Abhaya, page 14
“Prabho!”
The tone was feeble, shattering any remnants of his hope that she would survive this ordeal. He checked her pulse and felt it petering out under his thumb. Dharmasena held her head in his hands, unable to stop his tears. The dead girl lay before him, a telling example of his inability to protect those who depended on him. A part of him wanted to tear every soldier of Avanti to pieces. A part of him railed at himself for being unfit to rule anymore. He had not cared for the unfortunate girl as he had worried about his daughter. The thought rent his heart and soul. In her lifeless face, he saw Abhaya.
The guards who rushed in had no courage to approach him. People filled into the hall and a hush descended over them as the horror of the scene sunk in. After a while, an older woman, who worked in the palace kitchen, approached in silence and gently closed the girl’s eyes and covered her with a garment. But no one could make the king recover from his daze.
“Abhaya!” he called out to the corpse to everyone’s shock.
“Abhaya, open your eyes.” He prodded the body, just as he used to do to wake his sleeping daughter in her younger years.
“Janaka!”
“Janakaaa!” It wasn’t until Abhaya strained her voice to the limit that Dharmasena looked up. If Abhaya had felt any triumph in driving the intruders away, it faded when she saw his blank stare. “Prabho!” She hoped the formal address would stir him into action. “The intruders are gone. But our people need you!”
Dharmasena continued to stare at her and then pointed at the girl’s corpse.
“Janaka, worse things happened out in the city!” Her heart by now had numbed and hardened to such ghastly sights.
“What?”
Abhaya turned to face the guards who stood by, not knowing what to do. “We have work to do. Go to the streets and reassure the people that Anagha is safe. Assess the damage and report back. The king shall address the citizens by midday.” On her way to the fort, she had seen a granary that had been set on fire. She had seen houses that had been looted. People—soldiers and civilians alike—needed medical care. She turned to the two women who had stood behind her in mute sorrow. “Tell the vaidyas to get their supplies ready and be prepared for a long day. Gather every man and woman in the palace who knows to treat wounds and get to work.”
The older woman who had been her nurse in her childhood had a spark in her eye, the same kind that lights up a parent’s eye when she realises that the child who played in her lap has grown up. The authority in her tone served to calm those who had gathered in the hall and they dispersed without a word to attend to their allotted tasks.
Abhaya strode over to Dharmasena, who still sat with a vacant look on his face. She held him by the shoulders and helped him up. That’s when she noticed the blood that had drenched his lower garments and the carpet where he had been sitting. Helping him to the nearby seat, she tied a cloth around his wound, trying not to think of how much blood he had already lost.
“Devi!” A Yadava soldier rushed in, reminding Abhaya that the soldiers who had come to their rescue needed to be thanked. “Arya Vaasudeva wants to see you. We have discovered how the soldiers of Avanti broke in. It was from the temple.”
Katyayana’s motionless body lay in a pool of blood, his head in the lap of a young Naga who was tending to him.
Abhaya turned to Krishna, fresh tears filling her eyes. “They did not even spare him! He used to say that ill could befall this city only over his corpse.”
Krishna knelt by Katyayana’s side to feel the priest’s pulse. Abhaya saw his eyes close for a moment before he stopped the Naga boy from applying the primitive medicine on the priest’s wounds and shook his head. “Get the fire logs, Bhrata.”
“His was a life spent in worship,” Abhaya said.
“Did he know about the secret tunnel opening?”
“Yes, but he would not have given it away.” Pingala. The name of the priest’s daughter rang in her mind.
“He resisted them as best as he could,” Krishna told her, extricating a piece of clothing from Katyayana’s grip. “The colour worn by the soldiers of Avanti,” he said, holding it up.
But Abhaya was not looking at him or Katyayana.
Were those Shaktas from Avanti?
She looked at the statue of Anagheshwari, presiding dispassionately over the site of the carnage.
