Queen of the Earth

by Devika Rangachari

  I run my hands over the smooth surface and marvel at its longevity. It is just a stone, after all, but it connects us powerfully over the years, bearing testimony to the queen’s presence. The priest informs me that Madhavidevi was the wife of Shubhakara, the first of that name in the Bhaumakara dynasty and a great ruler in his own right. She must have wielded a lot of influence, as a result. And she clearly had a lot of money, too, judging from the size and ornate decorations of this temple.

  ‘So the Bhaumakaras haven’t always worshipped the Shakyamuni, have they?’ I attempt to draw Shashilekha into conversation. She is silent and sullen as always, lost in her own brooding thoughts. ‘Or was Queen Madhavidevi the exception?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Some have worshipped your gods. Queen Tribhuvanamahadevi is a great devotee of Vishnu. But now the Buddha holds sway over the land. My husband made me convert to this faith when we married.’

  ‘And did you want to?’ I ask, curious.

  Her expression is bitter. ‘When you are raised in a faith, that is all you know. Yet marriage changes everything. One has to follow one’s husband’s dictates.’

  We are more like each other than she knows. Shubhakara has not said anything to me on this subject yet, but I know he will soon. And I might be forced to put away the few idols I had carried with me from my home and switch my allegiance to the renouncer-god instead.

  ‘There are many who worship the old gods in secret. Even in the royal family.’ Shashilekha looks as if she would like to say more but then purses her lips.

  I am instantly intrigued. Yet there is no point in questioning Shashilekha further; her face has assumed its usual closed look.

  ‘Tell me about your family,’ I say instead. ‘Do you see your father often?’

  ‘Not as often as I would like to,’ she says sourly. ‘My husband frowns upon it. And I am bound to obey him.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he like your father?’ We begin to descend the stone steps that wind around the temple to the entrance below. I hold out a hand to her and she grips it. The way is steep and uneven, and my robes are long, obscuring the way.

  ‘There is a slur on my father’s name,’ she says quietly. ‘Many would like to keep their distance from him.’

  More probing reveals nothing. Her face is full of unspoken grief, but she does not trust me enough to detail the facts. Yet that it stabs her anew whenever she considers it is obvious.

  I am impatient with her reticence but also feel a rush of sympathy for her. I know what it is to love one’s father so deeply that one cannot bear his name to be tarnished. Even now, although months have elapsed since my marriage, I rage silently at the derisive way in which his name is sometimes uttered in the Bhaumakara court, often by the king.

  I put my other hand over Shashilekha’s and hold it in a firm grip. When I release her hand, she does not flounce away but stays close. There is a brief look of warmth, of fleeting gratitude, in her eyes. I know a barrier has been bridged today—and so does she.

  The change is barely perceptible from then on but I notice it, for I watch her closely. Her sullenness slowly begins to fall away and I am often able to view her real, unguarded visage. Her smile is wide and friendly, and I see it more often than before. Her voice, too, is more at ease and pleasant. She puts more effort into my concerns—into the way I dress, the food I eat, the manner in which I fill my hours. Off and on, she asks me about my home, about my family.

  She does not need to ask me about my feelings towards this court. I am not welcome here—this much is clear. I am holding my own with a husband who is hostile and indifferent, in turn, and with a court that mirrors his ways.

  Yet, in her, I think I have finally found a friend.

  I am allowed to attend the court proceedings if I so desire.

  I have made the acquaintance of Lalitadeva, the prime minister, a hawk-eyed man who misses nothing although he says very little. Shubhakara clearly relies on him to a great extent. He leans on the army commander, Dharmaratha, equally. This is, after all, the man who is responsible for the ever-growing Bhaumakara acquisitions and might. He is tall and well built, a formidable giant of a man, but I have seen his face grow gentle when he looks at Dhruva or Kusuma.

  Shubhakara chooses his aides wisely—they seem devoted to him and the kingdom, and it surprises me that he is able to inspire so much loyalty, given that his personality is not quite endearing. Or is it only I who feels this way?

