When my father’s men finally swooped down on them, nature and uncertainty had worked their damage. It was clear, after just a short while of fighting, that the Bhaumakaras would have to concede defeat. My father had prevailed, but it seems he did not want to take any chances.
He approached Shivakara, who promptly laid down his sword and prepared to be taken prisoner in the time-honoured fashion.
And my father, the formidable Somavamshi warrior whose valour has long been praised in song, drew his short dagger and plunged it into Shivakara’s chest. Thus fell the Bhaumakara king, my brother-in-law.
Now that the deed is done, it is time to restore balance. And my father knows just how to pull order out of blood and chaos. He has done so time and again, and his officers know the ritual.
Orders ring out in the courtyard, men scurry to and fro at my father’s bidding, and the Somavamshi presence begins to fill every part of this court.
And what of me? I have greeted my father with all the love I possess, but a part of me shrinks at his act.
There is no disguising the fact: he has murdered Shivakara in cold blood. The loathing and hatred writ large on the faces of the sullen Bhaumakara soldiers and servants bear testimony to this. The violence of his ambitions strikes me with renewed force. He is a master strategist, biding his time until it is safe to strike. And when he does, none can withstand him. Therein lies his glory. All rulers must script their own paths to success; in this sense, he is no different from other great conquerors of the past.
Yet the other, larger part of me is exultant, proud. I am the victor’s daughter. None can treat me with snide derision any longer; I will hold my head up higher at this court. Did the Bhaumakaras really think they could face my father with a simpleton at their helm? He was well meaning, yes, but imprudent to have embraced this battle. I suppress my irritation at his idiocy—there were so many ways in which he could have extricated himself! Yet it is futile to dwell on the past when there is so much before us now, so many matters for us to take care of.
The corridors to the throne room are lined with Somavamshi soldiers, who bow deeply to me as I pass. I revel in this feeling of importance. The days of being treated with disdain have vanished in one stroke. I am a person of consequence now, to be treated with respect and awe.
I enter the chamber and my father immediately seizes me in his arms. He smells of home, of familiarity, of love, and I burrow my head in his chest. The throne lies vacant, shorn of its occupant.
He dismisses the others and then turns to me, his voice harsh with concern: ‘Are you well?’
I nod, feeling too overwhelmed to speak.
He has borne the years well; he is as he was when I left home. His brow is still unlined, his hair black and luxuriant. And he exudes the same strength.
‘I had to kill him,’ he says abruptly. ‘He would have killed me himself if he had the chance. Such is the way of war: you attack before you are attacked.’
I take a deep breath. ‘What is to become of me, Father? I did what you asked of me and tried to make a life at this court. Do you now intend for me to return to Kosala?’
He looks amused and then raises my head so that our eyes meet. ‘You and I,’ he says, ‘are alike, much more than you have realized, perhaps. I have always known this. You have the face of your mother and the heart of your father, my child. You, more than anyone else, understand my compulsions and the rhythms of power.’
He pauses and I take a ragged breath. What is he trying to say? My head feels as if it is in a fog—I cannot think clearly.
Outside the chamber, I hear a guard clear his throat, his spear clanging against the wall as he shifts position. It is almost time for our evening meal now, but I feel no hunger. I briefly think of the cooks in the palace kitchens, labouring under an unfamiliar guard, resentful and afraid. The silence echoes loudly in my ears.
He places his hand on my head in benediction. ‘My daughter,’ he says, ‘I told you when you left your home that I would make it worth your while—and I have kept my word. It is time to reap your reward. You will stay on in the Bhaumakara court as its ruler. You will ascend this throne.’
Does my father jest? Have I heard him right?
A shiver of excitement courses down my spine.
‘Am I to rule this kingdom?’ My heart begins to sing but my brain seeks confirmation.
‘Yes, you will.’ His voice has a ring of finality to it, and he gestures towards the throne. ‘You are to be its next occupant.’
I am overwhelmed; I cannot speak further.
