THE CURSE OF BRAHMA (44 page)

Upadha gave a satisfied smile. The work Jarasandha had entrusted him with would be done!

Vikrant was perched on top of a tree that overlooked the entrance to Kansa’s quarters within the royal palace of Magadha. From this vantage point, he could see not only the door leading up to Kansa’s accommodation; he also had a clear vision inside Kansa’s inner chambers. Jarasandha’s instructions had been clear. Vikrant was to wait for a man called Rabhu to appear. One of Jarasandha’s spies stood at a distance, camouflaged perfectly to all intents and purposes. It would have been impossible even for Vikrant to know where the spy was hiding if he hadn’t been told beforehand. The spy’s job was to identify Rabhu as and when the messenger made his entry. When that happened, the spy would give a prearranged signal to Vikrant.

Vikrant had been told that Rabhu would make an attempt to enter Kansa’s quarters to meet the prince. His job was to ensure this did not happen. This part did not bother Vikrant much. He was a master archer, one of the most proficient in his art in Magadha. It was the other part that disturbed him; the part where he would need to shoot one of his deadly arrows at Kansa.

It had been two horas since the master archer had climbed the tree. The branch where he sat was not big enough for a man of his size, and he was balanced precariously on his haunches. The impending darkness served to keep him hidden from prying eyes, but it also meant that the mosquitoes would come out in hordes any moment. The buzzing of the insects had already started and Vikrant felt the pinpricks all over his body as the mosquitoes fed freely on his motionless figure. He controlled the growing urge to swat away the insects. It was imperative that there were no signs of his presence on the tree. He tried to feel his limbs; he had lost nearly all sensation in his legs as the blood settled at concentrated spots in his lower body. The position was unbelievably uncomfortable and if it hadn’t been for his intense training, he might have yielded to the overpowering desire to adjust his body weight. Yet it was necessary that the growing cramps in his muscles didn’t interfere with the accuracy of his aim when he would be required to shoot at his target. Vikrant took a deep breath and with his eyes open, began to chant a mantra taught to him by his master. It served to calm his frayed nerves and miraculously made his muscles feel more relaxed. Gradually, the cramps appeared to leave his body and he felt reinvigorated. He moved his right hand lovingly over the mighty bow he held in the other hand. The action always made him feel more in control of any situation. He picked out an arrow from his quiver. The touch of the quiver felt different and uncomfortable; it was the first time he was using it to carry his arrows. He wondered why Jarasandha had insisted that he use this particular quiver instead of his own, but decided that the king must have had a valid motive for doing so.

The mantra had heightened his senses significantly and his entire being was attuned to his surroundings. He stiffened as he saw from the corner of his eye, the spy signalling to him. It meant Rabhu had entered the palace compound. He would be approaching Kansa’s quarters any moment now.
Why can’t I see him?
Vikrant thought in consternation, as he tried to scan every part of the compound from atop the tree. And then he saw the messenger. Rabhu had wrapped a dark blanket across his body, which made it difficult to sight him in the darkness of the night. But as he drew closer to the entrance to Kansa’s accommodation, the light from the night lamp made it easier to spot him.

Vikrant picked up an arrow and placing it meticulously against the bow, he strung his lethal weapon. He knew his aim had to be unerringly perfect in order to produce the desired result. His shoulders ached with the strain of pulling the bow and holding it in that position, but he wasn’t ready to let loose the deadly arrow yet. Kansa wasn’t in sight.

Rabhu eyed his surroundings cautiously as he gingerly approached the entrance to Kansa’s quarters. He knocked on the door, timidly at first and then with greater intensity as he realized the knocking might not be audible to Kansa inside.

‘Who is it?’ Vikrant could barely hear Kansa’s strained voice from where he was. The prince’s tone reflected the anguish he was going through.

‘A messenger, prince! I need to talk to you…it’s urgent.’ Spurred at the sound of Kansa’s voice, Rabhu had abandoned all caution by now, and his voice carried clearly in the openness of the compound.

‘Wait, I am opening the door,’ Kansa answered from inside; his voice perceptibly expressing his confusion at the words of the messenger.

Rabhu’s face lit up as he heard this. His excitement was palpable as he waited for the door to open. Rabhu was not a very tall man, and the door’s length was almost one-and-a-half times his height. Almost adjacent to the door was a window, which was open. Kansa apparently did not believe in keeping the windows barred; not that there was any reason to. It was virtually impossible for any intruder to reach the palace compound without being caught by the security at the gate. The only reason Rabhu had been able to get this far without being caught was because Jarasandha had ordered the security detail to be deliberately slackened in order to allow Rabhu easy entry; unknown to Rabhu, a squad of security guards were hidden close by, waiting for the right moment to pounce on him.

Vikrant focused his attention on the open window. He knew Kansa would have to cross the window before he reached the door, outside which Rabhu waited anxiously. The lamp inside the living quarters reflected myriad shadows of the prince as he approached the window. The archer tensed, pulling back the arrow as much as his strength allowed. And then as Kansa moved across the open window, he came in full view of Vikrant. His arrow was pointed in the direction of Kansa’s broad chest. He gently exhaled as he released the arrow, which flew with lightning speed towards its target.

The archer who had not once in his life missed a target, watched calmly as his arrow dug itself in Kansa’s shoulder instead of the prince’s chest. Even as he watched Kansa roar and fall back with the impact of the arrow, Vikrant jumped from the tree and ran towards Rabhu.

