The Guardians of the Halahala (31 page)

“I'm happy to hear that,” the Mother Oracle nodded, peering into the mortar. Setting the pestle aside, she upturned the mortar, emptying its contents into the cup of her right hand. The king saw that she had been crushing dried betel nuts. Tossing the small pieces into her mouth, the woman considered Vikramaditya.

“I'm happy to hear the queen is better,” she repeated. “But beware of the stranger in the palace, wise king.”

The samrat knitted his brows. “Do you mean the Healer, mother?”

“The breeze blowing through the palace speaks of bad intentions,” the Mother Oracle replied obliquely. “Be on your guard.”

Vikramaditya studied the old woman's face, expecting her to add to what she had said, but she had already closed her eyes and was chewing on the betel nuts, rocking back and forth in contentment. He looked down at his clasped hands, pondering over her words.

“Will that be all, mother?” he asked finally.

Opening her eyes, the Mother Oracle said, “There's also danger lurking in the clouds. Watch out for the lightning.”

The samrat inclined his head. “Thank you, mother.”

Stepping out of the oracle's room, Vikramaditya traced a path to an open portico with a large sundial mounted in its center. Leaning against the railings, the king shielded his eyes and looked heavenward, turning all the way around to thoroughly survey every little portion of the firmament.

Other than the blazing directly overhead, there was nothing in the spotless blue sky.

Vikramaditya was still observing the sky when he heard approaching footsteps. Looking around, he saw a palace attendant hurrying into the portico.

“Your honor, you are wanted in the queen's chamber,” the attendant informed.

“Is the queen all right?” the king spoke with concern as he strode forward.

“Yes, your honor. It seems she spoke again.”

When Vikramaditya hurried into the bedchamber, he saw Kshapanaka seated on the bed next to Vishakha, while Queen Upashruti stood close beside. The Queen Mother had one hand on Kshapanaka's shoulder as she leaned over and spoke gently to Vishakha.

“This is your sister Kshapanaka, my child,” the king heard his mother saying.

Vishakha looked dubiously at Kshapanaka for a while before turning back to Queen Upashruti. “No, my sister is much younger,” she said with a shake of her head.

Noticing Vetala Bhatta and Dhanavantri standing to one side, the samrat went up to them. “What's happened, raj-guru?” he asked.

“It seems she suddenly asked for Kshapanaka and her mother,” the Acharya replied. “She has been expressing the desire to return to Nishada.”

“She wants to go back to Nishada?” Vikramaditya looked incredulous.

“Obviously some memories from her childhood have returned,” Dhanavantri proffered an explanation. “Memories of her mother and Kshapanaka... In her mind, Kshapanaka is still a small child, which is why she is finding it hard to accept what the queen mother is saying.”

The three men returned their gaze to the bed. Vishakha shook her head once again. “No, my parents are in the palace in Nishada,” she protested, tears welling up in her eyes. “I want to see them. Please take me there.”

As Queen Upashruti and Kshapanaka turned to the men in helplessness, Vikramaditya asked, “Where's the Healer?”

“We've sent for him,” replied Dhanavantri a trifle stiffly. “He should be... ah, there he is.”

The Healer entered the room and marched straight to Vishakha's side, without bothering to acknowledge the others in the room. “Yes child, what is the matter?” he asked, looking down kindly at the queen.

“I want to go home, but these people aren't letting me,” whimpered Vishakha. “Please tell them to take me home.”

“Of course they will let you go,” the Healer exclaimed reassuringly. “It's just that they want you to rest a while. Once you have woken from your sleep, you can go. Is that all right?”

Vishakha sniffled and nodded.

“Good. But hold these in your hands while you sleep.” The Healer placed two red hibiscuses in Vishakha's hands. “Now sleep.”

The queen willingly subsided into the bed and turned on her side. In a matter of moments, she was asleep. As the Queen Mother and Kshapanaka left the bed, Vikramaditya watched the Healer begin drawing a
mandala
on the floor. The king's eyes were cloudy.

