The Guardians of the Halahala by Shatrujeet Nath Page A

mumbled.
    â€œMaybe you should have, and then allowed
him
to decide if it was something worth troubling the king with. But no, you wanted to impress the king by delivering the big news to him yourself.” Shaking her head, Kshapanaka pushed herself off the parapet and turned to depart. “Craving attention is a childish instinct, and not a sign of maturity.”
    Watching Kshapanaka leave his side, a sudden sense of shame and loss overcame the prince, and his face crumbled. Swallowing hard, he addressed her entreatingly, urgently. “Don’t you want to know the news that I am in possession of?”
    The woman broke her stride, turned, and considered Ghatakarpara evenly. “It’s for you to decide whom you want to share it with.”
    â€œA rider came to me this morning from the garrison of Udaypuri.” The prince took a couple of steps toward Kshapanaka. “The garrison commander has sent a report of one of our border outposts being attacked by a band of Hunas.”
    Kshapanaka stood rooted to the spot, staring hard at Ghatakarpara with narrowed eyes.
    â€œIt seems all the Frontier Guards at the outpost were killed, but a captain was allowed to go...”
    Kshapanaka raised a hand to stop the prince, and then beckoned him quickly. “We mustn’t lose any time in delivering this news to Vararuchi or the raj-guru. Come...”
    ***
    Acharya Vetala Bhatta and Kshapanaka huddled in a remote corner of the terrace, listening intently to Ghatakarpara’s account without interruption. When the prince had finished, the royal advisor, before speaking, once again cast his eyes around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard.
    â€œThis rider who brought the news... where is he?”
    â€œI’ve asked him to wait to hear from me... and speak nothing of this to anyone,” answered Ghatakarpara.
    â€œYes, we might need him to take a message back to Udaypuri,” the Acharya nodded. “But first, we must consult with the king.”
    â€œHow do we do that now?” asked Kshapanaka, glancing toward the banquet hall, which was echoing with talk and laughter.
    â€œNot now. We can’t,” the raj-guru frowned. “It’ll have to be later tonight – or maybe tomorrow. Until then we keep this to ourselves, though I will share this with Vararuchi. There’s no point in...”
    Before Vetala Bhatta could complete articulating his thoughts, he was interrupted by a loud voice that came from the direction of the banquet hall.
    â€œAcharya, my friend... how are you!”
    Startled, the raj-guru turned around to see who had hailed him. He was relieved to find two elderly men, well out of earshot, walking toward them, smiling broadly.
    â€œCome, King Chandravardhan, King Harihara... come, come,” the Acharya’s face lit up with familiarity and he took a few steps toward the approaching men; however, he looked briefly back at Kshapanaka and Ghatakarpara once. “Remember, not a mention of anything to anyone,” he warned under his breath.
    Kshapanaka and Ghatakarpara watched respectfully as the raj-guru exchanged greetings with Harihara and Chandravardhan. A bulky man of medium height, decidedly much the worse for wear, Chandravardhan had a flabby, mustachioed face that had the flush of a habitual drinker. There was also evidence of this in the pronounced slur in his speech, yet his voice was strong and authoritative, a vestige of the power he had commanded in his distant youth.
    â€œWhat are you people conspiring about here?” he demanded of the Acharya in jest.
    â€œMundane matters of the palace, your honor,” the raj- guru smiled amiably.
    â€œBah, today you must let all that be and celebrate.” Chandravardhan drank deeply from the huge goblet of
soma
that he held in his right hand. “Today you must celebrate my friend and brother Vikramaditya!”
    â€œAssuredly,” the Acharya humored Chandravardhan as he