Queen of the Earth

by Devika Rangachari

  Towards the end of the day, though, he calls me to him and places a gentle hand on my head.

  ‘You have grown so much in this past year,’ he says. ‘You are almost as tall as Yayati now. Sometimes I forget that you are no longer my little girl.’

  I stiffen because I know which way this talk is headed. For the past few years, proposals for my hand have been plentiful. There are many who are eager for an alliance with the Somavamshis, who seek to bind their fortunes with ours. My father is the fastest-rising star in the Kalingan firmament. Who wouldn’t seek to woo him? Now that I am seventeen, my marriage is imminent; already my aunt laments the delay and warns me that I will soon be past the prime of youth and beauty.

  It seems that my father is about to broach the topic with me and I feel awkward. What should I say to him? I search my mind for the appropriate words.

  ‘May you live long,’ he says and turns away.

  I am dismissed. There is no need for my words today.

  Here is what I would have said to him if I could. I long for some sort of change but am well aware of the future decreed for me. Marriage will mean my leaving the only home I have ever known and casting myself on to an unfamiliar man’s mercy. I rage against the prospect but is there any earthly way of escaping this fate?

  In my head, I concoct elaborate schemes, each more fanciful than the other. Perhaps my father will be reluctant to let me go and keep me by his side instead, to be his comfort in his old age. Perhaps no groom worthy of marrying me will ever be found. Perhaps my husband will suffer the fate of my uncle and I can then be free to return to my home. I shake myself out of these thoughts. What is wrong with me? I am not even married and I am already contemplating my future husband’s death! And will my father ever understand my inner turmoil?

  I share my fears with Yayati soon after. He is in his chamber, resting after a long day at court. More and more administrative responsibilities are being thrust upon him as training for his future task of ruling. Increasingly, there are days when I barely get to see him at all. Now his face is haggard with exhaustion and he looks so like our father that I catch my breath, for the hundredth time, at the stark resemblance between them.

  I collapse on to a cushion at his feet and begin my tale of woe. He hears me out in silence. After I have spoken my fill, he pats my hand in somewhat absent-minded sympathy and looks thoughtful.

  ‘Father is delaying it,’ he murmurs, at long last. ‘You have some more time.’

  I look at him sharply, relief and curiosity clashing with each other in my mind. ‘Do you know something I don’t? Why is he …?’

  ‘He is waiting for the right one. And the right time.’ Yayati’s face is shadowed. I can’t read the expression in his eyes.

  ‘Who is the right one? Do you know anything?’ I struggle to understand his meaning. Fears surge, unbidden, to the surface. My voice rises in sudden panic. ‘Is he planning to sell me off to the highest bidder?’

  Yayati shrugs his shoulders and turns away. ‘What do you know about politics? And alliances? Don’t bother yourself about this until you need to.’

  My instinct is to protest, to tell him that I know more than he can possibly suspect about the world that men like him inhabit, but I restrain myself. Hot words will not serve me now. I wait for him to say something more but he falls on to his silken couch and is asleep within minutes. Or is he just pretending to sleep to cut off my questions?

  Things have changed between us—I do not know him as well as I once did. Yayati loves me but if I am to be married tomorrow as an act of state policy, he would not consider my feelings but would only care about how the alliance benefited the kingdom. He shares more than a physical resemblance with my father—their thoughts are beginning to mirror each other’s, their motives are now the same. It is the kingdom that is paramount; it is the acquisition of power that is the supreme consideration. And I will be a pawn in this political game when the right man and time come along. Until then, I can either wait in excitement or apprehension; it matters little what I think.

  I watch my father closely over the days that follow, wondering whether to bring up the question that is uppermost in my mind. He is preoccupied, busier than ever with matters of state. The revenue laws have been reviewed and altered, and there are many who seek an audience with him to clarify matters of tax and produce. He is brusque and decisive as always, impatient with those who do not understand his orders. There is an aura of strength and ability around him, and it does not surprise me that his ministers accord him so much respect. I wonder whether Yayati will ever be able to emulate him. It is one thing to imitate someone, quite another to be him.

