The Fisher Queen's Dynasty

by Kavita Kane

‘I shall make him so,’ vowed Kali. ‘He claims that he’s in love with me,’ she chuckled. ‘I intend to play along. But not as his mistress in his harem, as he would have preferred; instead, as his wife. His queen. The Queen of Hastinapur,’ she smirked, relishing each word.

  Dasharaj raised his eyebrows. ‘Well planned, yes.’

  ‘Oh, don’t doubt me, Father,’ she stated. ‘I shan’t make it a quick affair. Right now, I am playing the poor little girl, living in fear of her righteous father.’

  Dasharaj nodded, looking thoughtfully at his daughter. Kali was pulling the net slowly and the king was getting irrevocably enmeshed, thrashing for his life.

  The following morning, Kali was not surprised to spot the forlorn king waiting for her.

  ‘Matsyagandha!’ he called. When she didn’t respond, he called out, ‘Kali!’

  It was a desperate plea, no longer ringing with royal authority.

  She turned around, surprised that he knew her name.

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I asked about you,’ he said testily. ‘You are known here as Kali.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Yes, because I am dark!’ she laughed, a low, husky delicious sound that sent his heart racing.

  ‘And so beautiful!’ he breathed. He took the defiant chin in his hand, bending his head to touch her lips with his eager ones. He was like a hungry wolf, ready to devour her, savouring her lips. She permitted the kiss for a long while but before he got more urgent she firmly pushed at his thudding chest.

  ‘No, sir, I told you before, I cannot be your lover,’ she raised helpless eyes at him. ‘My father will never allow it.’

  ‘But I love you!’ he argued.

  ‘I love you, too,’ Kali lied earnestly and easily. ‘But what about us; our future?’

  ‘I shall take you with me, keep you with me always.’

  ‘As your concubine but not consort?’ she asked quietly.

  He looked stunned. ‘Wife?’ he asked bewildered, flushing a brick red.

  ‘Yes, your wife,’ she repeated, with all the hope and emotion she could muster.

  He stood silent.

  ‘Am I good enough to fall in love with, to make love to, but not good enough to marry?’ she asked, her lips trembling with hurt.

  He collected his sanity, sparked with a spurt of anger. ‘As you said, you are but a fisher girl,’ he said in exasperation. ‘I cannot marry you!’

  Kali uttered a small whimper. ‘Why, because I am not of noble birth or a princess?’ she choked. ‘You can love me enough to ravish me, but then forsake me?’ she cried, the tears welling up in her voice as well.

  The anguish tore at him.

  ‘I will not forsake you. I shall keep you forever in my palace,’ he reiterated, clasping her by the shoulders. ‘Like a queen.’

  ‘But not as a queen,’ she corrected, looking him full in the face with her big, tear-stained eyes. ‘I love you, but I dare not dream of marrying you, is that it?’ she asked with the right catch in her voice. ‘Am I overreaching, sir?’ she continued, with that delightful curling of her soft lips. ‘Am I asking for too much?’

  He gave a sigh of exasperation.

  She did not wait for his reply, but throwing him a last look of utter despair, the tears flowing down her stricken face, she mumbled in a broken voice, ‘I shall never forget you, oh king. I bid you farewell!’

  She heard him calling after her, but she ignored him, knowing that if she stopped, she would lose her battle. I am going to win, she promised herself fiercely. He will come after me.

  She did not go to work the following day, or the next.

  ‘We are losing money, dear,’ admonished Dasharaj.

  ‘We will earn more than money, Father,’ she assured him. ‘I want respect! I want him to suffer and pine for me!’ Kali pressed her lips, tapping a fingertip on the lower one thoughtfully. ‘Let him know what it is to not have me. I want him at my doorstep, grovelling for me!’

  It was almost after a week that she saw Shantanu again. He was leaning against one of her boats. She stopped short, as if in surprise, and saw his face break into a radiant smile. She began to relax—the fish was nibbling at her bait. As he reached her, he stopped suddenly and grabbed her by her waist. He slid his hands down her long, slender back, over the curve of her hips and pulled her to him, crushing his lips to hers. ‘Don’t ever leave me!’ he whispered frantically, kissing her all over her upturned face. ‘I know now I can’t live without you! Yes, I will marry you; I shall marry you!’