He has always dictated the course of my life for better or for worse. There is great truth in the old saying that bonds of blood override every other relationship. He is my father; I love him dearly, even though he has blood on his hands. I will do as I am bid. And I will show him that I truly am his daughter.
I tell Shashilekha what has transpired. I cannot keep it hidden inside me, this jewel of a secret that fills me with fierce light. She is silent, impassive.
I am grateful that she does not reproach me for my joy or my seeming lack of sorrow at Shivakara’s death. Despite myself, I find myself missing his gentle presence, his persistent questions. I am sorry for the loss of his life, but this latest turn in my destiny consumes my mind. I will be queen. I will rule.
Varied emotions tug at me. I am eager to ascend the throne but apprehensive, too. I am worried about the people’s reactions but impatient to show what I am worth. Elation and anticipation surge in me every once in a while. The prospect of being the sovereign of the Bhaumakaras, of having them obey my dictates, thrills me.
My father is right: I am more like him than I ever knew. And this is why I get to rule, not Yayati. I am finally coming into my own, taking on a responsibility that would make the faint-hearted quail. But I am Prithvimahadevi, solid and firm as the earth.
There are practical matters to see to. The king’s body has been disposed off, along with the other dead, consigned to a large burning heap.
Shivagupta has been given charge of part of the army. I learn that he has ingratiated himself with most of the soldiers over these past months so that his takeover is now seamless. The other part will be overseen, for the time being, by a Somavamshi army veteran. Most of Shivakara’s officers have been retained on the condition that they swear oaths of fealty to me once I am crowned as their ruler. Death is their other option.
Lalitadeva has disappeared, slipping through the hands of his captors and successfully evading all efforts by the Somavamshi soldiers to trace him. It makes me uneasy to think of him hiding somewhere nearby, watching us, unseen.
My father does not waste more time in this futile pursuit but turns his attention to more immediate issues. He is everywhere at once—organizing, planning, executing. A Somavamshi minister, Bhairavagupta, whom he trusts implicitly, is appointed in Lalitadeva’s place. He is to assist me in all matters of governance.
The Bhaumakara kingdom is to be run as a subsidiary of the Somavamshis. My father is now the most powerful sovereign in all of Kalinga and the Somavamshis are poised to take over the entire land, engulfing all the other ruling entities, minor or major.
However, my father is eager to be back in Kosala. He has left Yayati in charge, but the Kalachuris are an ever-present threat on the border. Therefore, my coronation is to take place the very next day.
If the Bhaumakara court officials are surprised at the announcement, they do not dare to show it. In the space of a few hours, my father has frightened them into silence by the ferocity of his intentions.
The people, though, react in a very obvious way. Shashilekha tells me that there is a pall of mourning over the city. Shivakara’s death must be a grievous loss to his subjects and the news of my succession must have confounded them completely. The presence of Somavamshi soldiers in every nook and cranny of the city is, clearly, another irritant, but they are powerless to protest.
I make my way to Jayadevi’s chambers and ask to be let in. She sits befo
re me, her face tear-stained but composed, one son on either side of her. I have not seen her since that fateful morning. I recall, with a stab of surprise, that barely a day has passed since then. She has kept the boys with her, out of sight of the palace denizens. Dhruva did not perform his father’s last rites. In fact, none of the bereaved were by the side of the burning bodies.
I prepare to offer my cursory condolences to Jayadevi when Kusuma jumps to his feet.
‘Mother says your father killed mine!’ he cries accusingly. ‘Why did you let that happen?’
‘I am sorry, Kusuma,’ I say with all the sincerity I can muster. ‘I am as saddened as you by your father’s death.’
Jayadevi fixes her pale eyes on me; they glitter with malevolence. ‘Do you have the time to be sorry when you are so busy claiming the throne?’ she breathes.
Several stinging resorts rise to my tongue, but Dhruva now claims my attention. ‘Am I not to be king after my father?’ he asks, entwining his fingers in mine. ‘Are you going to rule instead?’