  As I shadow my father, a realization grows within me. I am bold by nature, but I think I have always been a little scared of him. It is possible to love someone dearly and be wary, at the same time, of who he is as a person and of what he is capable of doing in order to achieve his aims. That he is ruthless in his intentions is obvious. No one achieves so much power in such a short span of time without being so.

  The two kings who ruled before my father had had unmemorable reigns. It was when my father took over the reins that the fortunes of the Somavamshi dynasty turned around. He has acquired the reputation of being a formidable opponent and a fierce ally. And his avowed aim is to expand the frontiers and make the kingdom larger than it has ever been before.

  I have been hearing rumours about him all my life, barely articulated but perfectly audible if one’s ears are attuned to them—as mine have always been. I do not know what to make of these fragmented whispers. Do they contain an element of truth? Or are they creations of jealous minds who would seek to discredit him? Apparently, he shows no mercy to those who would stand in his way; he is not a man to cross, under any circumstances. He does not allow himself to be tempered by scruples of conscience either, it seems.

  When I search my memories, a picture emerges. I am around ten years of age, playing with my wooden toys in my father’s private audience chamber. It is night and the lamps have been lit. My father is in a bad mood—his brows meet fiercely on his forehead and his eyes are stormy with rage. Without being ordered to, I put my toys away in their basket, trying not to make a sound. Then I creep closer to my father, hoping to coax him out of his anger with a smile, to distract him somehow. Yayati is curled up near me, watching him intently and trying to imitate his frown.

  There is a knock at the door. My father straightens and, at the same time, pushes me aside none too gently. I open my mouth to complain, but something tells me I should not bring myself to his notice again. Not now.

  ‘He begs you to reconsider, Your Majesty,’ says the minister who has come in. He looks weary and worried.

  My father merely shakes his head.

  ‘He asks for your forgiveness. He begs you to spare his life. His wife and child …’

  My father rises to his feet. ‘Does he think I care about his family? He should have known better than to use them as a bargaining tool. Kill him now and have done with it. And send his head back to his beloved wife and child.’

  The minister bows his head, his jaw set, and leaves. I find myself trembling and I am not sure why. I look at Yayati and he is still as a statue, hardly breathing. My father, his expression still thunderous, suddenly realizes that we are still there.

  ‘Go back to your chambers now,’ he orders.

  Yayati scrambles to his feet and runs to the door.

  I hesitate, waiting for a smile, a pat on the back, a loving word, anything to make me forget what I have just heard and to quell the fears in my mind.

  He turns his back on me as if he has forgotten my existence and I eventually sidle out and run to my rooms.

  My aunt finds me later, silent and deeply troubled. I have cried bitterly, there are tear stains on my cheeks and when she sees them, she takes me in her arms and asks me, in a gentle tone, what is wrong. It is a while before I can find my voice and tell her what has transpired. Someone’s head is to be cut and
sent to his family. And my father doesn’t love me any more. He became a stranger before my eyes. I want him back. And whose head is to be cut? Who will cut it? And what will his wife and child say? Where do they live? Do I know them?

  She cuts through my feverish queries. ‘Children are not meant to poke their heads into state affairs. And your father loves you. He is just tired today after a lot of work.’ She pauses and adds, ‘It isn’t easy being a king and it is time you realized it. Now go to sleep and everything will be fine in the morning.’

  And it was. My father was back to his usual self with me, and the relief I felt was tremendous. As the days went by, I began to wonder if I had dreamt the whole thing.

  It was some years later that I learnt the truth: one of my father’s chief feudatories had defaulted on his revenue payment and was put to death. His wife killed herself soon after and their son was cast out into the world on his own. No one knew where he was or whether he had survived. My father had made his point, though. His feudatories obeyed his dictates scrupulously from then on, and one more legend had been added to his formidable reputation.

