40

Standing atop a tall hill with the sun in her face, a thin woman squinted into the distance, her tangled, grey hair billowing around her like an undulating cloud.

‘Who is that?’ a soldier on the battlement narrowed his eyes, pointing her out to his partner, ‘and how the devil did she get up there?’

‘What is that on her head? Is it a crown?’ They stared at her, incredulous. The woman screamed unintelligible words and they burst into raucous laughter, mimicking her. ‘There’s a crazy woman up there,’ they shouted to their lolling mates below, ‘bring some stones with you.’

‘Some fun at last to pass a dull day,’ remarked one soldier, taking aim. The stone whistled past the woman and she shrank, putting out an arm in defence, holding on to the untidy headband of twigs with one hand. She screamed again and this time her words clearly floated to the soldiers on the battlement, words that made them freeze, ‘He is coming. Saahas is coming. He will have his revenge if you don’t kill him. Will you kill him?’ She stared at them, her wide-set, sunken eyes curious.

The soldiers looked unkempt, bedraggled and their alarmed faces seemed to amuse her. Pointing at them, she started to giggle, her bony frame shaking uncontrollably.

‘The lunatic is trying to scare us. How dare she?’ Outraged, they pelted her with stones.

‘Stop,’ she moaned faintly, streaks of blood staining her rags. ‘I am your queen, Hussuri.’

‘Want to lay a bet I hit her in the face?’ A guard flipped a heavy, jagged rock in one hand glancing at his mates meaningfully.

‘Go on. It’s my turn next.’

The rock flew and found its mark, glancing off her forehead with a dull, crunching thud. Hussuri tumbled off the hill, rivulets of blood running down her chin.

Sprawling heavily on the rough ground, she blubbered, her hands scrabbling to find her crown. It lay out of reach and she wept, her weary tears mixing with the blood, blinding her. ‘You are mine,’ she sobbed, ‘no one can take you from me. Come back to me, please.’ Howling in pain, she slowly dragged herself upright and staggered, tripping over a boulder, her hands fumbling and closing on the crown of twigs. Content at last, she curled up on her side, humming her poems to herself. A yellow sulphurous mist like a soft, linen sheet, wafted down from the sky and settled over her.

When Ashwath and Prem found her, her eyes were wide open and still, the strange fog gathering in their emptiness.

Ashwath gently pried her fingers off the crown. ‘It is all right, my darling. You don’t need it anymore.’ His voice broke and he buried his face in his arm, his shoulders racked with silent sobs.

Kneeling down beside her, Prem tore off his turban, wiping the thick layer of crusted blood from her cold cheek. ‘Perhaps you are with my father,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps you could tell him he needn’t worry about me anymore.’

‘What is this? Where is this peculiar vapour blowing in from?’ The soldiers at the gate looked around in bewilderment.

‘I can barely see the road below.’

‘Have you noticed something?’ One of them sniffed the air curiously. ‘It has a smell, a familiar smell.’

‘I know what it is,’ exclaimed his mate, licking his dry lips, ‘it is the scent of rain.’

Allowing his horse to amble, Saahas watched the yellow haze creep ahead of him, an apparition with three long veils swirling and concealing the regiments moving swiftly towards Aham’s various gates. He had blown into Amsha’s flute a few days ago, the pure note so soft that he had strained to hear it. And when he had stopped playing, the pipe had instantly flown out of his hands, heading straight back to its rightful owner. He turned around. The serpentine row of infantry soldiers disappeared into the mist, the bare hills on either side squeezing it close.

‘Dharaa,’ he called out and a shadow detached itself from a group in the front, stepping forward, close to him. He looked into her face, searching it. The determined chin tilted up to meet his gaze, but the over-bright eyes and the tightly compressed mouth told their own tale. ‘Little sister,’ he began, the words gentle but the tone firm, ‘Riju will do well under Tota’s direction. He volunteered to fight from the east gate.’

She nodded jerkily, dashing a hand across her eyes. ‘It is just, well, we have never been apart except for the one time when I was abducted.’

‘Don’t you see, Dharaa, Riju wishes to fight this battle, in his own way, for you? He wants to purge the ghost of the past, put it to rest. He has held on to the guilt too long.’

