The Wrath of the Hellfires, page 9
And yet, Vikramaditya had resisted her.
For a woman who lay in a bed, as good as dead.
The only woman I have ever loved…
How was that possible? He was a man, and more than that, he was a king. He could love as many women as he wanted. That was what she had been taught in Devaloka, where apsaras fulfilled only one role—that of letting the devas love them. What kind of man could love only one woman?
The kind who sees women as more than objects of desire, who holds women in esteem.
The thought came out of nowhere, surprising the apsara, shaking her out of her reflections. It was a new idea, one that had never occurred to her before. But was it even possible, could such men even exist? The notion was so alien that Urvashi frowned, ready to dismiss it.
Then something came back to her.
It had been the day she had come to Ujjayini with Indra and Gandharvasena, the day Indra had confronted Vikramaditya with the truth about his real father. Indra’s march to the palace had been stopped by Vikramaditya, and there on the streets of Ujjayini, the deva and the human king had engaged in a war of words. And in full view of Ujjayini’s citizens, Indra had stunned the samrat with the secret about Gandharvasena. But when Vikramaditya rejected the deva’s assertions, contending that Mahendraditya was his father, Indra had suggested a way of settling the matter.
Let us both agree that your mother’s word will be final. Let us ask Queen Mother Upashruti who your father is—her dead husband, King Mahendraditya, as you claim, or my son, Gandharvasena, as I insist.
Urvashi clearly remembered sitting in the veiled box of the chariot, listening to the silence on the street that morning, as Indra’s challenge rang in everyone’s ears.
And she remembered Vikramaditya’s answer.
I will not insult my mother by having her character put to test just because someone comes along questioning my paternity. I will not allow you to humiliate my mother in front of her people. I don’t know how you treat your women in Devaloka, but in Avanti, the dignity and honour of our women is sacrosanct…
That was the kind of man who could love just one woman all his life.
“There you are.” The voice startled Urvashi. She turned to see a palace maid standing at the head of the steps to the bath, looking very annoyed. “The princess is throwing a fit, asking for you. Hurry up.”
The maid turned and left without waiting for an answer.
The apsara sighed. Pralupi was habitually a late riser, but today was different, Urvashi knew. She also knew she should have been better prepared. She just didn’t know how.
When she finally pushed past the door to Pralupi’s bedchamber, the apsara saw the princess pacing the room feverishly, her nervous energy barely contained in her tightly coiled body and clenched fists. Urvashi noticed the pile of clothes lying on the floor, crushed, damp and splattered with mud.
“Salutations, princess.”
Pralupi stopped her pacing and glared at Urvashi, hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”
“I was having a bath—”
“Well, couldn’t you have been quicker? You know how I hate tardiness.”
“Apologies, princess. I was—”
“Enough,” Pralupi raised a palm flat out. “I have no interest in discussing this further. I want you to come quicker when I call, that’s all.”
Then, as if none of this mattered, the princess’s manner changed, her eyes brightening with excitement. “So,” she asked in a tone that could be mistaken as being friendly, “how did it go?”
Urvashi hesitated, wondering how best to say this, not certain what reaction to expect. Pralupi peered at the apsara, eyes beady in anticipation, head bobbing in encouragement. “So?”
“The Samrat… declined.”
“Declined?” Pralupi stared. “Declined what?”
“The Samrat declined my attentions, princess.”
“Oh.” Pralupi’s eyes narrowed, and despite the warmth of the sun flooding in through the high windows, a chill crept into the atmosphere. Pralupi walked to a table and poured a cup of water for herself. She drank the water, then looked back at Urvashi.
“I set everything up perfectly for you, and still you failed.” She paused in disdain. “If your beauty does not serve any purpose, you are pretty much worthless to me, Mithyamayi. If you can’t charm a man into your arms, you must find employment elsewhere.” The princess turned her back to the apsara. “Let your uncle know I will not be needing your services—”
“Princess, please wait.”
Urvashi took a hurried step towards Pralupi, her mind frantic. She couldn’t leave the palace without finding out the Halahala’s whereabouts. What would she tell Matali? That she had failed to seduce the king, and the princess had thrown her out because of that? And Indra would be furious with her for having come so close to the human king and still failed…
“Please don’t send me away, princess,” Urvashi joined her hands in entreaty. “I will… I will try again. With the Samrat. I promise I will.”
Pralupi stared at the apsara for a long moment. “You will have to try a lot harder than you have.”
“I will, princess,” the apsara replied with a sigh of relief. “Please, trust me.”
Pralupi turned and walked off towards the window. “Ready everything for my bath. And take those wet clothes away.”
Urvashi was leaving with the pile of clothes when the princess called after her.
“I don’t have forever, which means you don’t have forever. You have two days to work your magic on the king. Two days.”
The apsara left the chamber, still wondering what the princess was playing at, why having her maid seduce her own brother was so important to her. She figured it was really none of her business. She was just thankful for the opportunity the princess was giving her to get close to the king.
A king who was so different from anyone she had met before, noble yet also kind…
Two days, Urvashi reminded herself with a shake of her head. Two days to find the location of Veeshada’s dagger.