  I can’t deny the air of menace that clings to him all the time. His eyes, when they rest on me, are tender and loving. When they look elsewhere, they are cold. Perhaps this is true of any successful ruler. My father can’t afford to show his gentle side or this will be construed as an act of weakness and he will be taken advantage of.

  I find myself wondering yet again what his plans for me are. And what he will do if I oppose him in any way, if his thoughts for me run counter to mine.

  Another thought tugs at me. Am I more like him than I know? Would I be able to countenance cruelty like him?

  I ask these questions out loud. The chamber is brightly lit with torches flaring in their sconces, but there are some dark spaces in between and my words vanish into them. I sit for a long while, thinking hard and staring into the flames till my eyes hurt. And I think I find an answer.

  When my father beheld me for the first time, it was not my mother whom he saw but he himself. There is a reason why I am so dear to him. I am his daughter, not hers.

  OF BATTLES AND BONDS

  Father is planning a huge campaign, a vitally important one. The court has been rife with rumours for a while now and these days, he is closeted with his ministers for hour upon hour, unable to even spare time for food or drink, despite my aunt’s protests.

  I barely get to see him or Yayati. I wait for my brother at night, hoping to extract some information from him. When he comes, he is weary but excited and his words fall over each another. He has to repeat himself before I can make any sense of what he is saying.

  When I finally understand him, though, my stomach clenches with elation and dread. Our father is preparing to attack Khinjali-mandala and its ruler, Ranabhanja. The Bhanjas, the ruling line at Khinjali-mandala, are feudatories of the Bhaumakaras of Toshali to the east and occupy the land between them and us, the Somavamshis.

  The Bhaumakaras are a strange family—they follow very odd systems of governance and worship gods that have no place in our lives—but a formidable power and our main opponents in this land, controlling large swathes of the northern and central regions all along the coast. It is unclear where they came from and what is the source of their outlandish customs. I have always been aware of them as a vague but ever-present threat, an entity that has been gathering strength steadily and surely, but I never gave them much thought. Until now.

  If Father attacks the Bhanjas, he is heading for a direct collision with the Bhaumakaras and might not survive the clash, if reports of Toshali’s colossal strength are to be believed. The fact of the matter is that the Bhanjas exist with the goodwill and protection of the Bhaumakaras, and are their ranakas or feudatory chiefs. The Bhanjas supply soldiers for the Bhaumakara war efforts, they supply grain and minerals to augment the Bhaumakara food stores and they pay taxes to oil the wheels of the Bhaumakara machinery. In return, they are allowed to occupy the adjoining tract of land, to conduct their own affairs within reasonable limits and to issue their own charters.

  ‘Is this campaign necessary?’ I ask Yayati. ‘Can’t Father look to conquering other regions before he eyes those of the Bhaumakaras? Wouldn’t it help to launch a joint attack on them with his allies?’

  ‘This is the right time, don’t you see?’ Yayati is jubilant. ‘And we must do this alone so that the glory is all ours. We are strong enough to tackle the Bhaumakaras ourselves.’

  In his mind, the battle has been fought and won, and we are in possession of the vast tract that the Bhanjas have hitherto occupied. South Kosala has been further expanded and we are well on our way to becoming the undisputed masters of all of Kalinga. And someday, of course, he will inherit it all from my father. This is his legacy that he is fighting to expand, to protect.

  I leave Yayati to his cheerful reflections and seek out my aunt. Hers has always been the voice of sanity; she will tell me what to think.

  Much later, I retire to my chamber, my head full of thoughts. It is a while before I can sift through them all.

  Sounds float up to me from the main courtyard where the soldiers are practising their drills in the comparative calm of night to show their state of battle readiness. No doubt the army commander means to impress my father with the dedication of his forces—and to reinforce the idea that he himself, despite his advancing years, is ready for any challenge that is thrown at him. I have never liked the man. He smells of metal and blood, and his face is hard.

