5

Clean sunshine warmed him to the bones. For several moments, he delighted in the sight of gazelles gracefully bounding amongst the trees. When they vanished, he fell back in the grass, looking up at the blue sky. ‘Hello Aum,’ he said, his voice husky.

For the past few months, Saahas had been travelling through the kingdom, the echoing hills and valleys, the sweet murmur of rivers, the babble of infants and the tinkling of cow bells at sunset soothing him. ‘First, you have to learn obedience son,’ he heard Meghabhuti say. ‘Shut your mind to the voice in your head and open it to those around you. Go beyond the words and the personalities. Then you will sense the truth, and the right ideas will come to you.’

So Saahas listened to the white swans, the trumpeting elephants, the dazzling flowers. He listened to the ancient trees anchoring the moist earth, to the wind rustling the fields. He heard the heartbeat of the people, the love in the tears shed for him, and listened to the unsaid words of comfort in outpost after outpost, the soldiers glad to have him in their midst.

‘I want to learn about you, and from you,’ he told them, and they opened up to him, to the son of the great Meghabhuti, eager to nourish him. And as they worked and ate together, the news began to spread that the grave general was smiling again.

The sweet summer day vanished in the twinkling of an eye. Enjoying a solitary ride, Saahas glanced at the sky in surprise. A strong wind roiled the dark clouds, gathering them into thick columns, lightning zigzagging through them frequently. Low rumbles of thunder warned him of a storm, and just as he urged his horse into a gallop, the rain came down. Finding a large banyan grove, he took refuge within its dry enclosure, the curtain of aerial roots protecting him. Soon, he nodded off and jerked awake when a bolt from the sky struck the tree under which he lay.

A huge branch hurtled down towards him. With no time to move, Saahas braced, putting up his arms in the hope of warding off the crushing blow. But a flurry of arrows flew in from nowhere, embedding themselves in the broken branch and pinning it to the tree behind. Expecting to see several archers, he was astonished when only one emerged from the foliage, several arrows nocked in his bow.

‘A Gondi,’ he exclaimed.

The young hunter went down on one knee, offering his bow to the general. ‘I have been tracking you, my lord, and found you at last. Allow me to serve you.’

Saahas embraced him. ‘I now believe the legend about your tribe, that a Gondi baby is born with an arrow clutched in his fist! What is your name?’

Tapping his prominent nose shaped exactly like the red bill of a parrot, the hunter said shyly, ‘Tota.’

‘Tota, you just saved my life. I would be honoured to have you by my side. Will you be my aide-de-camp?’

‘It would be my privilege, sire,’ the Gondi flushed with happiness. ‘There are many others like me, trying to reach you, to serve you and Aum.’

And over weeks and months, as the two travelled through the countryside, others started to arrive. They came from fields and mountaintops, from forests and vales, Tota sifting through them, his tribal instinct quickly separating gold from sand. Of the fifty selected candidates, he finally picked twenty warriors.

‘My special officers,’ the general’s eyes shone with quiet pride.

‘Everyone calls us the Saahas Brigade,’ Tota smiled.

‘It certainly has a ring of adventure,’ Saahas laughed. ‘And we shall have many, but first we must train, strengthening our strengths till our weaknesses pale.’

They pulled up at a wooden gate, the fields beyond it barren and dry. ‘Yet another farm showing signs of a drought,’ Saahas remarked. ‘Despite a river flowing nearby.’

A man, blowing at a clay oven straightened, nervously watching the brigade ride in.

‘Don’t worry,’ Tota called out. ‘We are here to help.’

The farmer wrung his hands. ‘There is no water for my fields. The channels have been dry this entire season, and every time I go to the panchayat, they merely shrug. We can’t do anything, they say.’

‘What can we do?’ the village council asked helplessly when Saahas went to them. ‘The canal bringing water from the river to the channels broke a few months ago and we still haven’t received money for its repairs. We are tired of pleading with the mukhya.’

When his servant whispered in his ear, the headman stared in disbelief, his eyes widening at the sight of the dust-streaked general. ‘Look at my cows, my lord,’ he implored. ‘They have become so thin. The grass has dried up because there is no water. I’ve written a hundred entreaties to the royal ministers but haven’t received a single reply.’

‘This is unheard of in our kingdom,’ the brigade discussed in shocked tones. ‘Why on earth has the council not sent the money? His Majesty must be informed at once.’

Saahas frowned into the distance, puffing at his chillum. Then he suddenly asked, ‘How soon can we muster up some soldiers here?’

‘Eh?’ The brigade blinked, taken aback, but Tota nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face.