‘Guilt?’

‘The guilt of not doing enough to save you, help you.’

‘Oh, bhaiyya,’ her voice cracked, ‘my baby is gone and now, my husband too is separated from me. My family, my support has come apart, leaving me alone . . . scared.’ Covering her face with her hands, she wept. ‘I’m shaking. My knees are buckling under me. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, so very sorry.’

He let her cry and when he started to speak, his voice rang with a new energy, uplifting and strong, ‘Don’t feel ashamed of the confusions, the fears, the heartbreaks and losses, Dharaa. They are not to be shunned. Embrace them instead, for they are signs of a soul struggling to come into its own, to unfold into its true, glorious self.’

She lifted her head, her tear-streaked face perfectly still, her hands clasped as if in prayer.

‘Work we must, Dharaa, for we cannot escape it. But what kind of work? That which sets you, your soul free. Free to soar high above every fear, every restraint. And how is that made possible? Through unselfish work. When work has a higher goal, then all fears cease.’ He gave her a crooked smile, ‘And in an odd way that I can’t quite explain, you become the heir to strength, infinite strength. You come to the understanding that you are free. Then love expands to its truest form for it shines in freedom alone, making every duty sublimely sweet. You have many duties—mother, wife and soldier. Which one of these do you wish to fulfil now?’

‘Soldier,’ she answered without hesitation, her spine straightening. ‘It is the duty on which depends the well-being of all, not just my family. But if I don’t fulfil it, I will fail my child, fail Riju and myself.’

Saahas cocked his head considering her thoughtfully, ‘There are no failures, Dharaa, only lessons for the ever-hungry soul. So, think again. You shall not be blamed if you choose another duty, for the journey is yours alone.’

She drew a few steadying breaths, before replying, ‘I see it clearly now, sire, that everything that I have gone through in life was preparing me for this moment.’ She looked back at him, her gaze unflinching and resolute, ‘The purpose of my life shines before me. Tell me, sire, what is your command?’

‘I must leave with Bhuma and go into the iron hills before the fog lifts. Listen for my signal. I will blow the battle conch three times. That is when you storm the north gate.’

‘Sire, we have retained the smallest contingent here. Are you certain we will be able to push inside Aham?’

A tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. ‘These hills are my father’s creation and he once told me, “As with all perfect things, there is a key, the key to the destruction of the entire structure.”’ His smile broadened into a grin. ‘You see, Dharaa, General Meghabhuti thought of everything. Perhaps he sensed a day would come when his son might need to mount an attack on Aham.’

Shunen checked on the threshold. Manmaani lay sprawled on the pearl throne, her skirts untidy about her, the crown of seven emeralds carelessly tossed aside. Empty bottles of madira rolled at her feet, clinking against each other. Of late, she had been spending more and more time in Nandan’s chambers, riffling through his things, dousing herself with his perfumes and drinking up his store of wines. Shunen’s mouth tightened.

‘This is quite unbecoming of you, mother. You are the queen, not a harlot.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ she snarled. ‘Have you come here to give me lessons in etiquette?’

‘No, mother. I bring you news of your renegade first born, Ashwath.’

Manmaani sat up, the pupils of her eyes dilating to cover the iris. ‘Where is he?’

‘Outside our borders. He has rustled up an army.’

‘You mean . . . are you telling me, that Ashwath is going to attack us?’ Her voice rose several notches, ending in a high-pitched shriek. ‘How can you be sure it is him?’

‘Well, who else could it be? Think, mother. It rankled him that you never favoured him to be king, so he made a dead man his idol and nursed rebellious thoughts,’ Shunen shot her a look from under his eyelids. ‘He has now returned with a ragtag bunch of soldiers to wrest the kingdom from you. It is him all right.’

‘Why didn’t the guards see his soldiers coming? What were they doing? Sleeping?’

Shunen raised an eyebrow. ‘If you hadn’t been so busy playing the goddess, you would have paid attention to their drills.’

‘Help me up,’ she grated, shooting him a scathing glance and trying to hoist herself up from the throne. ‘Get me to court. Call for an urgent meeting.’

‘No need for that. I have everything under control.’