Rabhu heard Kansa’s cry of pain at the same time that he saw Vikrant leaping off the tree and running in his direction. For a brief moment, he thought Vikrant was going to attack him, but the archer simply dropped his bow and the quiver filled with arrows at Rabhu’s feet as he ran past him without breaking speed. In a few seconds, the archer had exited the palace gates.

Even as Rabhu struggled to make sense of the situation, he heard a bellow from near the palace gate. A squad of heavily armed security guards rushed at him, the razor-sharp edges of their spears pointed directly at him. And in that moment, Rabhu understood exactly what had happened. But it was too late. By the time Kansa would open the door and come out, everything would be over for him, and perhaps for the prince. Rabhu closed his eyes. He offered a prayer to his clan deity, Shiva, for absolution for his soul. A part of him sensed the soldiers approaching closer, but the other part of him was already in a different world. He did not feel any pain as the glinting spears sank into his body from all sides, and his corpse fell to the ground, the sharp weapons still stuck in him.

Unseen by anyone else, the captain of the guards bent down and placed the note that Upadha had given him in the inner pocket of the dead messenger’s waistcoat.

The door to Kansa’s quarters was almost taken off its hinges as an injured and enraged Kansa stormed out. A rivulet of blood poured out of his shoulder where the arrow had lodged itself, and the viscous liquid had soaked through the prince’s white angavastram, turning it scarlet. Kansa’s eyes fell on the guards standing outside his door, before his attention was drawn to the lifeless body of Rabhu lying at their feet. The messenger lay sprawled and his face reflected a peculiar calm, as if in death he had finally made peace with himself.

Kansa examined the quiver containing the arrows. He was familiar with the different varieties of quivers used by archers in different nations. He himself preferred a bow quiver, where the quiver could be attached directly to the bow’s limbs, the arrows being held steady by a clip. It made it easy to carry around without the encumbrance of carrying the bow and the quiver separately. But this quiver was different. It was what was commonly referred by warriors as an arrow bag, and was a simple drawstring cloth sack with a leather spacer at the top to keep the arrows divided. When not in use, the drawstring could be closed, completely covering the arrows so as to protect them from rain and dirt. Some had straps or rope sewn to them for carrying, but many were either tucked into the belt or simply set on the ground before battle to allow easier access.

Kansa’s eyes narrowed—this type of quiver was most commonly used in the kingdom of Bateshwar.

He took out an arrow from the quiver. It was a powerfully structured projectile, with an incredibly sharp tip. It was impossible to ascertain the provenance of the arrow, though; it could have been from any of the several nations in Mrityulok. He tried comparing it to the arrow stuck in his shoulder, but was unable to see the latter properly since it was beyond his line of vision. Losing patience, he used his other hand to grip the arrow at the centre, and with one immense heave, he pulled it out of his shoulder. Splintered pieces of bone and cartilage were carried along with the blood that erupted out of the cavity. Oblivious to the excruciating pain, Kansa compared the arrows. They were the same. His mind raced with feverish intensity as he tried to reconstruct what had happened.
The man called out to me and said he wanted to discuss something urgent. It was probably a ploy to get me to come to the door. He must have known I would need to cross the open window to reach the door. And when I did…that’s when he shot that arrow at me. My scream must have alerted the guards to the presence of an intruder, and they attacked the assassin
.

Kansa was about to question the captain of guards when the enormous figure of Jarasandha came charging through the gate.

‘Where is the assassin? Take me to the bastard who dared to attack my brother!’ he raged. The captain pointed at the motionless figure of Rabhu prostrate on the ground. Jarasandha kicked the corpse viciously on the head, and there was a snap as the cervical vertebrae cracked. If Rabhu hadn’t been dead already, the savage kick would have finished him anyhow.

Jarasandha, still fuming, glowered at the guards. ‘Out of my sight, all of you!’

The captain of the guards nodded at his men to leave, while he stayed back. He knew Jarasandha hadn’t played his final card yet and his presence was required till that was done. Jarasandha bent down, pretending to look closely at the dead man. He gasped and even the captain of the guards was impressed by the charade put up by the king.

‘This…this man. I know him,’ Jarasandha appeared to splutter in perplexed fury.

Kansa stared at his brother-in-law. ‘Who is he? How do you know him?’

‘This man’s name is Rabhu. He is the messenger from Madhuvan who brought the letter from Ugrasena today,’ Jarasandha paused for Kansa to absorb the full significance of his words before he spoke further. ‘I had told him to wait in the aaram kaksh just in case you desired to send a reply for your father. Later, when I realized you didn’t want to respond, I sent an attendant to fetch the messenger. I was told this vile man had not even been to the aaram kaksh. I remember thinking that was very strange behaviour for a royal messenger.’

The captain of the guards spoke up, ‘He must have slunk away, My Lord; with the intent of assassinating the prince. It’s possible he was hiding here in the compound right after he left King Ugrasena’s letter with you. Since the prince has been out for the past few horas, the assassin must have bided his time till it was dark and he considered it safe to venture out of his hiding place.

Kansa was visibly shaken, and it was not because of the pain. He wondered why his father’s messenger had tried to kill him.
Father has already disinherited me. Why would he send an assassin? And why is this man carrying a quiver that is from Bateshwar?
he deliberated with mounting frustration.