‘Within a week, sire,’ he replied.

‘Good,’ Saahas got to his feet. ‘And I can draw from the military funds at will. With both men and money, we can help many others. There is no need to worry His Majesty.’

They had been trying to heave a particularly large boulder off a narrow path for days, the people from the nearby hamlet watching them with keen interest, hoping the track would be widened for their carts to ply through easily. The brigade pushed, straining every muscle. And the boulder moved, just enough for a stout branch to be swiftly wedged under it. Grunting in unison, they lifted the branch and the boulder rolled away, hitting a small tree and bringing it down. High-pitched shrieks attracted everyone’s attention. Two bear cubs, rudely awakened from an afternoon nap, had fallen out of the branches.

‘Their mother must be nearby,’ Saahas cast a sharp look around. ‘The cubs are only days old and she couldn’t have wandered off too far.’ A black sloth bear appeared as if on cue, lumbering down a hill, her fearsome jaws snapping. The soldiers took position, ready with their swords and spears. Tota drew out a handful of arrows from his quiver. But Saahas shouted a warning, ‘No! We cannot kill her, the cubs will be orphaned.’

Picking up the squealing balls of fur, he ran towards a dense thicket, shouting over his shoulder, ‘All of you stay here, don’t follow me.’

Startled, the mother bear blew furiously through her long snout and turning away from the armed soldiers, charged after Saahas.

Inside the shaded grove, she paused, snuffling and snorting. Hundreds of mahua trees, their leaves reddened by the summer sun, had bloomed and their creamy blossoms, falling in a continuous shower like a rain of pearls, gave out a sweet peppery fragrance. The bear breathed the mahua’s heady perfume and drooled. Drawn to the intoxicating flowers, she found her cubs nibbling at the white buds and with a grunt of satisfaction, settled down beside them.

It took a few hours and several mounds of flowers to stupefy her and by the time she fell into a deep slumber, the sun had nearly set. When Saahas emerged unscathed from the grove, his officers gave a great shout of relief and tossed the laughing general into the air, bearing him back to camp on their shoulders.

‘The story of Saahas, the bear-tamer, galloped to other parts of the kingdom,’ chuckles Destiny. ‘And as the years rolled by, it turned into a legend. Word spread that the general was the man to go to, that Aum’s army could make everything right.’

It was the ministers’ animated discussion that aroused Chakrawaru’s curiosity. They fell silent at his approach, observing him covertly. The change in him was astonishing. Gone was the servile tutor, his place taken by a man just as gaunt, just as pallid, and yes, balder, but with the overbearing air of one with authority. They couldn’t remember exactly how and when the king had receded into the background, nor the moment Chakrawaru had transformed from tutor to advisor. It seemed to have happened ever so quietly and imperceptibly over the years.

He looked at them, raising his eyebrows inquiringly. ‘What were you all whispering about?’

Instantly, the council gave him a stirring account of the military’s extraordinary feats. ‘It is an insult to us, Chakrawaruji, that General Saahas uses military funds to accomplish our work. Perhaps if you released the money to us, we could . . .’

Chakrawaru’s bloodless fingers clutched the armrests of his chair. ‘The general is an impulsive, wayward young man,’ he spat. ‘And we are men of wisdom, of experience. Do you wish to see Aum’s treasury, which we have all guarded from wasteful expenditure, recklessly spent?’

The council looked uncertain, but one minister, chubby and good-humoured, smiled in a conciliatory manner, ‘That is all very well, but what about our provinces? They will lose faith in us.’

‘Lose faith,’ the advisor snorted. ‘Gentlemen, fixing a barn or a road is not the measure of governance. That lies in administration, in levying taxes, collecting revenues, maintaining law and order, which you all do quite efficiently.’ Then he added in a soft voice, ‘And for your hard work, you shall be given a raise in your salary, a good raise.’

The council leaned back, gratified. Chakrawaru nodded, ‘I say then, let the general carry on with the odd jobs. Very soon, he will become a laughing stock.’

Alone in his chambers, he crossed his arms behind his head. ‘The silly council,’ he tittered. So, they expected him to loosen the purse-strings, just like that! It had been three years since the day Vasuket reluctantly agreed to appoint him as a go-between, three years of persistence before he had wrested the keys of the treasury from the king. It was his money, his hard-earned money. Not even Saahas dare snatch it from him.

‘And as the advisor’s hubris swelled,’ Destiny smiles, ‘I rubbed my hands in preparation. The moment had arrived, the moment to roll the dice. And roll it I did, perfectly right.’