Vasuki had been waiting for his sister at his fort. It was close to completion and his room had been set up, guarded by more than fifty Nagas who would operate in two shifts, morning and night. He had promised himself he would not let them leave at any cost and whoever felt exhausted would be exiled from their work as a guardsman. Ulupi had been promoted to the rank of the General, policing and parading around streets, finding who could have killed Takshak. The wound, when examined by the shaman, had revealed that Takshak was killed by a Naga blade, distinct for its thin and curved edges.
He knew it was Kuvera. He had some role in this. Kuvera had been always jealous of Vasuki, ever since he laid his eyes on the mani. The Nagas were popular among the Dakshinis; the only people who were respected for their cleanliness and their mid-level royal status.
All of it had changed later when Kuvera decided to steal the one precious mani that was the symbol of their power. It was called the Naagmani, used to worship Shesha, the snake that coiled around the neck of Lord Vishnu and was his protector. He was considered the highest God to Nagas. There was even a temple close to Vasuki’s city, Naagpuri, where a large statue made of bronze and copper was housed. On its forehead was the fabled mani. And it had been stolen. They had seen it being taken by a Yaksha, for the footsteps were small just like the abhorrent Kuvera’s.
Vasuki, along with Takshak, had attacked Alakpur, the domain of the Yakshas, a scarce wasteland amongst sand dunes. Vasuki had lost, but later when the Tribal agreement with Kali had come forth, Vasuki had stated that the only way he would provide the resources and his men, was if Kuvera would give him the mani back. Kuvera reluctantly agreed as Kali had made him see the bigger picture.
And that was the history behind it, fighting and quarreling with Kuvera, with no love, only hate. Even when Vasuki agreed to the pact, he had second doubts about working with Kuvera, but Kali had promised him equality and no hindrance, all of which now seemed like fables. Now he was so many miles away from Naagpuri and he wished to go, but he couldn’t. He would be labelled a coward by his people. He was still a coward, in his own opinion, but in a hostile environment.
He had sent a good huge number of Nagas for Manasa to reach the city and close to the fortress without any hassle. He even made sure that it wouldn’t look like a Naga was coming. The fort gates, made of iron, burst open as the ropes and the branch that bound it were let off. Entering with the cavalry and infantry, in a wagon that was drawn by three horses, he could see his sister from the top of the fort. He briskly walked, guards following him as he passed the laborers—who were Nagas from birth. He couldn’t risk the menial workers to be Udaiyas in any way, for he had seen his father’s assassination.
The very thought of his father’s death slowed his pace and he meandered a bit before gaining pace and proceeding to the central chamber, where water spiraled from four directions. Guards wore breastplates with snake insignia over it and their swords’ hilt had a symbol of Shesha’s forehead.
Manasa exited the wagon, her one hand smaller than the other, something Vasuki had stopped noticing. She was born with a defect, a limp hand that people would ridicule and Vasuki would feel instantly irritated about. It was not something to joke about. It wasn’t her fault. But now she didn’t care, for her hand just dangled limply, gloved in a purple satin cloth. She was dressed in a high cut, flowy robe, and her hair, although long and loose, was tied into coiled knots at the end. Her eyes were the same blue colour as her brother. She embraced Vasuki and the warmth of his own blood made him exuberant. He liked that he had someone like her right now in the city.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Always,” Manasa said, having a hoarser voice than most Naga women. “Why don’t you tell your men to dress up well? His straps are loose, his sheath is torn and his sandals are ripping. By the poor designs of it, they won’t even last an hour if they fight in these.”
Vasuki watched the strict Manasa, older than him, and taller than him, scolding him. “All right calm down, sister.” Vasuki patted her, one arm grabbing her waist and dragging her away.
She was always a lover of designs, colours, fabrics and using odd plants and berries. And yet, regardless of all this vanity, she had the keenest knowledge of spies and how one could survive the longest on battlefields. The length of a tunic could determine a man’s life expectancy during war as well as his knee pads and how his sword was designed.
They had reached his room which had pristine white walls, with bronze plates, cups and mugs stacked neatly on a long table. He served her wine while he drank as well. He needed it more than anyone. He then sat on his chair.
“What happened? You told me in the letter that you are in the midst of traitors.”
“Yes, I am. I need someone I can trust by my side.”
“Well, here I am, darling,” she grinned. “Your big sister is always here whenever you need her.”
Vasuki sighed, sipping his drink, touching the edges of the goblet to his lips. He began telling her about Takshak and how he had sent him to spy on Vedanta.
“My dear, never let a thick-headed fellow like Takshak go and spy on someone. He knows nothing of spying. He thinks beating up individuals and demanding answers is spying while spying is an art itself. The way you speak, the way you dress, the way you carry yourself; all that matters.”
“I know. I was stupid.”
“All’s fair now,” she said her three favourite words that Vasuki had the misery of hearing multiple times all through his life. “We need a new plan to take down your enemies, but for that we need to identify the enemies.”
“I know two of them.”
“Great and what about that handsome but sickly fellow, Kali?”
“Oh yes, he’s sort of out of commission, unable to do his chores properly,” mocked Vasuki, almost spitting the leftover wine in his mouth.
“Eh?” she sounded alarmed. “He and his sister, they seemed a strong fit with each other. Almost a surprise, darling, that they aren’t capable enough.”
“He’s weak and delusional.” Vasuki thumped the goblet on the mahogany side table. “It was just yesterday, I remember, how we were able to escape the clutches of our own men betraying their masters.”
“And how we had triumphed over them, darling. I know,” smiled Manasa. “Civil wars are a common thing in tribes. You needn’t be surprised. After all, we are all uncivilized in our personal lives.”
“We will triumph this as well.” Vasuki stood, his draped robes slowly brushing the ground, as he walked forward. He was a neat fellow for a king. While others had battle scars, he looked flawless because he never fought in the frontline, except the time they were attacked outside Indragarh and Kali had surprisingly stopped them. He was a genius back then, but a poor man’s pig now. “Do you have any spies as of now?”
“Patience, darling.” She came forward, touching his robe and slowly turning it on the other side so the golden, laced fabric could be seen properly. “A king must wear his clothes carefully.”
Vasuki nodded, pursing his lips. “I know. I apologize. You have taught me enough to not make this mistake continuously.”
“An assassin, if we think of having any, must be very quick and unnoticeable, someone who can just get under the skin of our enemies and be able to dethrone them without even letting them know.” She smiled her lopsided smile. “And we will get this kind of a spy through patience and through destiny. Let Lord Shesha guide us.”
Vasuki nodded. “As you say. But what about Kali?”
She didn’t say anything, but continued to watch Vasuki. “He was of use to us when he promised he would provide peace amongst all the tribes. If there’s no peace, darling,” a devious smirk lifted her lips up, “what use is he to us then?”