  I am also free to wander at will through the palace or its plain grounds and even further. Shashilekha accompanies me on my travels across the city. No fanfare accompanies me as it did back home on the rare occasions when I ventured out. Here, the royal family is treated with great respect, but they are not equated with the divine. People bow gravely when they see me looking out of the carriage but, for the most part, I am left to my own devices. There is no fuss or adulation or interference.

  I am soon familiar with the main areas of the capital city of Viraja and the two rivers that enfold it. Often, I sit on one or the other bank of the Vaitarani that laps against the city walls, idly watching the play of sunlight on water, soothed by the tranquil movement of the waves. Shashilekha sits nearby, lost in her own thoughts as always, while a couple of royal guards watch over us from a distance.

  I feel liberated in many ways; in Kosala, I had a measure of freedom but not as generous.

  I am still struggling to adapt to the ways of the Bhaumakaras. Everything is pared down to the simplest form, whether it is the food that is served in the royal dining chamber or the rituals that are adopted in court proceedings. I cannot help but compare this lifestyle to the ostentatious one that the Somavamshis take great pride in. I remember the royal cooks competing to serve the tastiest dishes, the most exotic vegetables, the biggest fruit at every single meal. Our court procedures were intricate and complex but were part of an inherited tradition and could not be easily set aside.

  To approach my father, at any point, required cumbersome appeals to various levels of authority until he deigned to entertain the applicant. This could take days, even weeks. Shubhakara is available to all who seek to approach him with a minimal level of intervention by his officers. The Bhaumakaras have an open court; it has always been thus, I am told.

  As the days pass, I develop a grudging admiration for the family I have married into that sometimes overpowers my resentment towards them. They could have smothered themselves in luxury, given the resources they command in their extensive territories, but they deny themselves all but the bare minimum. Their lives so closely mimic those of the commoners they rule that the bond between them thrives and grows stronger by the day.

  On the other hand, my father, with his splendid silks and dazzling crown and opulent ways, has set himself completely apart from his subjects. He commands their loyalty but not their hearts.

  I wonder what this augurs for the future.

  Queen Tribhuvanamahadevi surrenders her tenuous grasp on life.

  This is the first time I have seen Shubhakara succumb to real emotion. He weeps like a child over her lifeless body until Shivakara throws an arm over his shoulder and leads him gently away.

  The court officials are similarly bereft; they mourn her loss as they would that of a beloved mother. Women are deeply important to this court. I think of Madhavidevi who left her presence on this landscape and of this newly deceased queen who fiercely safeguarded her grandson’s claim to the throne.

  Once the funeral rites are over, Shubhakara retires to his chambers, forlorn and, to my relief, shunning all company.

  I spend the afternoon narrating stories to Dhruva and Kusuma to help them forget the events of the day. They are curled up around my feet, their eyes rapt and their minds drifting along in the worlds that I have conjured up for them. There is no sign of their mother and I am thankful for this. We have never talked much beyond exchanging a few polite words, yet she does not seem to mind me being with her children. I have gone out of my way to be friendly with the bo
ys, and they are now comfortable with my presence and I with them. Their childish talk and eager smiles have gone a long way towards easing me into this home.

  Shivakara finds us on the terrace, scoops them up into his broad arms, plants a kiss on their cheeks and sends them away with their maid, promising to visit them later. They scurry off, their shrill voices echoing down the corridor. I will finish the tale later and wait to be besieged by their questions—Dhruva with his grave, solemn air and Kusuma with his natural exuberance.

  ‘You are good to spend time with them,’ Shivakara says. ‘They are fond of your company.’

  ‘And I of theirs.’

  He joins me on the parapet, looking out over the grounds. The wind changes, bringing us the smell of the river and a gentle breeze that banishes the humid air and cools our sweat. It was always hot in Kosala with brief spells of rain, but the weather is different here near the coast. Coconut trees loom against the sky and the earth smells damp but fresh.

