In the Heart of Darkness

Stroke. Stroke.

'How do you know I could serve you properly?' he demanded.

Shakuntala felt the tension ease from her shoulders. Get the argument off the ground of abstract honor and onto to the ground of concrete duty, and she was bound to win.

'You are as shrewd as any man I ever met,' she stated forcefully. 'Look how you managed this escape-and all the preparations which went into it. Belisarius always relied on you for anything of that nature. He trusted you completely-and he is immensely shrewd himself, in that way as well as others. I need men I can trust. Rely on. Desperately.'

Stroking his beard. 'What you need, girl, is prestige and authority. An imperial adviser should be noble-born. Brahmin. I am merely vaisya. Low-caste vaisya.' He smiled. 'And Maratha, to boot. In most other lands, my caste would be ranked among the sudra, lowest of the twice- born.'

'So?' she demanded. 'You are as literate and educated as any brahmin. More than most! You know that to be true.'

Holkar spread his hands. 'What does that matter? The rulers and dignitaries of other lands will be offended, if your adviser does not share their purity. They would have to meet with me, privately and intimately, on many occasions. They would feel polluted by the contact.'

The Empress almost snarled. 'Damn them, then! If they seek alliance with me, they will have to take it as it comes!'

Holkar barked a laugh.

'Tempestuous girl! Have you already lost your wits-at your age? They will not be seeking alliance with you, Empress. They are not throneless refugees, hunted like an animal. You will be knocking on their doors, beggar's bowl in hand.'

With amazing dignity (under the circumstances; she was, after all, a throneless refugee): 'I shall not.'

'You shall.'

'Shall not.'

Dadaji glowered. 'See? Already you scorn my advice!' Shaking his finger: 'You must learn to bridle that temper, Empress! You will indeed treat with possible allies with all necessary-I won't say humility; I don't believe in magic! — decorum.'

Glower.

'And another thing-'

Shakuntala spent the next hour in uncharacteristic silence, nodding her head, attending patiently to her new adviser. It was not difficult. His advice, in truth, was excellent. And she had no need to rein in her temper. Even if he had been babbling nonsense, she would have listened politely.

She had her adviser. In fact, if not yet in name.

At the end of that hour, Dadaji Holkar reined himself in. With a start of surprise.

'You are a treacherous girl,' he grumbled. Then, chuckling: 'Quite well done, actually!' He gazed at her fondly, shaking his head with amusement.

'Very well, Empress,' he said. 'Let us leave it so: I will send your request to Belisarius. If he agrees, I will serve you in whatever capacity you wish.'

Shakuntala nodded. 'He will agree,' she said confidently. 'For reasons of state, if no other. But he will want to know-what do you wish? What will you tell him?'

Holkar stared at her. 'I will tell him that it is my wish, also.' Then, still seated, he bowed deeply. 'You are my sovereign, Empress. Such a sovereign as any man worthy of the name would wish to serve.'

When he lifted his head, his face was calm. Shakuntala's next words destroyed that serenity.

'What is your other purpose?' she asked.

Holkar frowned.

'You said, earlier, that the destruction of Malwa was one of your purposes. One of two. Name the other.'

Holkar's face tightened.

Shakuntala was ruthless.

'Tell me.'

He looked away. 'You know what it is,' he whispered.

That was true. She did. But she would force him to face it squarely. Lest, in the years to come, it gnawed his soul to destruction. Youth, too, has its bold wisdom.

'Say it.'

The tears began to flow.

'Say it.'

Finally, as he said the words, the slave vanished. Not into the new, shadow soul of an imperial adviser, but into what he had always been. The man, Dadaji Holkar.

In the quiet, gentle time that followed, as a low-born Maratha sobbed and sobbed, his grey head cradled in the small arms of India's purest, most ancient, most noble line, the soul named Dadaji Holkar finished the healing which a foreign general had begun.

He would help his sovereign restore her broken people.

And he would, someday, find his broken family.

A Family and Its Resolve

Ironically, Dadaji Holkar had already found his family, without knowing it. He had even, without knowing it, helped them through their troubles.

Standing next to the stablekeeper in Kausambi, watching the rockets flaring into the sky, he had been not half a mile from his wife. She, along with the other kitchen slaves, had been watching those same rockets from the back court of her master's mansion. Until the head cook, outraged, had driven them back to their duties.

She had gone to those duties with a lighter heart than usual. She had no idea what that catastrophe represented. But, whatever it was, it was bad news for Malwa. The thought kept her going for hours, that night; and warmed her, a bit, in countless nights that followed.

His son had actually seen him. In Bihar, rearing from his toil in the fields, his son had rested for a moment. Idly watching a nobleman's caravan pass on the road nearby. He had caught but a glimpse of the nobleman himself, riding haughtily in his howdah on the lead elephant. The man's face was indistinguishable, at that distance. But there was no mistaking his identity. A Malwa potentate, trampling the world.

The overseer's angry shout sent him back to work. The shout, combined with the sight of that arrogant lord, burned through his soul. From months and months of hard labor, the boy's body had grown tough enough to survive. But he had feared, sometimes, that he himself was too weak. Now, feeling the hardening flame, he knew otherwise.

Stooping, he cursed that unknown Malwa, and made a solemn vow. Whoever that stinking lord was, Dadaji Holkar's son would outlive him.

Holkar had not come as close to his daughters. As planned, Shakuntala and her companions had taken a side road before reaching Pataliputra. They had no desire to risk the swarming officialdom in that huge city, and so they had bypassed it altogether.

Still, they had passed less than fifteen miles to the south. Thirteen miles, only, from the slave brothel where his daughters were held.

In a way, Dadaji had even touched them. And his touch had been a blessing.

The soldiers at the guardpost where Shakuntala had browbeaten the commanding officer, had contributed to his humiliation later. The bribe had been very large, and their officer was a weakling. An arrogant little snot, whom they had browbeaten themselves into a bigger cut than common soldiers usually received. With their share of the bribe, they had enjoyed a pleasant visit to the nearest brothel, on the southern outskirts of the city. They had had money to burn.

Money to burn, and they spent it all. Gold coin from the hand of Dadaji Holkar had found its way into the