Jayadevi turns to him. ‘Yes, your beloved aunt has stolen your inheritance,’ she says flatly. ‘She wants to take your place on the throne.’
Dhruva abruptly removes his fingers from mine and stares at me, his expression full of reproach. Kusuma is momentarily stunned into silence. I can’t bear the hurt and accusation in their eyes. I must convince them that I knew nothing of what was to happen.
Jayadevi is speaking again and I am forced to hold back my words.
‘What do you and your father intend for us?’ she demands. ‘Is it to be death right away or as and when it pleases your fancy?’
The horror on Dhruva’s face mirrors mine. ‘Nothing will happen to you,’ I say, breathing fast. ‘You and your sons will be safe.’
Jayadevi sighs. ‘If you believe that, what kind of a fool are you?’
It is a while before I can find my father. He is in his makeshift chamber, giving instructions to Bhairavagupta who listens carefully, his head inclined and his face thoughtful. There are some other officials at one end of the room, watching the proceedings and awaiting their turn. Yet when my father sees me, he dismisses them forthwith and beckons me forward.
‘You seem distressed,’ he remarks. ‘What is the matter?’
My words tumble over each other in their haste to be uttered. ‘What is to happen to Shivakara’s sons? And his widow?’
He waves his hand dismissively. ‘Why must this worry you? She can spend her days in prison. I don’t care what happens to her. But we cannot spare Shivakara’s seed. The boys will be killed right after you are crowned. You will give the royal order.’
OF LOVE AND DUTY
Once I leave his presence, I run.
The soldiers along the corridors are bemused, wondering at the cause of my agitation. I could not allow the distress to show on my face in my father’s presence. His words were like a knife plunging deep inside me but I forced myself to listen without comment, without reaction. He must never suspect what I am feeling.
I cannot let the boys be sacrificed for my father’s ambition. I do not care what happens to Jayadevi but if her sons are killed, I will not be able to live with myself. I did not realize that the boys would be the logical casualties of my father’s takeover—and I am a fool for not doing so!
Is it already too late, I wonder feverishly. Has my father sent guards to round them up and lead them off to be executed? A sob rises in my throat at the vision that suddenly leaps into my mind—that of Kusuma and Dhruva lying lifeless on the ground, their bodies decapitated. I fight it down and hurry to their quarters, my breath ragged, my heart burning in my chest.
A Somavamshi guard stands at the door; my father is already making his move. He prepares to challenge me but I walk past, my head high, and he does not dare to stand in my way.
Jayadevi and the boys are huddled together on a couch at the far end, wide-eyed with fear.
‘Your father has banned us from leaving this chamber,’ she spits. ‘Would he make us prisoners in our own home?’
The boys are quiet. Kusuma whimpers and burrows his head into his mother’s lap. Dhruva fastens his grave eyes on mine. Fierce despair courses through me.
Aloud, I say: ‘You must come with me and speak no word to anyone. You must trust me implicitly.’
‘Why should we?’ Jayadevi pulls the boys closer to her as if she is worried I will snatch them away.
‘Because I love your sons,’ I say simply. ‘And that is reason enough.’
I help the boys to their feet and, after a moment’s hesitation, they follow me to the door, pulling their unwilling mother along. The lamps are lit, there are no welcome shadows in the corridor, there is no cover at all. My heart pulsates with fear. If my father should see us now, we are lost.
As I step out, the guard bars our way.
‘Forgive me,’ he says, ‘but I have orders to let no one leave this chamber.’
‘I know,’ I say quickly. ‘I am taking them to my father. He sent me to fetch them.’
His brow clears and he stands aside.
We hurry past, our uneven breaths and uncertain footsteps resounding in my ears, and I lead them down the long, winding corridors to my chamber. I pray to all the gods I know—the ones I worship and the Shakyamuni as well—and they are perhaps on our side for we encounter no one who could challenge us.
Once in, I order Shashilekha to bar the door. I have no plan, no scheme that occurs to my frantic mind. All I know is that I have to keep the boys with me for their safety. Beyond that, I know nothing.