  It is a confusing tale that my aunt told me, but I have finally understood its nuances. There is trouble raging at the heart of the Bhaumakara empire. A fierce succession dispute had earlier caused dissensions within the royal family and forced its members to take sides. After the death of King Shivakara, his son, Shubhakara, ought to have taken over the reins of the administration. Instead, Shantikara, the younger brother of Shivakara, took the Bhaumakara throne for himself. The Bhaumakaras were thus split into irreconcilable factions; the older branch of the family was discredited and the younger branch, represented by Shantikara, tried to corner all the power and status.

  However, death struck in quick succession, carrying off both King Shantikara and his son. Shantikara’s widow, Tribhuvanamahadevi, took over the reins of government as her grandson was a minor and unfit to rule. She remained on the throne until her grandson came of age and could govern independently. However, the latter was now seriously ill and the older branch of the family, Shivakara’s line, was threatening to take over power again.

  ‘And so, the Bhaumakaras are completely occupied with their own troubles,’ my aunt wound up her tale. ‘They do not have the time to dwell on matters outside their realm. By the time they repair their breach, your father will have prised away the Bhanja territory from under their noses.’

  Pride engulfs my mind as I listen to her, but I also fear for my father’s safety. Our act of aggression might initially escape the Bhaumakaras’ attention, but they will discover it sooner or later. What form would their retribution take, then? Would they swoop in on us and ravage our kingdom? Would we be any match for them at all?

  So far, we have watched each other uneasily as two potential foes might, each aware of the other’s power and wary of provoking hostilities. But now matters will speedily progress beyond our control for my father has every intention of posing this open challenge. The Bhaumakaras are what stand between him and sole mastery over Kalinga, after all.

  But a new question takes over all others in my mind. ‘Can a woman actually rule?’

  ‘There have been instances in the past,’ my aunt says cautiously, ‘but it is not the natural way of things.’ She pauses and then adds drily, ‘Even if it were, we would be denied it. We have always been at the mercy of men. They make rules for us that crush us, that make us into something less than them.’

  This is a rare admission on her part. Usually she is careful, wary of overstepping lines, urging me to be restrained in what I say a
nd do. I want her to continue but she purses her lips and turns away, aware that she has challenged the norm that she has always urged me to accept unquestioningly.

  I mull over her words. Are women any less intelligent than men? Are they not capable of holding the reins and discharging responsibilities? I am no less than Yayati, although society dictates that he be considered worthier because he is a man. I know that I am more resourceful and courageous than him, at least verbally. I have just not had the opportunity to test myself, to see how far I can go. And although I yearn for a chance to prove myself, I also know, with a sort of dull certainty, that I will never have it. Someday I will be given away to another man; my father’s rule over me will be exchanged for his. I will chafe at this life of obedience and subservience, but how do I avoid this fate?

  I wonder what must have gone through the mind of Queen Tribhuvanamahadevi when she first began to rule. Was she afraid to step into her son’s shoes? Did she want to rule to begin with? Did the Bhaumakaras accept her as their sovereign right away?

  I think about our ruling house. If Father were to fall ill, would he allow my aunt to rule in his stead? I know the answer. The Somavamshis would never allow a woman to have so much power. All authority is firmly vested in the hands of the men; the women exist as their mere shadows, their satellites.

  The Bhaumakaras, though, must be a different breed altogether. Could they possibly be less barbaric than I have been given to believe all my life?

  Matters seem to have slowed down after the initial fervour. I begin to think that my father has decided to be prudent, for the time being, and abandon his plan. Perhaps the Bhaumakara crisis has been resolved. In that case, he will not be able to evade their hawk-eyed gaze. The Bhanjas have narrowly avoided a calamity without even being aware of it. The irony makes me laugh.