***
He slipped through the fog, doing his best to stick to the thickest and densest patches, conscious that his flaming hair could easily betray him to the asuras who were hot on his trail. He dodged and sidled, continuously moving away from the tree, yet revealing himself in short flashes so that the asuras stayed interested in the chase.
The escape from the banyan had been traumatic and was achieved only by dint of a huge sacrifice on the part of the ghouls. The ghouls had come to the tree in large numbers and beset the asuras and the mahishas, fighting and falling in droves, making no impact on the attacking army, yet distracting it long enough for the Ghoulmaster to leave the tree and find refuge in the fog. With so many ghouls now gone and the tree severely damaged, Betaal realized that the architecture of Borderworld had undergone a fundamental shift, that it would never be the place it had been before.
“What is in it for you, Ghoulmaster?”
The voice came over the marsh, disembodied, needling and challenging, almost echoing his own thoughts.
“What do you get in exchange for all that you have lost today?”
Betaal didn’t reply. Instead, he slid into a heavier cloak of fog.
“What has the human king given you that you are willing to bear so much for him?”
Silence.
“Why do you even care who has the dagger? Give it to us, and we shall leave in peace. You have my promise.”
Betaal turned left so he could circle back towards the tree. He didn’t want to get so far away that he couldn’t return to it fast enough.
“I know you are in there, Betaal. I know you can hear me.”
Away in the distance, Betaal saw a knot of asuras groping through the fog in search of him. He wondered if he should reveal himself just a bit.
“Okay, let me make you an offer. Hand us the dagger, and you and your ghouls can come and reside in Patala. How is that? No? Okay, if that is not good enough, here is something that cannot be beaten.” A pause. “In exchange for the dagger, you can reside in Amaravati. Who wouldn’t want that? Oh… you wonder how I can make that promise? Believe me, when we have the dagger, all of Devaloka will be ours to do as we please.”
Betaal hovered in the fog. The dagger felt hard in his palm.
“What do you say? Amaravati for the dagger? Think about it. The asuras will not go back on their word. I, Shukracharya, promise you that.”
The mahaguru himself, the ghoul realized. He should have guessed.
Betaal moved away. He did not want to reveal himself to Shukracharya.
A little while passed before the voice came again.
“Did you think about what I said?”
The Ghoulmaster tried to see where the voice was coming from.
“This is your last chance to agree.” There was an impatient edge in the voice now.
“Are you there? Of course, you are there.” The voice became ominous. “Very clever, I must say.”
Betaal tensed.
“Hiding in the fog with the dagger, knowing you will be hard to find. Tiring us in this game of hide-and-seek.” Shukracharya chuckled. “Ingenious, you think. Toying with us like this.”
Suddenly the voice was angry. Very angry.
“Let us play a different game now. No place in Patala for you, no place in Amaravati. Those deals are off. You will now give over the dagger just to save the one place you have.”
Betaal felt the fog grip him, cold and full of menace.
“I am ordering the mahishas to go back to cutting down your tree, your home. They will not stop until you have surrendered the dagger to me, Ghoulmaster.”
Shukracharya paused to let what he had just said take hold of Betaal’s imagination.
“New deal. Your tree for the dagger.”
A deathly hush fell over the marsh. Betaal stood in the drifting fog, alone and utterly defenceless.
***
“Whose body could it be?” asked Kshapanaka, leaning out of the window to watch the man enter the water with a splash.
“It is a complete mystery,” Vikramaditya replied, joining her to look down at the boatmen in the lake. A dozen of them had been searching the waters all morning, and they had almost cleared the south end of the lake without finding anything.
“A body here doesn’t make sense,” said Kshapanaka. “Could the oracle be wrong?”
“We know she never is.”
They went back to observing the boatmen dive and disappear underwater.
“How is the evacuation going?” the samrat enquired.
“Well enough. We have managed vacating more than half of the city.”
“Any resistance?”
“There is bound to be some,” Kshapanaka looked at the king. “But we are handling it with as much care and sensitivity as possible.” She stared at Ujjayini, across the lake. “Some of them are so adamant. There is one woman in the northern quarter, a widow. Her husband died when the deva horsemen attacked. He was a soldier in the City Watch, it seems. She refuses to leave her house; she says she would rather die where her husband lived and served. She is the only one remaining in her locality. Everyone else has left.”
“Let her be, don’t compel her,” said Vikramaditya. “But make sure someone from the City Watch keeps an eye on her. And leave instructions that should the city come under attack, she is to be escorted to the palace. She can take shelter in the Labyrinth.”
Kshapanaka nodded at the king thoughtfully. “Then there are these two households in the eastern section. Both refuse to vacate…” she cleared her throat, “…insisting they won’t obey the orders of someone who… who is not worthy of being the king of Avanti.”
Vikramaditya looked at Kshapanaka, then turned away.
“I made enquiries,” the councilor said. “Both houses belong to families related to the garrison chief of Musili. Commander Sharamana. Vararuchi’s right-hand man.”
“Where in the eastern section?”
“Close to the old cattle market.” Kshapanaka swatted at a passing fly. “What should we do about them?”
