Free The Guardians of the Halahala by Shatrujeet Nath Page B

reached the tents. Stepping into the ring of light cast by the fires, the rider shrugged off the cloak to reveal the face of a young girl, a little over twenty. Petite in build, she had sharp elfin features, with large black eyes that flashed in the firelight. Black hair curled profusely around her fair face, which, at the moment, was smiling impishly at the familiar faces seated around the fire.
    â€œShankubala, how are they treating you at the royal palace?” fussed a dark woman of around fifty, drawing the rider close to the fire and thrusting a wooden bowl of spicy broth into her hands. “Come, you must be hungry and tired. Drink that!”
    â€œIt’s been a long time since you visited us, Shanku. Look how tall your nephew has grown,” said a man, pointing to a boy of ten who smiled shyly and slipped into one of the tents.
    It was a while before the niceties of familial reunion were complete and Shanku was allowed a private audience with her grandmother. Sitting opposite the old crone in a tiny tent lit by a small lamp, watching the wrinkled face and rheumy eyes, the girl wondered how to bring up the matter that had brought her to the tent. But she was spared from making the decision.
    â€œMy child, you are a pleasing sight,” the old lady cawed through her toothless mouth. “You are blessed with your mother’s beauty, but those big eyes are your father’s... curse his deceitful heart! I’ll never know what your mother fancied in him – he’s brought nothing but disgrace to the Wandering Tribe. But you’re not here to discuss the family, are you? Tell me what you want.”
    Shanku spoke for a few minutes, outlining what the king of Avanti wished from her grandmother. The old woman nodded quietly as she listened, and when the girl was done, she sat back and gazed at the tent’s roof for a while.
    â€œThe winds from the west won’t blow this way for at least a week, if not more,” the hag said at last. “But let me listen to what the migratory birds have to say. They may have something that your king might find of value.”
    â€œWhat about the clouds?” Shanku inquired.
    â€œYes, I shall try to read the clouds as well, but it depends on whether they come from the direction of the Great Desert.”
    Shanku nodded. “I shall return tomorrow night, grandmother. I hope you would have learned something of use.”
    â€œAnd if I have not?” the old woman eyed the younger one closely.
    â€œThen I shall return again on the day after.”
    Shanku took her leave and was about to exit the tent when her grandmother called to her.
    â€œDo you see your father, child?”
    Shanku turned around and considered her grandmother silently. “I haven’t in a long time,” she murmured at last.
    â€œAnd are they kind to you at the palace of Ujjayini... even after what he did? Otherwise, you could always come back to us. You’re always welcome here.”
    The girl nodded again. “I know that. But no, everyone there is very kind to me... especially the king.”
    â€œIn that case, come back and sit down, child,” the hag said solemnly, patting the ground by her side. “I have had a vision that your king should know about.”
    ***
    Vikramaditya sat at a low table made of teak and ivory, bending over a palm leaf manuscript, his back to the door of his bedchamber.
    The light from two lamps placed on the table fell on the palm leaves, revealing lines of lyrical verse written in Sanskrit. The king read each line carefully, pausing now and then to smile in appreciation, or to make small annotations in the margin. The palace was still, and the only sounds were the rustling of the dry palm leaves and the occasional scratching of the king’s quill. Outside the palace, somewhere on the gulmohars overhanging the lake, a jungle nightjar chuckled intermittently.
    The samrat was so completely engrossed in the