by Kavita Kane
‘Anyone else?’ asked Bhishm, twitching his bloody sword towards them.
None stepped forward, and with a last look at Senabindu, he grabbed the princesses by their hands and dragged them out of the hall. He felt a tug on his right hand. He turned back impatiently. It was the princess who had appeared restless.
‘No! Please, no! I. . .’ she said, her words garbled with fear and fury.
But he barely registered what she was saying as he heard an angry rush of feet behind him. Senabindu had ordered the other kings and his men to chase Bhishm.
‘Don’t let him get away!’ he roared.
Bhishm reached his chariot and pushed the girls quickly onto it, commanding Manjunath, his charioteer, to drive away. He threw down his sword and picked up his bow and arrow. The other kings were chasing behind him, firing arrows at him furiously. But he handled each of them, leaving them either hurt or far behind. The crowd slowly fell back, unable to keep up with the pace and violence of his arrows.
Bhishm kept a lookout for further attack as they raced towards Hastinapur; Kasi had been left far behind. Finally he drew in a long, tired breath, and became suddenly aware of the three terrified girls.
‘My apologies,’ he muttered, wiping the blood off his arms and chest. ‘I meant no harm or disrespect.’
Two of them nodded mutely, fear visible in their rounded eyes. He felt sorry for them that they had to witness such bloody violence on the day of their wedding. It was a day every girl wished to be perfect, a dream coming true. He was exhausted, and no further words would reassure them, he might even frighten them more, so he chose to remain quiet for the rest of the journey back home. However, he kept glancing back now and then to check if they were being followed.
He noticed that the tall princess was looking frantically around her; her face was drawn, and her eyes mutinous. He saw her eyeing the dagger at his hip.
He shook his head.
Her eyes were full of fury, but he saw a flash of pain lurking in their depths. She turned her face, brushing away her angry tears. ‘You turned my swayamvar into a battlefield!’ she choked. ‘You killed him, murderer, I hate you!’ she muttered venomously, her lips trembling. ‘I don’t want to go to Hastinapur.’
He looked at her wordlessly. And for some reason, he had that empty feeling of having miscounted the trumps. He had won the battle, won the princesses, but. . . Maybe it was the cold determination of Shalva. No whimper, no bluster, just the twisted grimace, the light voice, and the angry princess’s unforgiving eyes.
He looked at her closely: she was clearly furious; her oval face flushed, her black eyes blazing fire, her red mouth turned in a mutinous pout.
‘Shalva is not dead,’ assured Bhishm, his face grim. ‘I hurt him just enough to stop him. It’s a deep flesh wound; he is unconscious, not dead.’
She stared at him unbelievingly. ‘He’s . . . alive?’ she stammered, her face flooding with joy.
‘He should be,’ he said dryly. ‘I did not want him dead.’ He stared at her in puzzlement, unease stirring again in his heart.
She threw him a grateful glance, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
Politely, he asked, ‘What are you called, princess?’
‘Amba.’
The Three Sisters
The moment Bhishm ushered the three princesses into her chamber, Satyavati’s face broke into a rare smile. Bhishm had done the impossible. Again. Three princesses for my son, her heart surged, singing wildly. After a long time, she felt truly happy.
But she was quick to note that Bhishm did not seem to share her euphoria; there was a frown nestled in his furrowed brows.
‘The princesses of Kasi, Mother,’ he said carefully.
The three princesses bowed, their hands folded in salutation, and each came forward to introduce herself.
‘I am Amba,’ announced the tallest of the three, and Satyavati was quick to notice the confidence in her tone.
All three girls were fair and tall, and had a staggering likeness to each other. But Amba had a fire that was absent in the other two. Her eyes flashed and she seemed to simmer, as if coming to a boil. For what, wondered Satyavati.
‘Ambika,’ announced the second girl, firmly. There was a sulky air to her, and her prettiness appeared to be because of the rich clothes and gems she was elegantly wearing. She had broad hips but was otherwise slim, so slim that the sharp bones of her shoulders were prominent. Her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as though looking for something.
