Free The Guardians of the Halahala by Shatrujeet Nath

kingdom of Magadha promises to allocate troops for the defense of Sindhuvarta.”
    As Shoorasena and Kapila stared stonily at the table, Vikramaditya inclined his head. “We are grateful for that, good king,” he said, deciding against pressing the matter. “We would never doubt your word.” Looking up at the gathering, he added, “Well, that takes care of things for the time being. Let us return to the banquet.”
    â€œAbout time,” Chandravardhan grumbled to Harihara, as everyone began filing out of the chamber. “But I dare say, the last half hour has wholly ruined my appetite,” he added without cheer.
    ***
    Night had fallen over Ujjayini, and the palace was quiet after the day’s hustle-bustle. The royal guests had retired to their rooms after a light dinner, though no one partook in much food or conversation – the combined effect of the afternoon’s rich banquet and the sobering meeting in the council chamber.
    In the eastern wing of the palace, two figures walked down a wide passageway, conversing in undertones. The taller of the two was Vikramaditya, while the other was Dhanavantri, his bloated shadow bobbing behind him in the light of the flickering lamps.
    On reaching a carved wooden door at the end of the passage, the king raised his hand and knocked lightly on the wood. A moment later, a young girl opened the door, bowed reverentially, and made room for Vikramaditya to pass. Dhanavantri followed, struggling a bit to squeeze his expansive middle through the gap.
    The room was a bedchamber, in the center of which stood a large, four-poster sandalwood bed. The lace curtains veiling the bed were drawn aside, and a woman lay propped up on the satin bedcovers. Two maids stood on either side of the bed wielding large fans, with which they stirred the still air over the woman’s head. An elderly matron sat by the side of the bed, and as Vikramaditya and Dhanavantri approached, she stood up and moved respectfully some distance away.
    Walking up to the bed, the king looked down at the woman. She was of about thirty, her face thin and pale white. The face had once been attractive, but now it wore signs of waste, with heavy dark circles under the eyes that stared ahead blankly, showing no acknowledgment of the activity around her.
    Vikramaditya sat down beside the woman, gently picked up her frail hand and stroked it lovingly, but the woman remained unresponsive in her vegetative state. Turning to the matron, he asked, “Has she been fed?”
    â€œYes, your honor. Princess Kshapanaka personally came to feed her this evening.”
    â€œDid she eat well?”
    The matron, who was clearly a nursemaid, hesitated. “Yes... a little, your honor. She... she eats less and less...”
    Dhanavantri came around to the other side of the bed. “Is she being administered her medicines as I instructed?” he asked. There was none of the usual flippant joviality in his voice.
    â€œWithout fail, sir,” replied the nurse.
    The physician bent down and felt the woman’s pulse. Next he checked her pupils, before drawing back to stand patiently, while the king sat looking at the wan, expressionless face.
    At last, the samrat slowly placed the woman’s hand back on her lap. He then caressed her forehead for a while, before sighing deeply and rising. He nodded to the matron who bowed in return, cast one more lingering glance at the woman on the bed, and walked out of the room.
    The king and Dhanavantri retraced their steps down the passage in silence. On arriving at the end of the passage, where it forked, Vikramaditya stopped to consider his companion with sad eyes.
    â€œDo you think her condition is worsening?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s hard to say, samrat.”
    The king was quiet for a moment. “But we can be reasonably sure she isn’t ever going to get better, right?”
    Dhanavantri looked away, not having the heart to answer the