Manmaani sank back, glaring at him. ‘How dare you? How dare you not discuss this with me first?’

‘You are getting into a lather for nothing,’ he snapped. ‘I have told the officers to send more troops to the east and south gates because Ashwath has large contingents positioned there.’

‘What about the north?’

He snorted, ‘His soldiers can’t do anything there. It’s a narrow road hemmed in by hills. Even so, reinforcements have been sent.’

Manmaani chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. ‘This war can turn into a good diversion.’ She looked at him, a sudden gleam in her puffy eyes. ‘I want him captured, Shunen. I want Ashwath paraded in the streets of Andheri. The prince commander who went rogue. It will fire the people’s imagination and make them forget their silly miseries. I’m tired of their constant whining about the drought.’ She clapped her hands. ‘It will be just like a circus! Ashwath, the chained bear, tormented and teased. Yes, it will be a perfect end to his foolish dream.’

Weaving through the uneven terrain, Saahas headed for the low iron hills supporting the walled battlements and the gate. ‘The fog will lift soon, Bhuma, and that is the sign for all our contingents to attack simultaneously. But before that, you and I have to do something quickly. Find a certain key.’

‘A key, sire?’ Bhuma’s voice squeaked shrilly.

Squinting through the haze, Saahas pointed to the dark shape of an overhang above them. ‘It is there. I remember my father showing it to me.’

The path became slippery, loose rubble scattering underfoot, but Saahas ran sure-footed like a mountain goat, swirls of cool yellow mist shifting before him. The lamps on the gate flickered just as they reached the overhang, the light murky and dim, failing to catch the two silhouettes. Saahas lay down flat on the rock and after a moment’s hesitation, Bhuma joined him.

‘You see this crevice?’ Saahas nodded to the narrow gap between the overhang and the battlement. ‘Concealed in it is the interlock connecting the wall to this rock and just above the interlock is a tiny magnet suspended in mid-air, held in place by the magnetic fields of the iron in the hill and a magnet in that stone wall. This is the key. Once it spins out of position or is removed, the interlock loosens, breaking away—’

‘—bringing the battlement and the gate down with a crash,’ Bhuma completed, his voice full of awe.

Saahas nodded. ‘Yes, and that is when we rush in, taking the Aham soldiers by surprise. But it all depends on you Bhuma, on your light fingers. You need to pick the key very carefully so that the magnet in the wall is not jolted.’

Bhuma gulped audibly. ‘Holy Skanda, sire! What happens if it is jolted?’

‘Its vibrations will set the bell tolling in the tower, warning the soldiers at the gate. Don’t think about it. Stay focused and I’ll take care of the rest.’

Muttering fervent prayers to Skanda, Bhuma’s slim hand slipped into the crevice, his fingers cold and clammy. He withdrew it almost immediately, cursing under his breath, wiping it vigorously on his shirt. ‘I have never been this nervous before, sire.’

‘Imagine yourself a few years ago,’ Saahas told him, his voice unhurried, ‘on a job. This is exactly that. Only, this time you are stealing from Aham.’

Bhuma exhaled his breath in a rush and closed his eyes, a closed door appearing underneath his lids. He pushed it open and slipped inside quietly, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. A large hound lay fast asleep in the middle of the floor, its snores pushing its lips back to reveal sharp canines. On a chain around its neck, dangled a gold key. Bhuma leaned over and grasped the key between thumb and forefinger, lifting it off the hound without stirring the fleas in its fur.

‘I’ve got it, sire.’ He held up the magnet between his shaking fingers. Saahas put his ear to the rock, listening carefully. A soft groan reverberated up to him. ‘The interlock is loosening,’ he cried, jumping to his feet, ‘and the bell has not rung! Well done, Bhuma! Now let’s get off this hill as fast as possible.’

They ran, slipping and tumbling, the fog around them beginning to thin.

‘Bhuma,’ Saahas gestured towards the road, ‘your work is done. Make sure to travel with the provisions caravan.’

‘But, sire—’

‘Just do as I say, please. You are not a soldier.’ Clasping the servant’s hand, he grinned, his crinkling eyes warming the former’s soul, ‘We’ll meet again soon, in a city called Andheri.’