‘Ambalika is my name,’ nodded the third timidly, a voluptuous girl with a nervous smile. She was pretty in a vapid, colourless way. She had large, brown eyes, a pretty nose and an attractive mouth, her chin rounding in a charming way to define the heart-shaped, lovely face.
Even the names sound alike, Satyavati observed with some amusement. ‘Welcome to Hastinapur, your new home,’ she said, her tone gracious, her eyes tender, hoping she was according the three girls a better welcome than the one she had received years ago. ‘Oh princesses of Kasi, soon you will be the future queens of Hastinapur. . .’
She was interrupted by a restive movement. It was Amba, fidgeting, trying to attract her attention. ‘My Queen, please . . . I wish to speak with you!’ Amba stepped forward, her tone urgent. She looked as if she had somehow gathered the courage to speak.
‘Yes, what is it, dear?’ Satyavati prompted gently, taking in the girl’s anxious face.
‘I wish this question had been asked before, and I would have said earlier what I am going to tell you now,’ said Amba spiritedly, throwing Bhishm a pointed look. She continued, her tone stronger, ‘I cannot be the queen of Hastinapur. Nor can I marry King Virya,’ she announced, her voice low, but firm.
There was a dazed silence as Satyavati took in her words. She noticed that the two sisters did not appear surprised at Amba’s announcement. She looked questioningly at Bhishm. He showed slight surprise, but pursed his lips, wordless and still.
Amba cast a troubled glance at the towering Bhishm. His reputation, Satyavati thought grimly, was as formidable as his name. People were supposed to shiver in fear, and this princess was but a young girl. She appeared intimidated by him but not enough to stop her from speaking out.
‘Don’t hesitate, girl, say what you have to say,’ Satyavati said, her tone encouraging and soft. ‘I assure you that you can be honest; speak up without any fear or hesitation.’
Amba looked straight into her eyes and nodded gratefully.
‘I cannot marry your son because I love another man,’ she confessed, lifting her chin defiantly. ‘I love King Shalva of Sauba. . .’
Satyavati stood still in shock, her confused eyes meeting Bhishm’s hooded ones, but he looked stunned.
The girl continued, her tone hurried. ‘I was going to garland him at my swayamvar when he interrupted us. . .’ She cast Bhishm another hostile look, and Satyavati felt strangely chagrined at the girl’s temerity.
She said curtly, ‘Bhishm was sent to Kasi on my request. So, you wish not to marry my son as you love someone else?’
The girl nodded mutely.
This would soon escalate into a crisis, but Satyavati nodded. ‘So be it. I shall not force you. Hastinapur will not have a reluctant queen.’ She turned to the other two girls. ‘Do you agree to marry the king of Hastinapur?’ she asked formally.
Both nodded vigorously, as if to compensate for their sister’s decision.
A thought struck her. ‘Why did you not let Bhishm know earlier?’ she asked sharply. ‘He is chivalrous enough to not have dragged you here against your wishes.’
Amba gave her an incredulous look. ‘It all happened so suddenly. . .’ She floundered, in slight bewilderment, before continuing accusingly, ‘And we were not asked! There was none to hear what I wanted to say!’
‘I would have not got you here had I known. Why didn’t you protest and stop me, Princess?’ intervened Bhishm.
‘Did I get the time and opport
unity to put in a word, sir?’ she asked angrily. ‘You were fighting Shalva. . .’ she trailed off helplessly and, for the first time, seemed entirely defenceless. For all her feistiness, she was as vulnerable as her sisters.
‘You kept quiet because of your father, wasn’t it?’ guessed Satyavati shrewdly. ‘You did not want your father to know till you garlanded King Shalva; was that it?’
Amba had the grace to look embarrassed as she mutely nodded.
‘Yes, I dared not divulge the truth in front of the entire court,’ she admitted softly.
‘It would have prevented this huge misunderstanding from taking place,’ said Satyavati.
Bhishm sighed. How had he overlooked taking the princesses’ permission before he got them here? I was challenged by Shalva, he recalled, and all was forgotten in the resulting skirmish.