  The Dilemma

  Kali was assailed by a sustained commotion outside her house. It was not the usual ruckus raised by children playing. She frowned, peering out from the window. She was shocked to see the reason for all the commotion. King Shantanu was walking on foot through the slush on the street, mud sticking to the silken folds of his robes, his sandaled feet grimy. But there was a purpose in each stride that was getting him closer to her hut. He was not alone. An elderly man accompanied him, and, from his attire, she made a quick guess that he might be the king’s footman or attendant.

  ‘He has arrived, Father, just as I had said, at our doorstep!’ she smirked.

  She took a long breath, waiting for the knock on the door. When it came, she took her time, making the king wait for a few moments. As she leisurely opened it, she was greeted by him, his smile tentative.

  Shantanu was hit by her fragrance; it seemed to fill the decrepit confines of her house. His eyes strayed over the small hall. He noticed an old man sitting in a corner, mending a fishing net.

  Kali waited for him to say something, anything. He seemed unsure, not meeting her eyes. He turned to glance at the growing crowd outside her house, and said, quite abruptly, ‘I did not know my son was so popular even here. I have just been talking to them and they want Devavrat, the crown prince, to be anointed king as soon as possible!’

  Panic clutched at her throat, her mouth dry. This was not what she had been expecting him to say. Devavrat will become king, she thought, with panic rising in her guts. In one wisp, she saw all her dreams of becoming queen turning to ashes, and if she did not think of something fast, she would lose this man and her future. And it would be her fault, her foolishness.

  She smiled, hiding her emotions. ‘Wonderful. I hear the crown prince is a very worthy boy,’ she said politely. ‘I thought you had come to ask my father for his permission for our marriage. . .’ she sighed, her eyes clouding with disappointment.

  Shantanu hesitated, wondering again if he was doing the right thing. Why must I live in loneliness? Do I not deserve companionship? As a king, I have delivered all responsibilities towards my people and my kingdom. Do I not deserve love and joy in my later years?

  ‘Yes, I had come for that, as promised,’ said Shantanu hurriedly.

  She led him further inside her house, and to his annoyance, the old man did not promptly jump to his feet to greet him. Instead, he threw an enquiring look at him.

  ‘I am the king of Hastinapur: King Shantanu,’ he announced briefly. ‘And I have come to request you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.’

  He said it quickly but clearly, making his intention clear, making it sound more like a royal command than a request.

  Kali’s head shot up, her face flooding with triumph. She was to be his queen! For the first time, Kali gave him a genuine smile, her eyes warmly glistening alternately with unspoken gratitude and the sparkle of victory.

  Shantanu returned her smile as if he had already acquired his claim on her. He threw a restless look at her father, as the old fisherman had not spoken a word yet. Why would this nondescript, stinking fisherman not, reasoned Shantanu, be eager to give away his daughter to a king? He should be singing and dancing with joy.

  But the old man did neither, watching him closely with sly, thoughtful eyes. Shantanu felt disconcerted. This was not how he had imagined this situation. The daughter looked giddy with delight, but not the father. He took an immediate dislike to the man
with his narrowed eyes and unsmiling, gnarled face.

  Kali was feeling a similar sense of dismay. Why was Father taking so long to reply? We had agreed that marriage would be the sole and only term of condition for the king to have me. The king has come to fetch me, so why is he pondering over it for so long? She felt a faint knot of uneasiness tightening at the pit of her stomach.

  Her father, clearly, had other plans.

  ‘I am honoured, sir, that you have deigned to marry my daughter,’ started Dasharaj, his face expressionless, bereft of false gratitude or obsequiousness. ‘But you will not have reason to be ashamed of her as a poor ferry girl, the daughter of an impoverished fisherman. She is intelligent and educated, beautiful and young—fit to be your queen in every way,’ he added.

  The silence was deafening, the unspoken jibe screaming back at the old king. She was young but the king was old enough to be her father. Kali was quick to surmise the situation. Her father was making the king feel that he was not fit enough to be her husband. He might be the king, but she deserved someone better, and, certainly, someone younger.

