Chapter 17 The Altercation
Veer slid the heavy gunnysack of grain from his back onto the waiting cart and straightened, cracking his spine. He pulled the sticky, homespun cotton shirt away from his sweaty torso and blew a breath down the V-shaped opening at the neck. The relief was only short-lived.
It was a hot day, and he had been working all morning under the blistering sun.
He undid the turban around his head and wiped the sweat off his nape.
His skin had darkened already to a roasted nut brown.
He considered stripping the shirt off completely but didn’t want to explain how he got the linear pattern of sucker-shaped scars to random passersby.
“I thought this was the rainy season. When are we going to get a respite?” he muttered.
Billadev made a sympathetic sound from his position in front of the cart. He was chewing on a sugarcane stick, resting against the grain bags in the cart, the swaying shadow of a coconut tree gave him a break from the unrelenting heat of the sun. He appeared not to have a care in the world.
“Do you think you can get off your large ass and give me a hand here?” Veer called irritably, brushing at the bits of hemp from the jute bags that had stuck to his arms.
Billadev spat out the chewed-up fibrous pulp of the sugarcane. “Why would I do that? You need exercise. Shota’s orders and all that,” said Billadev. “And my ass is just fine, thank you very much.”
Veer narrowed his eyes. Billadev was enjoying his rest a little too much.
Veer had volunteered to lift the grain bags in the back of the cart, knowing he needed to build his strength back up after the encounter with the tentacled monster in the caves of Amaravathi.
The fight had taken a little too much out of him.
The myriad sounds of a bustling temple city were muted here, in the backyard of the temple kitchens.
A narrow, shallow stream gurgled in the distance.
Palm trees lined the grassy bank, their crown of leaves waving in the wind as the dark earthenware pots fastened at their tops gently clattered.
The sap collected into the pots would then be fermented to toddy, a mildly intoxicating drink.
“While I don’t mind a spot of mindless activity, Veer, what exactly are we doing? Working as common laborers isn’t going to bring us close to the idol,” said Billadev under his breath, climbing down from the cart and looking around cautiously.
Billadev’s question was quite valid. Veer shaded his eyes with a hand and observed the towering temple spire that was visible for miles.
The temple was built many years ago by King Amarendra. The town that grew around it carried the same name.
Previous scout missions had revealed little. Apparently, there had been some rise in bandit attacks recently that had the town’s people on an edge. No one could be bribed to reveal any kind of details, especially to strangers.
He might have appreciated their principles more if it didn’t make his task harder.
A couple of days had passed since they arrived, disguised as a family from Amaravathi. It was nothing but luck that they could reach the Temple City of Brihadeeshwar at all.
Saved by his wife, of all people. All these days, he had taken his powers for granted. It was a rude shock to discover there were creatures that were immune. And that he may not be the only one who was wielding magic.
For all her avowals of hating magical prowess, the princess had managed to keep her own abilities under wraps. It made his eye twitch, wondering what else she was keeping a secret from him.
The night following the monster battle, when they had found shelter at an inn, he had heard her cry out in her sleep. He almost broke down her door, but Girish, standing guard outside her locked room, informed him that this was normal.
As if having painful dreams was a routine occurrence. He was also informed that it was typically worse when the moral reason behind the use of magic was not clear-cut. Her goddess appeared to be a hard taskmaster.
Veer had kept vigil outside her door that night, ignoring Girish’s protests about his own injuries, wincing every time he heard her stifled scream, guilt twisting his stomach into knots.
If he thought she might welcome comfort from someone she considered an enemy, he would have given it, his personal feelings notwithstanding, but then he had grimaced, remembering how very limited his experience was in such matters.
The handful of physical relationships he had with women over the years were always consensual and always with the understanding that it was to be of short span. He didn’t form attachments. It was his own problem that he didn’t trust women after his own wife had tried to murder him.
A group of girls in colorful half sarees approached Veer and Billadev. The temple bell rang its single tone note. Billadev straightened, dusting his hands and adjusting his clothes. Veer was irked to see a cheerful, welcoming grin on his face.
Veer didn’t want to draw any sort of attention to themselves.
But they stuck out in company, no matter how much they disguised themselves.
There was no hiding their height or battle-hardened physiques.
Added to that, their passable features made them more conspicuous.
And that was saying something in a place that attracted all manner of devotees from different regions every year.
The bull tied to the front of the cart mooed suddenly and dropped a substantial pile of dung right on Billadev’s feet. Billadev cursed, hopping on one foot, falling against the bull. To add insult to injury, it had started to thwack him with its tail.
The girls stopped a few feet away and cringed at the mess.
“Er…strangers, the temple bell has rung for the noon. There is a communal lunch being served. Please partake in it and get the blessings of the Lord.” Having delivered the message, they hastily went their way, glancing at them over their shoulders and whispering behind their hands.
Billadev watched them morosely until they disappeared round a bend. He turned to Veer in anger. “What did you do that for?”
Veer inspected his nails while patting the bull on its docile head. “Who, me? You don’t think the bull was annoyed by you?”