I quickly apprise Shashilekha of what has transpired. She takes it all in without comment, but I see a flash of fear in her eyes. If we are caught, I will be spared but she won’t escape my father’s reprisal, which is bound to be brutal.
Jayadevi’s lips are white; she pulls the boys closer to her as if she will shield them with her own body. In this, we are the same. Should my father burst in to take the boys, I will protect them with my life, too—of that, I am sure.
‘I think I know what to do.’ Shashilekha’s quiet voice breaks up the uneasy silence. ‘My father is trustworthy and can help you keep the princes safe. We will send them to our old home in the village where he can guard them in seclusion. It is far from Viraja.’
This plan is fraught with risks, but we have no other in mind. It will have to do. I think rapidly, pushing aside my anxiety and trying to calm my mind.
‘Send for him, then,’ I tell her. ‘And instruct him to bring a carriage to the Hamseshvara temple. We will meet him there within the hour.’
Shashilekha hurries away.
Kusuma whimpers in fear—he has understood his life is in danger—and Dhruva, though pale himself, strokes his brother’s head till he quietens down. Jayadevi’s fingers twitch and her face is ashen; her eyes are fixed on the door. She knows I am their only hope.
I force myself to count down the minutes until I think it is safe to leave. There is no sound outside the chamber. Perhaps all might yet be well.
‘We will leave in a few minutes,’ I say. ‘Keep your heads down and do not utter a word.’
They listen in silence.
As I lead them out, I grapple with several scenarios in my mind. If someone stops us, I will keep to the truth as far as possible. I will say that I am taking the prisoners to the temple for a final benediction before they meet their end. If my father sees us, I will tell him the same thing. Or I could throw myself down on my knees before him and beg for mercy. This is the first time I am going against him. What will he do to me? My thoughts move in a ghastly spiral.
I pray, again, to all the gods I know.
The corridors seem interminably long and fraught with hideous dangers. We traverse them as silently as we can. Fortunately, the few guards on duty remain unsuspecting and we are soon at the courtyard.
Jayadevi stumbles once as we walk across and I pull her up roughly. I can’t afford any mistakes or delays now. She breathes heavily by my side, her
face stricken, while the boys struggle on gamely. My heart goes out to them, but I daren’t throw them a reassuring word or look.
The Somavamshi guards are all over, some lounging by the palace doors, some standing by the courtyard gate that leads to the garden. They know me by sight, so although some of them frown when they see my companions, I am not questioned or challenged.
A sob of relief threatens to choke me when I see my royal carriage where it always is, to the side of the gate, but I hold myself sternly in check and usher the others in first.
‘The Hamseshvara temple,’ I tell the carriage driver. He has always been a taciturn individual and I am thankful for this now; he will not ask any questions.
As I step into the dark confines of the carriage, my body loses some of its tension and I breathe the musty air in deeply. The smell immediately makes me want to retch—the carriage has not been used in over a fortnight, since the day Dharmaratha brought me back from the Hamseshvara temple—but as the horses bear us away through the winding streets, some fresh air blows in and I start to feel better.
The three fugitives sit stiffly before me, and I reach out and take the boys’ hands.
‘You have been very brave,’ I say earnestly. ‘You must stay that way for just a little longer.’
Kusuma’s eyes are huge with fear. I long to take him in my lap and kiss this nightmare away.
Dhruva removes his hands from my grasp. ‘Where are we going?’ he asks abruptly.
‘Somewhere safe,’ I say. ‘You have to be strong, and look after your mother and brother. Will you remember that?’
He ignores my words and looks away. ‘Where we are going,’ he says carefully, ‘will you come to see us?’
‘I hope so,’ I reply. I can’t commit myself further. I have no way of knowing, at this point, if they will even reach their hiding place in safety.
Jayadevi stirs in her corner, her fingers writhing in her lap. She looks ill; the traumatic events of the past two days have taken a toll on her. I hope she does not crumble now—she can’t afford to.
Queen of the Earth Page 8