  Shantanu’s face grew flushed, and he was speechless with fury.

  ‘Would it not be better if she marries your son, Devavrat, the crown prince, sir?’ suggested Dasharaj. ‘I hear he is of marriageable age and young, handsome, brave and worthy of my daughter.’

  Kali was as visibly shocked as Shantanu. What is my father doing, she threw her father a frantic glance. Is he driving the king away from us or constructing his own masterplan? She remained silent, lacing her fingers nervously, wondering why her father wanted her to be married off to the crown prince instead.

  ‘But your daughter loves me,’ insisted the king, with petulant arrogance.

  Kali was startled for a moment, but she had made her interest in him clear before. ‘And I love her,’ he continued. ‘Love her enough to marry her,’ he said firmly. ‘To make her my queen!’

  ‘Yes, she will be your queen when you marry her, but will your children from her be heirs to your throne?’ asked Dasharaj. ‘Never. They will be one of your many children. The crown prince had been chosen already. And I hear that he is soon to be king.’

  She saw immediately where her father’s argument was leading. Shantanu was quick to comprehend the words as well, and his face became suffused with colour.

  ‘Devavrat is my only son,’ he frowned angrily. ‘He is the crown prince. And, yes, he will be the king. The people love him!’

  ‘Exactly,’ nodded Dasharaj. ‘But what about my daughter’s children? They will never be kings, just some princes at the mercy of Devavrat,’ he reminded him, his face set.

  ‘I will not disown them!’ refuted Shantanu hotly. ‘Devavrat will never harm his siblings.’

  ‘But what after your, er, death?’ asked Dasharaj delicately. ‘You are old, oh King, and my daughter is very young. What happens to her and her children after your death?’ he asked bluntly.

  Shantanu floundered, bewilderment clouding his handsome face.

  Before Shantanu could say anything, Dasharaj continued, ‘Either my daughter marries the young crown prince, who is closer to her age. Or she can only marry you if you promise that her children will be the heirs. Either way, she and her children would have an assured place in the kingdom. So, which option do you agree to?’

  ‘Marrying the crown prince is out of the question for your daughter,’ said Shantanu hoarsely. ‘I love her!’ he whispered painfully.

  He paused, drawing a deep breath, his face drained of colour, his voice stronger. ‘I love her,’ he repeated. ‘. . . enough to marry her, but not enough to deprive my son of his right, his throne. No,’ he said violently. ‘You wicked old man, hear me now. By promising to make your daughter my queen, I will not snatch my son’s kingship. I refuse your offer! I shall never allow Devavrat to suffer because you are greedy!’

  Kali’s heart sank. She made a movement, her eyes pleading with her father. He remained unmoved.

  ‘Greedy, I am not,’ retorted Dasharaj. ‘I want nothing for myself. I am simply securing the rights of my daughter, her future and her children.’

  ‘How dare you question a king’s word of honour?’ shouted the king.

  ‘I am waiting for your word of honour,’ said Dasharaj calmly. ‘Until you give me a promise, I shall not hand over my daughter to you. You can never see her either,’ he added deliberately. ‘We shall await your answer, oh King,’ he said firmly. ‘Then you can take her as your wife and queen.’

  Shantanu was stunned, and looked desperately at Kali, waiting for her to say something. But she merely lowered her face. She was confused, but she believed more in her father than the king, however besotted he might be with her. Finally she looked up at the king, her eyes huge and hurt.

  ‘I hope it’s not a farewell, King,’ she whispered. Tears, more out of frustration than sorrow, pricked her eyes. ‘I feel for you with my whole heart, but do understand. . . I cannot disobey my father’s wishes. I will wait for you, oh King!’

  Shantanu gave her a tender, hopeless look and held her calloused hands. ‘I remember how hard you fought for that fish the other day, even as your hands bled. But I cannot take away what rightfully belongs to my son. What your father is asking for, Matsyagandha, makes my heart bleed, but I shan’t allow his ambitions to bleed us white.’

  With those final words, he strode out without shutting the door behind him.

  Latching the swinging door, Kali turned furiously to face her father. ‘We have lost him! He will never come back!’ she cried, almost incoherent with rage.