“Who else could make the timing of that exactly right? Not fair, Veer, you always do something like that to make me shut up.” Billadev shook his foot and, failing to dislodge the dung, rubbed at it with a swatch of dry straw.
Veer’s mouth tilted at one end, seeing his friend’s efforts. He didn’t admit to the accusation, but he passed him the bucket of water set on the plinth of a nearby well.
“Just because you have eyes only for your wife, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t look,” grumbled Billadev as he cleaned his feet. “And a simple, harmless conversation is hardly going to be the end of the world.”
“I don’t have eyes for my wife,” denied Veer, as he, too, splashed himself with the water to cool himself from the stifling heat.
Billadev snorted in disagreement. “Please, you think I don’t know that you are having Vihari tail her? And the number of times your eyes turned yellow, I’d say you are keeping a pretty close eye on her.”
“It’s for her own protection,” said Veer.
“Uh-huh,” said Billadev, nodding and giving him a knowing smile. “A woman who could kill a bunch of monsters with a single arrow is certainly in need of protection.”
“There are all kinds of dangers,” said Veer, splashing water onto his face and rubbing rather vigorously to clean off the dirt. “And Chandra is a gullible person with an appalling tendency to take on the problems of others.”
Look how easily she had been coerced by Guruji to help in Amaravathi—a task that ought not to be given, ever, to one of royalty, let alone a woman. Veer wondered if either of her parents knew what their daughter was up to.
He had the highest respect for Guruji, that patriarch of political treatises, but for him, the throne came first; he was loyal to it above all. Anyone who cared about the princess’s reputation would have never suggested such a risky venture.
Whenever he thought about her situation, he found himself experiencing anger at the way her family had neglected her, forcing her to rely on others. It was one thing for him to leave her, but shouldn’t family always support?
“I’m keeping an eye on her because I can’t trust her not to mess up things,” he said, quelling a vaguely guilty feeling.
Billadev pursed his mouth, as if not convinced. “Maybe that’s what you want to tell yourself.” He gave an exaggerated sigh that was spoiled by his huge grin. “What a turn around. I don’t think you had to do the chasing for…well, ever, I’d say.”
“Are you itching for a fight, Billadev?” growled Veer.
Billadev held up his hands in surrender. They walked toward the communal halls where lunch was being served.
* * *
The Temple City of Brihadeeshwar was a small, peaceful but prosperous town.
It had started out as a part of the Amaravathi kingdom, but as time passed by, the principality was granted independence.
It was governed solely by a group of elected representatives.
Although politically neutral, it remained under the aegis of surrounding kingdoms, but it was Amaravathi and to a lesser extent Thianvelli, who shouldered most of that burden.
The temple earned a modest income from the devotees who traveled from the length and breadth of the subcontinent to visit the annual procession of the idol of Lord Brihadeeshwar, a festival that was celebrated with great pomp and ceremony.
Income earned this way was ploughed back into the community. It was a good system and judging by the relative affluence the town enjoyed, it was well implemented.
Veer recognized the man walking ahead of them.
“Pardon, sire. But could you tell us where the communal halls are?” he asked, although he knew the way.
The man halted and turned in their direction.
He was wearing a cotton terracotta-colored tunic that reached his knees.
A pristine white dhoti was tied in intricate folds underneath.
A salt-and-pepper beard covered the lower half of his face.
His gray moustache curled over an unsmiling mouth and the eyes underneath the heavy turban were watchful.
“The halls are that way,” he said, pointing. “Please help yourselves.”
“It is very generous of you to provide passing peasants like us with food,” said Veer with suitable gratitude.
“The generosity is from all the people in the city, not just me, my good man.” There was no answering smile on his face, as if he was determined to keep a distance.
“We are thankful all the same,” said Veer, joining his hands in namaste and bowing. “It is hard to find honest work here.”
The man’s eyes became guarded. “You come from faraway areas to worship the divine. The least we could do is offer you our hospitality as our guests. May Lord Brihadeeshwar grant your wishes.” He gave a short nod and walked away.
The sword he had tucked into his waist belt, the kamarbandh, glinted in the sunlight.
Veer rubbed his chin, straightening to his full height, as he watched him go.
Billadev cleared his throat and raised his brows in question.
“That was the captain of guards, Aradatta,” said Veer. “A member of the temple committee.”
“Oh.”
Veer had posed as a traveling blacksmith in search of work so he could be involved in the repair of temple doors. He had an idea, an admittedly outrageous one, but for that to work, he needed to get that job.
But his petition for work was denied at the employment offices by this same captain of the guards due to lack of references.
He didn’t try to press the matter or draw attention to himself when he heard the captain was a paranoid watchdog. And now, after meeting the man himself, he had to agree.
Veer suddenly tensed and let out a foul curse. His eyes burned gold.
“What? What happened?” Billadev gaped at his eyes and said, “It’s Chandra, isn’t it?”
Veer hurried toward the temple square, not bothering to answer his question. Billadev lengthened his stride to keep pace.