‘Your clothes speak of great wealth, Avinasha. Yet you fight very well with the sword, Siddhanta tells me.’
‘All the men of Pundra learn to fight, Your Majesty. Our numbers are small, so when there is battle at hand, both farmer and merchant must fight by one another.’
Kamsa glanced in Jahnavi’s direction. ‘Your women too, I gather.’
‘Yes, my lord, we teach our maidens how to wield a weapon. Many of them go on to become mothers and forego the skill, but young Jahnavi here has just come out of one of our best archery schools. She has not yet forgotten her lessons.’
‘I see.’ The king pointed them to their seats, and he took the biggest one in the centre, the one Jahnavi had sat on in the afternoon. He sat at the edge of the chair, one hand resting on a knee, the other draped over the armrest. He had no hair on his upper lip or his chin, which was unusual. Lady Ganga had said that men on Earth took pride in the hair they grew on their faces.
How naive to draw status from such a thing as a beard.
Kamsa had the look of a born royal. Here was a man who had known from the time he was a child that he would one day sit on the throne and rule. The way he held his chin hoisted upward, the considered, suspicious manner of his smile, the rigid, unforgiving anger in his eyes – even if he were to be stripped of all his garments, one would know at a glance that he was king.
‘I have done some thinking about what you have told me this afternoon.’ He looked at Jahnavi. ‘You may know that we have just lost our high priest, and with him a Mystery that fed our farms and ships.’
‘Siddhanta spoke something about this, my lord, yes.’
‘Therefore, the people of Mathura and I, as their king, are wary of strangers in our lands. The wound is still fresh.’
‘I understand, Your Majesty.’
‘But with you I feel as though I am among friends.’ A thin smile came to his lips. ‘You have won our trust by helping us fight our foe. I shall call my architect, and he shall take you on a tour of the city. He will show you how we design and build our canals. We know how important water is, even though the gods have blessed us with more of it than we need.’
Jahnavi bowed. ‘We thank you for your generous offer, my lord. In return for the knowledge of how you store your water, we would like to give you something.’
‘Yes, you mentioned you were well-versed in various methods of fighting.’
‘And defence too, Your Majesty. Pundra stands on an open, flat plain, with no mountain or river to offer it cover. We have had to build walls all around our city, reinforced with towers. Our soldiers wear armour much tougher than the armour I have seen your archers wear.’
‘If you teach us how to build walls, it will serve us well against the rampages of Magadha. King Jarasandha, they say, is building an army, and I expect he shall begin marching soon. Something tells me he intends to begin his campaign with Mathura.’
Jahnavi said, ‘And we intend to equip Mathura with the means to quell his attack.’
Kamsa’s lips widened into a smile. He was not handsome like a Meru man would be, thought Jahnavi, but in his own rustic way, he carried a childlike charm. And like a child, he trusted too easily, in spite of being bitten in the past.
Kubera cleared his throat. ‘We know that your naval fleet is not what it used to be, Your Majesty. But the war barges can be strengthened by fashioning for them armour made of iron. We have an iron mine in Pundra, and we shall be glad to transport some of it into Mathura to make your boats invincible to arrows.’
Nishanta said, ‘And your archers use short bows, my lord, king, that limits the range of their arrows. In Pundra we use long bows with a special kind of reed that grows on the western edge of the desert, on the foothills of the mountains. It flexes more and it does not snap even when tied with bull hide. I shall teach your men to make their bows that way, so that they can stay within the protection of the city walls when fighting off the enemy.’
‘All this,’ said Kamsa, ‘in return for knowing how we store and run our water?’
‘We will be honest with you, High King,’ said Jahnavi, ‘since you called us friends. The might of Magadha scares us too, and if Jarasandha takes Mathura, we think it is only a matter of time before he arrives in Pundra. And we shall be powerless against an army that combines the powers of your two cities.’
‘Yes,’ said Nishanta, nodding. ‘There is selfishness, too, in our actions.’
‘Aye.’ Kamsa rubbed his chin grimly. ‘I understand what you say. It seems to me there is much we can do to help each other.’