  I turn to Shivakara. ‘Tell me about the women of this family. I only know of two significant ones. Were there more?’

  He smiles at the question. ‘There was one other in our ancient past—so long ago that there aren’t too many records of it. It is believed that a woman called Gosvaminidevi ruled this kingdom when there was no man capable of holding the reins.’ He pauses and lowers his voice. ‘It seems she even appeared to my great-grandmother in a dream and encouraged her to rule when she was wondering whether to do so.’

  ‘So she is some sort of goddess for you all?’ My laugh rings out but dies in my throat when I see the frightened look on Shivakara’s face.

  ‘Do not joke about such things,’ he says reprovingly. ‘Ill luck might strike us.’

  ‘But you are protected by the Buddhist god,’ I point out. ‘Is he not the guardian of your kingdom?’

  ‘That is a matter of dispute,’ he says slowly. ‘There are some of us who still worship the older gods and believe their strength to be greater.’

  ‘Do you?’ I ask at once.

  He nods his head, a fleeting glint of shame in his eyes. ‘It is not known to all. I request you not to reveal this. My brother would be angry.’

  Annoyance flares in me. ‘Who you worship is your personal choice,’ I retort. ‘Why should your brother intervene? He has no right.’

  ‘He has every right,’ says Shivakara gently. ‘He is our king, our sovereign.’

  I have shown my impatience towards his brother openly, but I know he will not take it amiss.

  Shivakara seems to be offering genuine overtures of friendship to me. I marvel at the difference between the two Bhaumakara siblings—where one is dour and dry and (to me) unapproachable, the other is warm and charming and pleasant. Shivakara would have made a more likeable ruler. Yet he has been relegated to an inferior place by the unpredictable fact of birth.

  He smiles ruefully now, rises to his feet and bows to me.

  ‘Before you leave,’ I say hurriedly, ‘can you tell me why Shashilekha’s father is reviled at court?’ She is not around—she left early at her husband’s bidding.

  ‘Shrinanna supported the wrong faction some years ago,’ Shivakara replies. ‘He threw in his lot with the older branch of the family when, in fact, it was the younger branch that triumphed in the succession struggle. As a result, he was stripped of his rank and riches but allowed to remain at court because he is related to us. He was a great man once but now he is reduced to nothing.’

  I hold my breath. ‘What about her husband?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, he is a flatterer and a wastrel of no consequence. My brother arranged the marriage to punish Shrinanna.’

  Anger flares in me anew. ‘Why should Shashilekha bear the brunt of your brother’s revenge? How is that fair?’

  ‘The world is not fair to women, as you know,’ he says quietly.

  When I am with Shubhakara next, I am resentful. He senses my mood but is indifferent as always. How can I bear to live my entire life with this man?

  I have a sudden and overwhelming desire to escape, to run out of the palace and across the city to the border of Toshali, and continue to run all the way from there to Kosala to my home and my father’s safe embrace. Perhaps I can disguise myself so that I can escape detection. I can get Shashilekha to help me. Or perhaps she can accompany me and seek refuge in Kosala where her useless husband can’t reach her. In that case, she will need to disguise herself as well.

  A thrill courses through me. Could I make it happen? Can I finally free myself from this man?

  I am aware that Shubhakara is talking. It is with a great effort of will that I break out of the dream in my head and enter reality once more.

  ‘His name is Shivagupta,’ he is saying, ‘and I have no use for him in my court but your father insists on my keeping him here. A gesture of goodwill, he says, to help with routine court proceedings. I have no need for such useless gifts from him.’

  My mind races. So my father has sent a man to this court as a gift. Why has he done so? Why does he need to placate the Bhaumakaras again?

  I am always hungry for news from my home, but I only get it in intermittent fragments. My father occasionally sends word that all is well but nothing more specific than that. My aunt writes more often but does not give me news of any consequence. She is anxious about me and her letters are full of questions.