“What's the matter, Vikrama?” the raj-guru asked once they exited the bedchamber. The king, the Acharya and the royal physician were walking down one of the passageways. “Is something troubling you?”

Beware of the stranger in the palace, wise king.

“I happened to meet the Mother Oracle a little while ago,” said the samrat.

“What did she say?” the Acharya probed.

The breeze blowing through the palace speaks of bad intentions.

“She...” Vikramaditya hesitated, caught in two minds. “She warned that there is danger in the clouds and that we must be careful of the lightning.”

“Clouds?” Dhanavantri peered out of one of the windows lining the passageway. “There are no clouds for miles around.”

“But if the Mother Oracle says we must be careful, we have to be,” Vetala Bhatta reminded. “She's rarely been proved wrong.”

“True.” Vikramaditya licked his lips and avoided looking at his companions. “That's why I'll need your assistance, raj-guru. I intend taking the dagger to the Borderworld tonight.”

***

“Don't look so downcast, my friend,” Varahamihira said with a shake of his head. “No matter what the Healer has achieved, there's no debate over the fact that you're the best physician in the kingdom of Avanti.”

Dhanavantri inclined his head, but the sag of his mouth indicated that Varahamihira's words hadn't reassured him the least bit. The two councilors were seated in the verandah of the physician's house – Varahamihira on a large swing, nursing a cup of
soma
, Dhanavantri on a fluffy mattress, drinking a concoction of honey and lime. A strong breeze blew from the north, cooling the night air around Ujjayini.

“Look, the truth is that the Healer has worked wonders,” Dhanavantri spoke at last. “And I mean not just in the palace – everyone in the city is talking about him and his cures.” “Yes... but...” Varahamihira groped for a counterargument. “But take Vishakha's example. She'd been showing signs of recovery well before the Healer's shadow fell across Ujjayini's gates.”

“Very minor signs,” the physician butted in to clarify.

“Okay, but signs nonetheless. It's possible she was getting better under your care and the Healer simply happened by at the right time. That is a possibility, isn't it?”

The physician conceded the point with a shrug. “But it's the speed of her recovery under the Healer that's amazing. You can't discount that.”

“Well, he's been using tantric powers. That doesn't exactly count as
medicine
.”

“But it counts as a
cure,”
Dhanavantri said glumly, sinking lower into the mattress.

“Okay, so the Healer is... good,” Varahamihira spoke after a short pause. “But why are you letting that weigh you down?”

“Because he's worried the palace will start paying greater heed to the Healer,” said Madari, speaking from the doorway that led into the house. She had appeared quietly, without either of the men noticing her presence, and as she leaned against the door, her expression was one of frustration and sympathy at her husband's predicament.

Dhanavantri glanced up at his wife in annoyance, but didn't retort.

Varahamihira turned his gaze from Madari and looked at the physician inquiringly.

“Well, the samrat and the queen mother have been turning to the Healer a lot more the last two days,” Dhanavantri admitted grudgingly.

“That's natural as he has played a role in Vishakha's recovery,” Varahamihira's tone was matter-of-fact.

“Exactly the point I've been trying to make all this while,” the physician said in exasperation. Now that the issue had been forced into the open, his tongue loosened. “The Healer has succeeded where I have failed. And his appeal is not limited to just the king and the queen mother – even Vararuchi has been taken in by his curative powers.”

“In what way?”

“Vararuchi has persuaded the Healer to see his mother.” Seeing Varahamihira's confusion, Dhanavantri added, “To cure
badi-maa
of her arthritis. They left by boat a little while ago. I wasn't even told about it, even though I have been tending to her ailment.”

Varahamihira opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He could see the royal physician's concerns weren't entirely without basis.

“Well, whatever his powers might be, I doubt the Healer has it in him to restore the leg I have lost,” he said at last, trying to inject some lightheartedness into the conversation. “And you have my assurance that I shall not consult him should a need ever arise. I dislike the sight of him.”

It was Dhanavantri's turn to study Varahamihira closely. “Why do you use the word dislike?”

“I don't know. There's something
fishy
about him. He's just so oversure of everything, so glib... He gives me the impression that he's too good to be true.”