“Nothing,” the samrat replied. “Keep an eye on them as well.”
Before Kshapanaka could add anything more, the door to the council chamber opened to let Varahamihira and Dhanavantri in. The former gave a wide grin as soon as he caught sight of Vikramaditya.
“I passed the central garrison on my way here and stopped to meet some of my engineers,” he said, limping quickly into the room. “The mood there is thoroughly upbeat. Your address has worked like a charm. All they are talking about is your speech—and the Hellfires, of course.” Varahamihira came up to the king and clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. “What a superb idea it was, talking directly to the men. You have won them over, Vikrama. Watch the word spread from here.”
The samrat gave a tired smile but said nothing.
“Here,” said Dhanavantri, holding out a small wicker basket. “Madari made these. I thought I would bring some along.”
“What is it?” asked Varahamihira.
Before the physician could reply, Kshapanaka had lifted the cloth covering the basket. “Til laddoos,” she exclaimed. “I love these.”
“Madari makes these so well,” Varahamihira said, helping himself to two.
“I know you love them.”
“Having them right before lunch is not a good idea,” Kshapanaka smiled as she took a couple as well.
“What’s the occasion?” asked Vikramaditya, popping one into his mouth, waiting for the flavours of sesame and jaggery to burst on his palate. “Mmh… delicious.”
“The occasion is the grand speech from the morning,” Varahamihira grinned. Then, turning serious, he asked, “You wouldn’t have that speech written down, would you?”
“No, though I did make a few notes last night.”
“A pity. But we could still use the notes to draft the message to the Anartas—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dhanavantri interjected. “I had one of the palace scribes attend the speech, so we have most of it recorded.”
“Excellent,” Varahamihira rubbed his hands in satisfaction.
Vikramaditya walked to a nearby chair and slumped into it.
“You look fatigued,” Kshapanaka observed, licking some jaggery off her thumb. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. It’s just that I haven’t slept a wink all of last night.”
“Why?” Varahamihira peered down at Vikramaditya.
“So many things,” the samrat said, shaking his head vaguely. “Thoughts mostly, not letting me sleep.”
“Thoughts about what?”
“Well, there’s Vishakha,” the king took a deep breath. He looked at Dhanavantri briefly, as Kshapanaka stared out of the window. Varahamihira put a hand on Vikramaditya’s shoulder but said nothing.
“Then there is Ghatakarpara and Amara Simha. There has been no news from them—or of them—since Amara Simha left Udaypuri and rode into the desert. What am I to tell Pralupi? She is his mother, after all, and it was my decision, sending him to the frontier. Then there is Shanku in the Dandaka…”
“Shanku is strong,” Kshapanaka countered. “She can take good care of herself. She needs you to trust her, not worry about her. And as far as Ghatakarpara is concerned, Amara Simha has promised to bring him back, and he will.”
“That is exactly what I tell myself too,” said Vikramaditya with a sigh. “It is actually Ujjayini and its people that I am most concerned about. Some have lost loved ones; others have lost their livelihoods. I fear more are set to lose both, and it pains me to know that I am the cause of all this uncertainty. They had no part in my decision to protect the Halahala, yet they are paying the price of that decision. That is so unfair. What kind of king would do this to his people?”
“You did what was right with the Halahala, and now you are doing what is right for your people,” Dhanavantri seated himself opposite the king and looked into his face. “As king, you will always be forced to reconcile opposites and balance out causes and effects. This is the lot of the king, the burden of the crown. Accept it, Vikrama.”
“I have.” A wry smile danced briefly on the samrat’s lips. “Don’t forget that just this morning, I declared war against my oldest friend, the closest I ever had. And by doing that, I have manipulated public opinion to wrest the initiative from my brother, for whom I have only had love and respect. In one morning of good work, I have lost a friend and a brother here,” he rapped his chest where his heart beat. “The king’s lot, I get it.” Stretching his neck, he smiled. “It’s just that being king can get a little tiring at times.”
“I don’t have a cure for being king yet,” said Dhanavantri, chuckling softly, “but I can give you something for the tiredness. Something that will help you sleep.”
“Right now,” said Vikramaditya, rubbing his eyelids, “sleep would be a welcome gift.”
***
“Thank you for coming, raj-guru. And do forgive us if we came across as being a trifle rude yesterday.”
“Pardon me as well if I unwittingly overstepped any boundaries, queen and king.”
Seated on the royal divan, Veerayanka and Abhirami nodded. “Do sit down, raj-guru,” the queen said.
The Acharya bowed and took his seat diagonally opposite Sudasan and six other men who, he presumed, were the remaining chiefs of Vanga. His eyes met the chancellor’s, and they nodded at one another in a silent greeting. Abhirami was conferring with her brother and a couple of her councilors, so Vetala Bhatta had the luxury of surveying the chamber, which was airy, tastefully adorned, and offered an inland view of Uttara Tosali. From where he sat, the raj-guru could see bullock carts loaded with stalks of paddy trundling to the city’s granaries, while closer to the palace, fisherwomen bore the morning’s catch to the market in broad baskets, trailed by noisy crows that tried to get at the fish when the women weren’t looking.