‘That is so, my lord.’
‘When do we begin work, then, and when do you think you shall finish? Jarasandha will not sit by and watch while we build up our defences.’
‘We begin as soon as possible, sire,’ said Jahnavi. ‘And we shall finish by midsummer at the latest. We shall make certain Jarasandha does not even come to know of our work.’
Kamsa raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, sire. You shall soon see how.’
‘And you will erect walls around the city in a month and a half? That sounds like magic to me.’
‘If you provide labourers for the task, Your Majesty, we will bring with us our masons and carpenters, and we will finish it all by midsummer. We will pay your labourers well too – better than what they are paid now.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Kubera. ‘We will pay them a gold coin for every day of work.’
‘My,’ said Kamsa, ‘that is a dear price.’
‘Not as dear as water is to us, Your Majesty.’
Kamsa got up and walked to the window. Dark had fallen outside, and the palace courtyard was littered with torches and lanterns. ‘I know not where you people have come from, but you could not have arrived at a more opportune moment. The terms of your trade are acceptable to me, if mine are to yours.’
All three of them got up from their seats. Nishanta and Kubera looked at Jahnavi.
She spoke. ‘Yes, my lord, king. The ambitions of both Mathura and Pundra are one. If we join hands, we can stop the likes of Jarasandha from extending his treacherous reach across the breadth of North Country.’
Kamsa turned around and said, ‘I pray to the gods that your words are true.’
Jahnavi looked into his eyes and saw a child again, fearful of the future, desirous of power and fame, and yet not incapable of love, of kindness. She tried to remember Mother Ganga’s words, that this was the same man who had imprisoned his father and sister to clear his path to the throne. This was the same man that killed his infant niece. This was a man who would stop at nothing, Mother had said.
But he could not be all evil, she thought. Could he?
CHAPTER FIVE
S
tanding at the entrance to Mathura’s main archery academy, Jahnavi felt her heart skip a little beat in excitement. She had forgotten the sounds of a range. In the fifteen days that had passed since they entered Mathura, she had been busy at the infirmary, preparing the mendicants there for Dhanvantari’s arrival. She had also consulted with Kubera’s messengers on what to request from the mountain.
She had heard about the famed Mathuran archery range, but had not had the time to visit it.
‘This is not just the biggest archery school in North Country,’ said Kamsa, looking up at the stone arch, which bore carvings of the sun, ‘it is also the best.’
Bhishma would have disagreed, thought Jahnavi. The plains of Hastinapur were flatter than those of Mathura, and all the kings who had ruled the Kuru throne down the centuries had been swift and sure bowmen. They were equally at ease shooting gem-encrusted arrows off a bejewelled bow or wielding a bare bamboo reed bent at the ends and tied together with twine.
The northern cities preferred to use slenderer, lighter bows because their arrows had to travel longer distances. Here in Mathura, archers usually had the advantage of shooting at the enemy from behind a wall or atop a hillock, so their arrows were straighter and shorter, their bows
heavier and more precise.
Mathura had been an inward-looking kingdom all these years. They only seemed to trade with their enemy and neighbour, who sent traders and warriors in equal numbers across the dusty plains. So Kamsa could be forgiven the conceit of thinking that his was the best archery range in North Country, since he had never in his life visited any of the northern cities.
‘Have you ever met Bhishma, Your Majesty?’ asked Jahnavi, as they walked into the compound between two bowing guards.
‘No, my lady,’ said Kamsa. ‘Our paths have not crossed. But they say he harbours a desire to unite all the Great Kingdoms under Hastinapur’s banner. If that is true, I dare say we shall meet, sooner or later.’
‘They say he looks after his vassal states well. He lets the High King rule on his own and demands but a few bushels of grain every year as tribute.’
‘No matter how kind a master is, my lady, freedom is better than slavery.’ Kamsa nodded at some of the men walking about. The soldiers were dressed in the black and gold of Mathura’s army. They carried thick white bows in their hands. The muscles in their wrists, Jahnavi saw, flexed as they held them.