“Exactly what I thought of him too,” the physician looked pleasantly surprised, even relieved. “I just didn't say so.”

“Wise of you – it would have been put down to professional rivalry,” Varahamihira nodded. Taking a final swig out of his cup, he proceeded to get off the swing. “Come, let's not allow the lovely dinner that sister has cooked to go cold. If I had to eat cold food, I needn't have accepted your invitation to dinner.”

“That's why you should have got married when you had the chance to,” Madari teased playfully.

“A hefty price to pay for two warm meals a day, sister,” Varahamihira quipped, as he stood up with the help of his crutch. “And even if I had wanted marriage, no woman would have put up with my obsession for my little inventions.”

As Madari and the older councilor went indoors, Dhanavantri rose from his mattress. The breeze had stiffened to a draughty wind that was kicking up little puffs of dust in the courtyard outside. From somewhere inside, an unlatched window banged in the wind.

The physician went inside and scouted around the house until he found the troublesome window. As he fastened it shut, he thought he heard the faraway rumble of thunder. At first, he thought nothing of it. But just as he was entering the dining room where Madari and a kitchen help were serving dinner, he stiffened as Vikramaditya's words from earlier in the day came back to him.

She warned that there is danger in the clouds and that we must be careful of the lightning.

If what he had heard was thunder, there had to be lightning out there as well.

***

Thick charcoal-red light flowed from the sockets of the skulls on Vetala Bhatta's spear, percolating through the yellow glow of the solitary lamp that occupied a far recess in Vikramaditya's bedchamber. The combined effect was a dim, ocher illumination that swirled around the Acharya as he sat at the head of the king's bed, one hand holding the spear, the other placed palm downward on the king's fevered forehead. The raj-guru had his eyes closed, and his lips moved to a barely audible mantra.

The samrat lay inert, his body rigid and shoulders squared, the tendons stiff in his neck. Even in the diffused light, the pallor on his face was evident, and his breath came in shallow, erratic spurts. The king's hands, which were by his sides, were clenched tight – and from the right fist a thin blade protruded, the metal winking wickedly in the heavy, ocher light.

For a long while, neither man moved. Then, all of a sudden, the Acharya's brow contorted and his eyes flickered open.

Beware of the stranger in the palace, wise king.

Alarm flashed across Vetala Bhatta's face, but before the phrase could anchor itself in his mind, Vikramaditya's body convulsed violently. The raj-guru immediately screwed his eyes shut, fighting to overcome the distraction. The exertion brought beads of perspiration to the Acharya's forehead, but with his concentration returning, the tremors running through the king's body weakened and receded.

The glow from the skulls gradually increased in intensity, and the Acharya felt the king's skin go damp and clammy under his palm. A few moments later, Vikramaditya heaved a huge sigh, and his body went limp. Opening his eyes, Vetala Bhatta saw that the king was hardly breathing, and his muscles had acquired the slackness of deep slumber.

More than slumber, the slackness of death...

Yet, Vikramaditya retained a tight grip on the dagger in his hand.

Breathing in huge gulps of air, the Acharya mopped the sweat from his brow. Then, careful not to disturb the stillness of the room, he made his way to the door of the bedchamber and opened it. In the passageway outside stood Kalidasa, leaning against a pillar, his great arms folded across his broad chest.

On seeing Vetala Bhatta framing the doorway, the commander of the
samsaptakas
straightened and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“He has crossed over into the Borderworld,” the Acharya announced softly, dabbing his face dry with a cloth.

“Is he fine?” the giant asked, craning his neck to look into the bedchamber.

The raj-guru nodded, a faraway look on his face. Was that the roll of distant thunder? He cocked an ear, but heard nothing but the strong wind rustling through the trees outside.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Acharya said, “Yes he is, but this is the most delicate and dangerous part. Nothing should upset Vikrama's death-sleep. Otherwise... he may never be able to come back.”

“Do not fear, Acharya,” Kalidasa replied, planting himself in the middle of the passageway, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his scimitar. “I will be here to make sure nothing disturbs our king.”