  ‘If you do not need this gift,’ I say haughtily, ‘then tell him so. I have nothing to do with it.’

  In the twilight hours, I often walk in the garden abutting the palace building. It is a beautiful place, its grasses lush and green, with flowers of every scent and description and the tall fronds of the coconut trees keeping watch over it all.

  That evening, Dhruva is with me, his hand in mine and telling me something in his serious manner. He is happy to spend some time alone with me and without his noisy brother clamouring for my attention. If I have a child someday, I think dreamily, it should be exactly like this little boy whom I have grown so fond of. I inhale the scent of the flowers around us.

  A man appears out of the shadows and I step back, startled. Dhruva grips my hand tighter and I draw him close to me.

  ‘Forgive me, O queen,’ the man says. ‘My name is Shivagupta and I have been sent here by your father. I wanted to speak to you when no listening ears are around.’

  ‘Speak, then,’ I say, still breathing fast. I don’t like the look of him. He is tall and thin with eyes that are set too close together. It makes him look sly. I dislike the smooth tone of his voice as well.

  ‘I am here at your service,’ he bows. ‘Your father desires me to keep your welfare in mind at all times.’

  ‘I am perfectly well,’ I retort. Why has my father sent this unpleasant man here? I do not know what to think.

  Dhruva tugs at my robe. He looks uneasy, but I must ask a question before we go. ‘What tidings from home?’

  ‘Everyone is well,’ he says blandly. ‘Your father sends his greetings to you and your esteemed husband. I can convey your messages to him if you wish.’

  I can’t think of trusting this man with my private messages. I nod to him and hasten away with Dhruva. Something is amiss, but I don’t know what it is.

  I see Shivagupta in court and the palace environs over the next few days. He seems perfectly at ease in his new surroundings and busy on some errand or the other. He does not speak to me again but always bows respectfully whenever I come upon him. My unease quietens. Perhaps he is exactly what my father meant him to be, after all—an officer sent to assist at the Bhaumakara court and keep an eye on me to ensure that I am not discomfited in any way. Pangs of conscience might have belatedly pricked my father, hence this gift to Shubhakara and me.

  When I reflect on the fact that two and a half years have elapsed since my marriage, it is with a sense of wonder. One day is very like another and there is nothing new or remarkable in the routine that I have forged for myself. Once, I had craved change and it came to me in a strange manner. Now
, I do not know what shape my future will take or whether I will continue to live this half-life, tied to a man who dislikes me and to a court where I am still the enemy, forever a Somavamshi. I fear my life will go on in this endless, tedious way until I become one with the Bhaumakara soil, just another unremarkable name in the annals of this house.

  I amuse myself by learning about their history. Shivakara tells me that the Bhaumakaras trace their origin to a tribe in the distant land of Kamarupa. Over the years, they transported themselves to this land of Kalinga and sought to lay down roots. I know that they are seen by others as barbaric and boorish, intruders who know nothing of the cultured ways of this ancient land, who worship an outlandish faith and do not adhere to any known customs.

  ‘We are mocked for our simplicity,’ Shivakara says. ‘Our ways are simple, our creed is simple, our faith is simple. But when people don’t understand someone, they insult them.’ He pauses and then goes on: ‘The women in this family have power and influence, and this is accepted as the natural order of things. Meanwhile, in lands around this kingdom, women are vilified, burnt on their husbands’ pyres, hedged by rules and enslaved to men. Who is more cultured, then?’

  I have no answer. There is truth in what he says and there is much to be appreciated in their customs. But I will never completely become one of them. I still resent this family that forced my father into submission and me into an unwanted union. I still yearn for my home and the ways of my family. And I can never fully adopt their god or their manner of living.

  The desire for a child of my own, a boy like Dhruva and Kusuma, fills me up and weighs me down. I can pour all my hopes and dreams into him and fashion his future. It will give me a focus; it will ease my frustrations. I can hear the whispers at court, the insinuations that I am barren.