29

Saahas jerked awake to the deafening sounds of a celebration. He blinked, disoriented, becoming slowly aware of the swaying bed on which he lay. From the low wooden roof and the narrow confines he gathered that he was travelling in a palanquin.

‘Skanda be praised! You have woken at last!’ Bhuma smiled widely. ‘I never thought I would have to ever worry about you sleeping too much, sire! We will be soon at Dyaut’s palace.’

‘Goodness! How long have I been asleep?’

‘Three days straight, sire. When you came back to Purvichi, I didn’t recognize you, covered as you were in blood, your eyes all a-rolling. The soldiers told me you wouldn’t stop killing the Ugr even as they fled. It took me a while to get you cleaned up!’

Saahas fell back on the downy cushions, inhaling the crisp smell of fresh linen, so different from the raw smell of Ugr blood that had drenched him. Every strike of the khanda had eased the throb in his head a little more, a wild exhilaration sweeping through him, egging him on to draw more blood.

Bhuma drew aside the curtain and they peered outside. Enveloped in a diaphanous mist, a rose-pink palace towered above the surrounding hills, its unusual stone shining like a polished mirror. As the palanquin ascended a steep slope, the mist lifted over hundreds of decorated elephants lining the wide steps, holding up bright garlands in their trunks and trumpeting loudly. From the ramparts, priests blew conches to mark the auspicious occasion and everywhere men, women and children danced joyously to the beat of drums, strewing flower petals in the path of the victorious army.

Saahas and Bhuma alighted from the palanquin at the sweeping staircase to jubilant shouts of ‘Salutations to Rabeera, protector of Purvichi, victory to Purvichi’, booming in the air.

Saahas hesitated, disliking the glare of attention. A powerfully built silhouette moved towards him. He started, his heart beginning to beat rapidly. The tall figure, the set of the shoulders, the hair with more white than black, reminded him of Meghabhuti. Saahas faltered. Grief tore at him, a torrent of lava erupting in his veins. Words tumbled out of him even before he became aware of them.

‘It has been a long and arduous journey to reach you,’ he blurted to the regal figure, ‘for I seek your help, Your Majesty. Will you give it to me?’

The face that smiled at him was benign and soft, yet when Dyaut folded his hands in greeting, the muscles rippled under the embroidered cloth of his sleeve. ‘Welcome to Purvichi, honoured guest,’ he said, garlanding Saahas, voice warm and unhurried. ‘Your every wish is my command.’

Saahas shot him a fierce look, ‘Give me your military and I shall leave right away.’

A startled murmur rippled through the dignitaries, but Dyaut remained unperturbed and turning to a plump, apple-cheeked man standing close behind him, said, ‘Well, Trasnuk, our saviour does not wish to grant us the opportunity to serve him.’

The Purvichi general bustled forward, bending from the waist in a deep bow, ‘O valorous one, Rabeera worked his magic through you, and—’

‘I hate to disappoint you,’ Saahas cut in brusquely, ‘it was I who came up with the war strategy and it was I who fought Zankroor. This sword is proof of that,’ he flourished the unsheathed khanda.

‘The moment His Majesty finished his worship, I read him the glad tidings,’ Trasnuk twinkled as if Saahas hadn’t spoken, ‘of a blue-skinned warrior killing Zankroor! Ah, I wish I had been there to watch the Ugr flee. My men tell me it was like mice scampering out of a burning haystack.’

‘Yes, you should have been there,’ came back the biting rejoinder.

Oblivious to the sarcasm, Trasnuk continued, ‘Her Majesty, Queen Anila, awaits you in the palace. She wishes to meet the hero of this battle, to offer her gratitude.’

Saahas wavered, the expression of gentle entreaty on Dyaut’s face tugging at his heart. Trasnuk chortled, ‘You see, you were destined to come here, and only Destiny will decide when you shall leave.’

Saahas’s mouth tightened. ‘Destiny,’ he grated, rage pulsating in his voice, ‘it is time to show her who is master. I need your forces, Your Majesty, so I can return home immediately to reclaim what is mine.’

Dyaut embraced him, his gaze skimming the tormented face, ‘So you wish to control Destiny.’

‘I wish to crush my enemies like I did yours,’ Saahas’s voice was harsh. ‘Destiny is one of them.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She thinks she has me in her power, bound in her Saade Saati, but she is wrong.’ He laughed feverishly. ‘Four years and some months of that accursed period still remain, and I will go back well before it ends. It is I who will set the terms for my revenge, not she.’

Dyaut released him, his fine features immobile, his figure as if carved from stone. He seemed to be so deep in thought that even the light breeze dropped, resisting the urge to ruffle hair and clothes.

Bhuma shuffled his feet, darting looks from one king to the other. Saahas waited, his face tense. Finally, with a soft grunt of approval, Dyaut broke the silence, speaking so quietly that Saahas held his breath to listen, ‘Destiny is not easy to tame. She must be owned first and then broken. And for that you need special weapons.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Celestial no less. Then you can win any war.’

‘Celestial! Like my Shakti,’ Saahas’s pulse quickened. ‘She spoke to me, guided me. She struck the blow, not I. If I had a few more like her, I would be invincible. Where do I find these weapons?’

‘My men will take you to Mahanadi, the river, and she will lead you directly to them.’

‘Follow a river? But what if I lose my way? What if I don’t find the weapons?’

Dyaut placed his hands on Saahas’s shoulders, looking deep into the brown eyes, past the bitterness, into the heart smouldering like a hot coal, ‘You are ready for this journey and that is why I am certain you will find the weapons. And when you return, my forces will be ready to march with you, to help you reclaim your kingdom.’