To their left was a row of mustard-coloured tents. All of them bore Mathura’s fire-and-water symbol on their entrance flaps. To their right, behind a wooden fence, a file of archers stood in position, with their backs to Jahnavi, their eyes set on human-shaped targets at the other end, some forty yards away.
Even on Meru she had practised with bows that could send an arrow at least seventy yards. A horse at full tilt could cover the length of this range in three seconds, just about enough for even a swift archer to shoot no more than three arrows. She had heard from Mother Ganga that during the battle between Bhishma and Parashurama, the two chariots circled each other at a distance of a hundred and twenty yards, and yet shot at each other with pin-point accuracy.
‘Is this the longest range you have, High King? Or do you have something longer than this, hidden at the back somewhere?’
‘No, my lady,’ said Kamsa. ‘This is the longest.’
She spotted Nishanta walking along the file of bowmen, and from this distance she could only tell that his lips moved. At his command, the men dropped their white bows and picked up the long ones that had been resting by their feet. These were familiar to Jahnavi’s eyes, and for a moment she found herself breathing the thin mountain air up in Indra’s archery range, her eye cocked behind a set arrow, her fingers cradling the tip. She heard the twang in her ear and felt the slap of the string against her cheek as it recoiled and sent the arrow flying toward the target.
They had moved closer to the fence now, and Jahanvi heard Nishanta say, ‘Set your arrows!’
The men picked up new quivers, loaded with arrows that had smaller, sharper points. These were made from a reed found by the foothills of the Ice Mountains up north. Brown eagle feathers had been inserted into serrations at the back, which, Jahnavi had once been told, made the arrows suppler against the wind.
‘Pull the string back!’ said Nishanta.
The men pulled the strings of their bows back tentatively, as if expecting the reed to snap.
‘All the way back to your ears!’
Jahnavi heard the bows stretch until the heads of the arrows got dragged back all the way to touch the archers’ fingers. That was the way arrows were meant to be shot. One should feel the tip graze the side of one’s fingers. One should be able to test the sharpness of an arrow when it was set, if one needed to.
‘Keep your eye on the black point on the target. Bend your heads.’ Nishanta came and stood next to them, inside the fence, facing the line of archers. ‘Count to three. Relax your muscles. And whenever you are ready, let the arrow go.’
Let the arrow go, he had said. Not shoot the arrow. Brihaspati had told her once that an archer must think of an arrow as an extension of his arm. Feel it leave your body. Feel it fly. Feel it pierce your enemy’s armour. Smell his blood, even from a hundred yards away.
Only seven of the arrows hit the figure. Not one of them managed to get near the circle that had been drawn on the chest. Kamsa harrumphed in disgust, but Nishanta turned to him and gave him a smile of assurance. He told the men to try again, and let himself out of the pen through a wicker gate in the corner.
‘The long bows take a little getting used to, Your Majesty,’ he told Kamsa as he approached. ‘We should not judge your soldiers harshly.’
‘But they have had a whole fortnight to practise.’
‘The bows only arrived from Pundra a week ago, High King. The first day I taught them different ways of tying the string, and then there were two more days for fletching. They began to shoot the day before last. You should have seen the arrows flying all over the place that first day.’
‘But what if Magadha attacks while we are practising?’
‘Kubera guards the eastern wall with a team of archers, Your Majesty. He has set up a trading post outside the wall, so that no spy from Magadha can enter Mathura in the guise of a merchant.’
‘Yes,’ said Kamsa, snarling into the distance. ‘If we had this post a few months ago, those two would never have entered, and who knows, we might never have lost our black stones.’
Nishanta led them toward one of the tents. Inside, the air was warmer. Jahnavi felt an uncomfortable, stuffy feeling around the neck. Heaped on top of teak tables were breastplates and shields, all fashioned out of brass and bronze, and polished with copper dust. They looked crude and plain to the unaccustomed eye, however. So Kamsa picked one of them up with one hand and held it to the candle with a frown.