He cursed himself silently, wondering how he was going to rectify the damage he had irrevocably wrought upon the eldest princess of Kasi.
‘My words will not be enough to convey my sincere apologies,’ he said slowly, bowing to the girl. Amba looked faintly taken aback. ‘If I had known, I would not have done what I did,’ he sighed, shaking his head.
There was no point in interrogating Amba now and dissecting the matter. He should have paid attention to her and her sisters instead of the war of words between him, King Senabindu and Shalva. If only he had asked then. . .
Furious with himself, he spoke more brusquely than he had intended. ‘Let’s not waste time discussing this further,’ he said tersely. ‘I shall return you to Shalva with full honour and finery. Like a bride,’ he added. ‘This is my duty; the rectification of my error.’
Satyavati wanted to clarify that it was not his fault; it had been hers. Had she not been adamant, he would not have blindly obeyed her orders. She was shocked at the sudden turn of events, but she showed no emotion. She felt a faint chill of unease that matters were not going as she had wished. She would have to take control again; she could not allow this small hiccup to upset her. But the knot of dread in her heart was tight.
She glanced at the girl again. Amba looked deliriously happy at Bhishm’s words and seemed all set to rush to her lover’s land. But Satyavati was assailed with a doubt that kept getting stronger every moment: would Shalva accept the return of his lover? And if he did not, what then?
‘Wait!’ she said sharply, hoping to halt the girl and her own troubled thoughts. ‘She can go tomorrow. Let her rest. She should attend her sisters’ weddings.’
Amba opened her mouth to protest, but Bhishm countered more quickly. ‘No, it’s already too late, and she needs to go back as soon as possible. Had I known, I would not have got her here, or hurt Shalva,’ he said with a worried frown. He was unsure how Shalva would react. He must have hurt his ego more than that wound on his body. Hopefully, the sight of Amba, returned to him, would appease the king’s pride.
This girl clearly needed to go back as early as possible, either to her father or her lover. Her father, Bhishm was certain, would not take back a daughter abducted at her swayamvar. It was now up to him.
Satyavati nodded slowly, holding her breath, pressing her lips, a finger tapping thoughtfully. Amba was looking at Bhishm with luminous eyes. She is half in love with him, thought Satyavati, and sees him as her saviour. She must be thinking how magnanimous he is to send her back in his royal chariot so that she can marry the man she loves. It is to salve his guilt . . . to save himself, not you, foolish girl.
But she bit her lip and forced a stiff smile. ‘Yes, I bid you well, Amba. May you live as happily as your sisters will here, from now on.’
Turning to Bhishm, her smile broadening, Satyavati gave him an imperceptible nod. ‘All the arrangements have been made. The auspicious time for Virya’s wedding has been fixed for early morning tomorrow.’
As Bhishm saw the princess out, he observed what his worried mind had missed when he had arrived—the palace was shimmering with oil lamps and flowers, the fragrance mingling with glowing incense sticks. The preparations were perfect, as Satyavati had meticulously looked into all the details. It will be a lavish wedding; she will see to that . . . even though the parents of the brides won’t be there to give their blessings, he shook his head in quiet agitation.
He shaded his eyes, watching his chariot take Amba away in a whirl of dust.
I hope the dust will settle quietly, he thought, wishing for the best and dreading the worst.
The Rejection
Even as the ceremony of Virya’s wedding was underway, Bhishm’s ears strained for the sound of his chariot returning from Sauba. He could not thrust away the princess from his mind and conscience. He had got her and her sisters without their consent. That had been an unforgivable crime for which he could not pardon himself. His eyes searched the blurred horizon of the distant hills silhouetted against the sinking sun, willing his chariot to return to the palace fast. The future of Amba was still uncertain till he heard it from his charioteer.
He was alerted by the sound of wheels crunching outside on the gravel. Bhishm rushed out, yearning to hear the assurance from Manjunath, but the sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks. Manjunath was not alone. Amba was with him; but this was a very different Amba from the one who had left the palace.
It was clear that she had been crying. Her eyes were dull with grief, and her lips were white and trembling. She was helped down by Manjunath, who was looking at her with concerned eyes.