Do you exist, Goddess? If you do, do you have the heart of a mother? That is what we thought you were. And you are but a statue. A statue with no life, no heart—only a product of a sculptor’s imagination. You do not exist, Anagheshwari. If you did, your smile would have vanished when this priest was attacked. Your trident would have sprung to action when the enemy’s feet stepped upon your land, the land that worshipped you! We trusted you in vain!
She got to her feet and was about to storm out in a rage when Krishna held her back. He resisted her efforts to push him away and turned her around to face him. Abhaya’s eyes met his gaze and her heart slowed like a horse being reined in.
“Dhaarmaseni, rage is a luxury you cannot afford.”
“Those innocent soldiers, citizens, even he, Katyayana, everyone who stood by us, Krishna...”
“It is those who survived you should be thinking about, Abhaya. This fort is vulnerable. They will return. And when they do, it will be with a bigger force.”
“If they dare to return...” Her jaws tightened as she scanned the entrance of the temple.
“When they dare to return, which they will,” Krishna corrected, “you do not have the strength and numbers to defend the fort.”
The vulnerability of the fort struck her with full force when she heard him say these words. A second attack would not bode well for her demoralised soldiers. Besides, the soldiers of Avanti now had a clear idea of the inner defences of Anagha. Her father was in no shape to lead another defence. As for Vikrama, she didn’t even know where he was. Anagha was at its most vulnerable state.
“Surrendering tactically is not an option anymore,” Krishna went on. He looked at her, his grip on both her arms tightening. “Abhaya, flee.”
“Flee.” She stared at him. “And go where?”
“Indraprastha.”
“Indraprastha?”
“The safest place I can think of. Till the conquest is done, even Dwaraka is not safe. Which is why the traders, women, children and elderly of Dwaraka are also moving to Indraprastha. Our soldiers are joining the campaign.”
Abhaya stared at him, her eyes conveying the struggle that raged within her bosom about admitting defeat and fleeing elsewhere to seek refuge.
“Can you convince your father about this?”
Abhaya nodded, meeting his gaze again.
“Your people will be well cared for. You can take my word for it on behalf of the ruler of Indraprastha.”
The Naga boy interrupted the conversation. The pyre was ready. When Katyayana’s body was placed on it, Abhaya handed the flaming torch to the boy, who looked puzzled.
“You were the son who tended to him in his last moments,” she told him. “He died in your lap.”
The boy’s eyes welled with tears. He took the torch from Abhaya and lit the pyre. The logs caught fire and flames enveloped the body of the priest and counsellor of Anagha.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The city square of Anagha was a picture of woe and anxiety. In the light of the day, the ravage it had undergone was clear to see. Amidst the blood and gore and burnt houses, the weary citizens waited for the king to address and assure them. Fear was writ large on many faces. The suffering of her people surrounded her as Abhaya approached the square.
She had seen houses ransacked. The soldiers of Avanti had not missed a single opportunity to loot or rape. Wails and groans rent the air. Dead bodies of guards and civilians lay in the streets, waiting to be claimed. A woman with an infant suckling at her breast sat on the stairs of her ransacked house, calling out to her lost husband. Abhaya felt her soul tear apart, each sight proving itself to be worse than the previous one. The assuaging by the guards and the limited doctors was clearly to no avail. Someone cursed the soldiers who could not fight for them. But Abhaya knew they were unprepared and the attack was deceitful. Then she heard someone curse the king. Swallowing her emotion, she hurried towards the square. She passed by a groaning woman with injuries to both legs, waiting for someone to tend her wounds. She passed by a wailing toddler who was bewildered at not finding his parents in the crowds. She swallowed hard, hearing a scream from a guard as a doctor pulled out a dagger stuck in his chest.
A hush fell on the assembled crowd as she ascended the steps of the dais. She scanned the crowd.
Their hope depends on what I am going to say.