‘Your archers by the eastern wall already don these, Your Majesty,’ said Nishanta. ‘Do not be suspicious of its light weight. The copper allows the armour to withstand all sword attacks, and the bronze binds it together, so that no arrow or spear may pierce it.’
Kamsa sighed wearily. ‘I have heard such words before, Nishanta. But whatever we do, the warriors of Magadha seem to have better weapons.
‘Not this time, my king.’ Nishanta picked up an arrow and turned it over in his hand, smiling. ‘Watch what we have received from Pundra last week. No shield in North Country can stand up to these.’
‘Only when the archer hits the target,’ said Kamsa.
Jahnavi took the king’s arm. ‘My lord, king,’ she said, ‘you must not despair so. I promise you that by midsummer, yours will be the army that will quell all of Jarasandha’s attacks. We shall keep this all a secret, mind you, so that the king does not know of our designs.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Kamsa looked at Nishanta. ‘I must indeed be blessed that you arrived when you did. The gods must look out for me. They must wish me to rule Mathura for years into the future.’
‘You have many royal years in front of you, my lord,’ said Nishanta, bowing low.
‘Ah, I hope you are right, Nishanta. I hope you are right.’
Nishanta walked around them and lifted up the flap for them to exit. ‘If you please, now, I shall show you to the docks.’
The docks overlooked the back wall of the palace. When she craned her neck and looked up to the north, Jahnavi saw a row of windows which had been clamped shut by wooden panels, nailed along the edges to the frames. She had not been long enough at the court to know the layout of the castle well, but she guessed that these were – or at least had once been – the women’s quarters.
Nishanta stood in front of them, facing the long row of boats on the shore. The sun was hanging low and red over the horizon now, and in its light, his black body resembled the skin of a ripe berry. He had pink palms, she noticed for the first time, and with the headband removed, his hair sprang out from his scalp and clumped together like a bush. From a distance he looked like he was wearing a large black turban.
The air filled with the Yamuna’s scent, with the sound of hammers thumping on nails and metal sheets. In one sweeping glance, Jahnavi spotted iron, brass and copper. Iron to reinforce the hull, brass for the tender middle portions of t
he boat, and copper to strengthen the joints, to keep the skeleton sturdy, to prevent the nails from flying out and the wood from snapping and breaking.
‘Some of the barges already wear the new armour, Your Majesty,’ said Nishanta, pointing in the direction of the river. In the distance, by the light of the setting sun, Jahnavi saw bright floating objects, which looked much like ripples on the water. ‘They are patrolling the eastern wall, just in case Jarasandha mounts an attack.’
‘Ah,’ said Kamsa, ‘he knows better than to attack us on water.’
‘Not on water, sire. The barges now have catapults mounted on them, and they can shoot arrows. The archers will draw the horsemen closer to the shore, so that they can use the support of the boats.’
Kamsa’s left brow rose up. ‘Indeed. I have always thought arrows ought to be shot by human arms.’
‘In Pundra, Your Majesty, we do not have enough human archers to fight off all our enemies. So our constructors have crafted catapults that can shoot arrows. They do not have the aim of a human eye, but neither do they fatigue like a human arm does.’
Kamsa nodded. ‘You must show us one of these catapults. We would like to build some for our own purposes.’
‘We have already showed your constructors how to build them, Your Majesty.’ Nishanta looked out at the boats in the distance. ‘In fact, two of the catapults that are sailing out there now have been built by your men.’
The High King smiled, a smile of pure, unsullied delight. But then a shadow covered it. ‘If only we had the black stones now,’ he said, ‘the Mathuran fleet would be the best naval force in all of North Country.’
In this he was not given to hyperbole, thought Jahnavi. Even without the black stones, the armour and the catapults would make these boats impregnable fortresses on water. No force that Jarasandha could gather could hope to win against Mathura on water. If Jarasandha still wished to conquer Mathura, he would have to drag his army through the northern gate.
The High King was thinking the same thing, for he said, ‘We need to amass more defences on the northern gate.’
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 6