‘She is barely conscious, sir,’ said Manjunath. ’Since the time I was ordered by Prince Shalva to get her back here, she has not spoken a word, but has simply kept sobbing her heart out. . .’ his voice trailed away in distracted worry. ‘Look after her, sir, she is going to collapse!’
So he has thrown her out, the coward, Bhishm swore silently. ‘Yes, call for the royal doctor,’ he ordered.
Amba stared up at him vacuously. ‘He doesn’t want me. . .’ she whispered hoarsely, her large eyes glistening with anguish. ‘What do I do now?’
It was a cry from a broken heart.
She buried her face in her hands, swaying fragilely.
He heard a sound behind him. Satyavati was standing at the top of the marbled steps of the porch.
‘She is in shock,’ she said tersely. ‘Bring her upstairs, Dev.’
Bhishm lifted the girl in his arms and strode up the steps to a chamber. He could feel her trembling, shuddering in silent pain, her face buried in the crook of his arm, hidden by a swathe of hair falling loosely on her upturned face.
He laid her gently on the bed as Satyavati briskly straightened the pillows so she could lie comfortably.
Satyavati thrust a tumbler of cool lemon juice towards her mouth.
‘Drink it up,’ she said kindly. ‘You need to have some strength.’
‘For what?’ whispered the girl tearfully. ‘I want to die!’
‘Don’t ever say that!’ reproached Satyavati sharply. ‘No one is worth dying for. Your life is more precious than the tears wasted on men like Shalva!’
Amba straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t blame him really. I was foolish to expect him to accept me. . .’
‘Wrong again,’ retorted Satyavati. ‘Blame him, not yourself, dear. Your fault was to love him. He did not love you enough,’ she said, her lips curling contemptuously. ‘He loved his pride and reputation more.’
Amba stared at her, uncomprehendingly. ‘He is a broken man,’ she defended. ‘Defeated and humiliated. . .’
‘And what about you?’ said Satyavati grimly. ‘Has he not broken you? He said he loved you, and he was to marry you. You were taken away; you did not run away. Why can’t he marry you now? Does it hurt his ego or his pride? Does it not hurt his conscience to turn away the girl he said he loved? You did not betray him; he has betrayed your love, your trust. He deserted you in the face of his defeat. He is a coward, Amba, not worthy of the love you still reserve for him!’
Amba shook her head through her sobs.
‘
Oh why did you come for my swayamvar?’ cried Amba, looking at Bhishm accusingly. ‘You were not invited. You are an invader who came and took us. Why did you take me away? And then, you trounced Shalva in public. He can never forgive you; he cannot forgive himself, and he cannot forgive me. Who will forgive you for what you have done? You have ruined my life!’
Love is not just blind, it is deaf to reason, too, thought Satyavati, hearing Amba’s words of defence for her weak lover.
‘Agreed, you are angry with Dev, but he did it not out of ignorance; he was obeying my orders,’ she intervened stoutly. ‘Your lover, dear, did it out of selfish ego. He loves himself more than you! Then why are you not angry with him?’
Amba’s face suddenly looked deflated. ‘Why would I be angry with him?’ she said helplessly, leaning her head tiredly against the pillows. ‘I can’t make him love me; I can’t make him marry me. He is not what he was; he is not what I thought him to be. . .’ her lips trembled. ‘I . . . I . . . I hate him!’ she said violently, her voice low and cold. ‘I hate him for what he did to me; I hate him for what he is. But I hate myself more for not knowing what he was!’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ interrupted Bhishm, his voice infinitely gentle.
Satyavati looked at him quickly. His face was tender as never before; his eyes soft, the lock of hair falling endearingly on his worried brow.
‘You are right; I am to be blamed for this mess,’ he conceded guiltily. ‘I should not have got you here without your consent. I should not have sent you to Shalva alone. I should have gone with you. . .’
‘No, you did what no one would have done; you sent her back with the accorded respect! If you had accompanied her, it would have made matters worse,’ refuted Satyavati strongly. ‘He would have been more incensed at the sight of you with his lost bride!’