“Beloved sisters and brothers,” she began only to see anticipation rise in every pair of eyes her gaze met. “The fort was breached last night by the soldiers of Avanti, a kingdom which we had wrongly considered an ancestral friend and ally. Greed and envy of the prosperity that you all have generated in the past few years made them stoop this low.”
Abhaya paused for breath, fighting to keep emotion from her voice. “What they did once, they can do again. And the next time, they will come better prepared. Uncertainty has gripped all of Bharatavarsha and the worst is yet to come.” Her people had been expecting hope and reassurance from her but she had only harsh reality to offer. Her heart broke as she spoke but there was no other way to say those words. “We need to abandon this city to protect whatever is left of all that we hold dear.”
Ripples of shock went through the crowd. She waited for them to quieten down before she continued. “We have been extended a welcome by the young queen of Indraprastha, the new imperial city on the banks of the Yamuna. Our children, our elders and our dependents will be well-protected there. We have the word of the Yadava lord, Vaasudeva, who assisted us in fighting off the enemy last night.” Her eyes went to where Krishna stood, by the shelter of the main entrance to her father’s court. He nodded in encouragement.
Resolve entered her voice when she spoke again. “This does not mean we are abandoning the land that has sustained us for so long. We shall come back to reclaim our land. Once the imperial conquest is done, we shall not rest in peace until we return our beloved city to its past glory. We shall make our enemies pay for their sins. We shall announce the plan of our departure in a couple of days. But if even one of you wants to stay back, your injured king will not leave the city.”
She did not avoid making eye contact with her people as she descended the steps of the square dais. Loyalty, pity, contempt, pain, disdain—she saw it all in their eyes. A voice in the crowd hissed, “It’s all her fault. She was the one who rejected the wedding proposal from Avanti.”
Abhaya, knowing the futility of anger or explanation at the moment, chose to ignore the comment and walked towards the arch of the entrance where Krishna stood with the Yadava soldiers and the Naga warriors. She brought her hands together in gratitude, giving them her heartfelt thanks for their timely help.
“Are you sure, Dhaarmaseni? You have made the announcement without consulting the king.”
She shook her head. “This will disappoint him, I know, Vaasudeva. But I can take his disapproval. I will not risk any more lives by giving the people false assurances.”
Krishna gave her a long look, then covered her folded hands with his own. “I heard those angry words blaming you for what happened, Abhaya,” he said. “Steel yourself, because you will hear worse and even be cursed in the course of this long journey.”
Abhaya could not help but smile. Krishna always knew what she was thinking. His hand caressed her cheek as their eyes locked. For a long moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Then, Krishna pulled back and the spell broke. He took her leave and led the Yadava soldiers out of the city gates. Abhaya looked after him for a long time before turning back to her brutalised city. She made a mental map of the activity needed to move the citizens. The traders from other lands, she knew, would start before midday and the families of resident traders would need a couple of days to deliberate over what to carry.
“What is this I hear, Vatse? Did you tell the people we are abandoning the city?” Dharmasena’s voice remained weak but his eyes blazed.
“I saw no other way out, Janaka. Our fortress is damaged. We can’t protect our people in the event of another attack.” Abhaya sat at his feet and started undoing his bandage which was soaked through with blood again.
“So, you told them their king is no longer capable of protecting them.”
The disappointment in his eyes was terrible. Abhaya swallowed hard.
“Janaka, you know we cannot withstand another attack,” Abhaya said quietly. She held Dharmasena’s hand but, with an effort, he shook it off.
“Did you consider consulting me, Abhaya? No, you didn’t. Not now, nor when you helped the princess of Avanti elope with Vaasudeva. That is what marked the beginning of their hostility. And now you want us to leave the very…” His words faded away as he paused to catch his breath.
