera, scowling at Nishanta. ‘If we had been delayed by the horsemen for even a few seconds, Lady Jahnavi would not be sitting here with us.’
‘What is the need for raking up the past, Lord Kubera?’ said Jahnavi. ‘All that matters is that we are here, in Kamsa’s court. We have won the king’s favour, and none of the three of us have sustained terrible injuries. That is not bad, is it, for one morning’s work?’
She motioned them to their seats, on either side of her. Of the two, Nishanta looked more becoming, she thought, like a clean granite statue draped in white. He had all the qualities of a warrior, yet why did he content himself with being a rider?
‘I propose that we use this time wisely, for the king will come for us before sundown.’
‘Yes,’ said Nishanta. ‘We need to talk.’
Kamsa came just as the maids were readying the lamps to be lit. The sun had just disappeared behind the fern trees that lined the palace walls. Nishanta and Kubera, who had dozed off in their seats after their mid-afternoon conversation, jumped up at the announcement of the guard.
Jahnavi shut her Book of Mysteries and put it inside her sack.
The High King had a yellow cloth draped over his chest and a finger-thick red border ran along the edge of his milky white dhoti. Three lines of ash were drawn across his forehead. His fingers were bare, shorn of all the rings she had seen on them that morning.
He bowed to them and asked after the arrangements at the palace.
‘You look after us like gods, Your Majesty,’ said Kubera. ‘Our fear is that we shall go back to Pundra and find our old lives tasteless.’
‘You deserve the very best,’ said Kamsa. ‘I have not yet made your acquaintances. What names do you go by?’
‘They call me Jahnavi,’ said Jahnavi, ‘after the Great River.’
‘My name is Nishanta.’
‘And mine is Avinasha,’ said Kubera. ‘I am the son of a cloth merchant in Pundra.’
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 5