  ‘Calm down, Satya,’ assured her father. ‘He will come back. Just as you were sure, I am certain, too. He is in love with you.’

  ‘He’ll find another young girl, who will be more than willing to share his bed!’ she said.

  ‘But not his throne! And are you, like any other girl, ready to do that?’ asked Dasharaj. ‘I thought you were more ambitious than that.’

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘It has all gone to waste,’ she sighed. ‘I wanted to be queen, but you asked for too much.’

  Dasharaj shook his head. ‘You were obsessed about becoming a queen, not thinking about what would happen afterwards. I do want the best for you. Don’t you trust me?’

  She nodded, but in weary desolation.

  ‘He is old, and he will die sooner rather than later,’ explained Dasharaj patiently. ‘Then you will not be his queen, but his widow. And if you have children, what will happen to them? I have heard that Devavrat is a kind boy; he might spare you and your future kids. But it’s not uncommon that step-siblings get murdered, imprisoned or are made to disappear. They become an immediate threat to the throne. The bid for the crown, my dear, can get bloody.’

  Kali shuddered.

  ‘You were dreaming about the immediate future—as the queen of Hastinapur. Dream for your children, too,’ warned Dasharaj. ‘Dream for your heirs, not Devavrat’s. If I can extract that promise from Shantanu, then your future will be secured. But the only weapon we have is this alliance. Marriage is not a love story, it is a treaty—a political pact, a pledge. And I shan’t allow you to go with him unless he gives his promise.’

  ‘I am afraid he won’t agree,’ she said heavily, after a moment’s thought. ‘He is right; I can’t be queen at the cost of his son’s future.’

  ‘Then you are a fool!’ remonstrated Dasharaj sharply.

  ‘I was denied my right as a daughter; I can’t do the same to Prince Devavrat!’ argued Kali vehemently. ‘How can I enjoy my happiness at the cost of another’s doom?’

  ‘You owe Shantanu and Devavrat nothing, but you do owe your children a future—something my sister and I could not give you,’ he reminded her harshly. ‘If you want to live in the palace, dear, you have to learn to live by its rules, and they are not always as golden as the palace interiors!’ scoffed her father. ‘Along with the gems and jewels in the crown, there is intrigue and violence. You can’t escape that, but you can survive it by p
laying your own game. Be a part of it, Satya, or part ways. You have played just one game, and this is only the beginning; but wearing a crown and holding on to it is a quest, not just a contest.’

  ‘I seem to have lost the race before it began,’ she said sullenly, pulling at her lower lip. ‘You gave the king such tough options that he will never choose me!’

  ‘Always give a person two bad choices; he is bound to choose the one you want him to choose,’ chuckled the old man. ‘He either has to marry you to the crown prince or marry you himself by disinheriting the crown prince. Both are excellent for us, but only one can work for him. And you know which one it is.’

  ‘Kings are not great with their promises, and he will try to avoid it for sure,’ she said miserably, shaking her head in frustration.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Dasharaj quietly with a grave face. ‘That is why he will have to announce it to his kingdom before he weds you. Remember how King Dashrath conveniently forgot his vow to Kaikeyi’s father, King Ashwapati of Kekeya. He had agreed to give his young daughter to the old king of Kosala on one condition: that it will be her son who would be the future king. But you know what happened. He did not keep it, and she had to fight for it, which ultimately alienated her from her family and her son. Kaikeyi lost everything—her husband, her son, her respect, her reputation, and became the most hated woman forever. Do you want that to happen to you as well?’

  Kali listened to every word, grappling with the implications. Her father was no greedy fool. He was her father, dear and caring, and he was also a fisherman chieftain and a shrewd businessman. He had that innate instinct of a fisherman in understanding the tide, to grab the opportunity, quickly and firmly. He was doing just that now, for her.

  ‘Don’t be sentimental; politics also rules emotions, not just kings and crowns and kingdoms,’ advised her father. ‘And it is the throne of power that everyone vies to sit on. You don’t have to have royal blood to know the game; you simply have to have the courage and shrewdness to play it. Play it well, for it is no indulgent sport: it is a cold-blooded competition, in which not the strongest but the shrewdest will win.’