“I failed to prevent Pingala from leaving the city. That resulted in our enemy breaching our fortress. Even in the middle of the attack, I could have surrendered to Anuvinda and begged him to stop the bloodshed. But I chose not to. Janaka, I know I am the root cause of all this trouble, and that is why I’m asking you to let me set it right. By admitting to the people that we are incapable of protecting them from further attacks, I know I have dented our reputation. But isn’t that better than watching them die before our eyes? Now they accuse me of not marrying that prince of Avanti. I can take that. But I will not let them accuse you of failing them, Janaka.”
“I am prepared to die protecting them and you, Vatse. Who cares what they accuse me of after my death?”
“Death is not an escape from our obligations, Janaka. We are not running away to avoid facing the enemy. We are only facing the truth of our present weakness and fulfilling our responsibility to our people.”
Dharmasena pulled himself to a sitting position with difficulty. He could see the pain in Abhaya’s eyes, and part of him took pride in her courage for speaking hard truths. But the truth was too hard to bear. “So, you would have me fall at the feet of the king of Indraprastha and your friend Vaasudeva, begging for their favour?”
Abhaya fell to her knees beside the cot. She spoke as a supplicant but her words were that of a queen. “Prabho, I beg you, this is not the time for pride. Follow the path of your dharma, King Dharmasena. You have been a mother and a father to me, and it is you who taught me that the safety of the dwellers of this city is paramount. You taught me that we live and die for them. I am just doing that, Janaka. If I have let you down, let me face the consequences of my actions, may the worst miseries befall me in life and death. Let me…” His hand locked her lips from speaking any further.
“Say no more, Abhaya. I am your father and I have never wished anything but the best for you.” He gestured for her to sit by his side, and she put her head on his chest and wept. He stroked her hair. “Vatse, you have not let me down. You make me proud even in the moment of defeat.” He felt her sobbing silently and held her as tightly as his strength allowed him. He knew he had reached his end and the last thing he wanted was for her to carry an undeserved burden of guilt all her life. “Your courage in facing the truth is greater than mine in facing the enemy on the battlefield,” he reiterated. “You make me proud, Vatse.” Her sobs gradually stopped and her breathing evened out. He sensed her falling asleep and smiled to himself. He put his hands around her and watched her sleep as she had done as an infant, secure in the cradle of his arms.
“My little queen, you were born to be the refuge and shelter of many. How can I see you seeking refuge elsewhere? How can I see you falling at anyone else’s feet for my sake? By Mahakala, not when I am alive!”
The night passed slowly. His thoughts drifted to Vikrama. Where was he? He sent a prayer up to Anagheshwari for the boy’s safety. He drifted in and out of consciousness, alternating between this world and the next—a bright place of luminous truth—and, finally, he felt drawn inexorably into the latter. When Abhaya awoke, his body was limp.
The doctor checked his pulse. He replaced Dharmasena’s hand gently on his chest and stood, unable to meet Abhaya’s eyes.
“My Princess…”
To his surprise, she rose to her feet and stopped him from speaking further. “Go back home, Vaidya, and get ready for the journey ahead. We shall leave by midday, after the king’s final rites.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gomantaka
The stillness of the night was undisturbed except for the sound of waves that came from a distance far enough from Gomantaka to be soothing rather than intrusive. It was the kind of night conducive to sound sleep. But Vikrama’s eyes shot open even before the moon had begun its descent from the zenith. The vision he had seen in his dreams left a bitter taste in his mouth and his body was slick with sweat. Relief washed over him when he realised it was only a dream but there was still the lingering sense of unease. It was a nightmare that repeated time and again in different versions after Pingala’s disappearance.
He had seen vague images of vultures hovering above the fortress of Anagha, tearing its flag to bits with their talons. He had seen the city burning. He had tried to run towards it but the distance between him and the fortress only seemed to increase. He could not recall the details of the dream. He had not seen Abhaya in danger. He had not seen her at all. He closed his eyes again but sleep evaded him. The thought that Pingala’s disappearance would have something to do with the safety of his sister had not stopped gnawing at him though he could find no logical reason.
