Warriors Of Dandaka Kaand 2 Chapter 1 "War Drums"
Pushpak Karnick
5 August 2007, 04:46Rama … The wind beat mercilessly against his skin, already raw from numerous bruises and cuts. He staggered to the steps of the gate, clutching a rain-drenched jute cloak around his body and over his head. Every few steps or so, he looked over his shoulder, as if expecting his pursuers to materialize behind him any moment. He had been traveling ceaselessly for five days now. The journey had always been impossible, and he wondered where he had found the strength to reach this far. Rama, he thought, Rama gave me my strength. His steed had already given up two days ago. Tired and hungry, the fine stallion lay down to breathe his last breath in the upper pass of the Hindu Kush. It had been a heart wrenching moment for him, putting his faithful companion to the cold steel, rather than submit it to the agony of slow, cold death. But he had done it …
The unpleasant task with his sword done, he had continued eastwards towards the safety of home. Hopping from caravan to caravan, he had inched towards his goal — Aryavarta.
“Kaun Hain Re?” Who goes there? The guard at the gate shouted in his direction.
Though it was pitch dark, he barely heard the swish of a dozen bows rise up in unison. As of this moment, resting on a dozen taut, quivering bowstrings, were arrows dipped with the most lethal poison of all – the venom of the black cobra.
He knew. After all, he had trained them – a lifetime ago.
His hands tightened around the handles of the daggers hidden in his cloak. These were bad times, bad times indeed. His last encounter with a human had almost cost him his life, and he decided to err on the side of caution.
The wound on his left shoulder awoke with an excruciating pain, and it took all of his resolve not to let it affect his stride. By now, he guessed, the spasas of the enemy must have reached this place bearing his description. Ironic, he though, that his present state should prove to be his doom, a master of disguise betrayed by his description.
He walked a few paces till he was under the lanterns that swung noisily over the gate.
“Kaun Hain Re?” the voice asked again.
“Shivnath. Returning from the Great Fair over the Hindu Kush.” He spoke slowly yet firmly. One of his hands shifted from the hilt of the dagger to a small, concealed roll of documents that served as his identity at any given time. Shivnath, he thought, that was close. He could have said six other names, and would have been able to produce the parichay-patra, the scroll of identification with the prints of his fingers, for all of them from the concealed bundle. His own name, he had almost forgotten by now.
A small crack opened in the door, and a pair of unseen eyes took a long hard look at him. After what seemed like an eternity, a hand extended from the crack and asked for his parichay-patra. Shivnath made quite a show of looking for it in his cloak, and then produced it just in the nick of time. The official on the other side was getting visibly restless. The hand vanished instantly after procuring the scroll.
Shivnath knew what was happening on the other side, or so he hoped, if the enemy had not penetrated the gates of Kosala itself. The dvaarpaal, gatekeeper, was verifying the information in the scroll with the list of fugitives and spies collected meticulously by the spasas of Kosala. Even if the tiniest bit of information bordered on the dubious, a swift and efficient machine would be thrown into motion. He would be directly led to the interrogation quarters where he would be interrogated until he broke down, or his information was validated. He had led quite a few of such sessions himself. No doubt that if someone from the mukhyalaya, the main branch in Ayodhya, was present, they would readily identify his face. But boon, or bane, he could not decide right now. Some wounds were not physical, and his wounds were still fresh and raw. Betrayal he was used to, it was a professional hazard. What had surprised him was his proximity with the traitor.
Had he known earlier …
His musings were interrupted by the clank of chains as the door was opened.
“Andar Aao!” Come Inside!
A wave of relief washed over him as he walked inside. The official handed him the scroll and allowed him to enter Kosala. Another also offered him the directions to the nearest dharmashala, public lodging for travelers.
Shivnath thanked them profusely, and walked away into the darkness. He scanned discretely for a tail, and did not find one. After he was sure that they had returned back to their watch, he sidestepped into a narrow lane that led him in the very opposite direction that the guard had suggested.
He walked slowly, dragging himself every foot by sheer will. He knew the by lanes like the back of his hand. If he reached his destination before daybreak, then he still had hope. At one point, he stopped and coughed out what he thought was blood — it was too dark to see anything. With a renewed sense of urgency, he picked up his steps, negotiating the twisted lanes in the dark.
A ghatika or so passed before he stood before his destination — a brick house that reeked of late night revelry. It was the courtly brothel, where highly skilled nayikas entertained the rich and the influential.
He spoke the pass-phrase to a hefty gatekeeper, and the man jumped back a few feet in alarm. Vaishnava !! You?? he cried out in surprise. Vaishnava was yet another of a long string of aliases that Shivnath kept at hand.
“There is… no time… no talk here. I need … medicine,” Shivnath stammered and lurched forward. The guard caught him and easily lifted him over his shoulders. He took the wounded spy inside through a side door and led him to a private chamber that the mistress of the house had particularly reserved for Kosalan spies.
The guard placed him on a couch and went off to fetch his mistress. Shivnath cried out in pain as he felt his left shoulder brush against the wooden frame.
As he waited alone, he replayed back the events of the last few days. He had ventured west on the information that there was a large force amassing on the borders of Kosala, and that the farmers were being enticed into picking up arms against the local officials. He did not think much of the news, and had gone with just one other — his second-in-command. That had proven to be his undoing. For the very person whom he trusted had betrayed him to the enemy (or was it enemies?). He had barely escaped with his life and had been extremely fortunate to reach this place.
His eyes had started to droop when there was a rustle of curtains to his right. Shivnath’s hands went automatically for his daggers, but he relaxed when he saw that it was Krutika, the mistress herself, bearing a tray of food and drink.
“Namaskar Arya!!” Greetings Noble Visitor, she greeted him formally.
“Krutikey, now is not the time for formal frivolities. A great danger rides behind me from the West. They have … they have turned our own against us … We must make haste …”
Krutika cut short his outburst by placing the palm of her right hand on his lips.
“Shhh, Arya … Do not speak of such things loudly. I know what you mean.” She gave him a nod of assurance and placed a goblet in his hands.
“Drink this,” her tone was more a command than request. Shivnath readily obliged. First things first. His body needed nourishment, and there would be enough time later for talks and strategies. He observed Krutika eyeing him with amusement. “You will need strength for what will come later, Arya Milind!”
Shivnath had drunk half of the bittersweet liquid when he noticed that Krutika had, for the first time, used his birth name — a secret that only a few officials in Ayodhya knew. And, he realized with a start, a secret that his enemies knew now too. How did Krutika?
Milind never finished his thoughts. The poison worked swiftly and he dropped onto the floor before Krutika. His hands groped frantically to clutch her throat, and his vision blurred slowly until everything faded into a cold darkness. He never saw the tall man who had entered the room and now stood towering above his corpse, dressed in green-and-gold, wearing a ring with a snake-and-crescent emblem embossed on its head.
