I see a flicker of admiration in Bhairavagupta’s eyes. I have linked my name and rule to that of one of the most popular Bhaumakara rulers, indicating that I am continuing her legacy. Of such emotional appeals is loyalty fashioned, and I see that the minds of some of my opponents are beginning to waver.
My attention is suddenly drawn to a commotion at one end of the throne room. A scuffle has broken out between a man and one of the guards; the former’s voice is raised in anger, but I see the guard overpowering him and pinioning his hands behind his back. Cries of alarm fill the air. The crowd around them steps back as the guard drags the man to his feet and begins to haul him towards me.
This interruption is unfortunate. I do not want the people’s attention to be diverted from me.
As they approach, I see that the man’s garment is torn, his hair dishevelled.
‘This man seeks to incite trouble, Your Majesty,’ the guard informs me, breathless from his exertions.
My face is serene, my mind is not. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ I address the man.
The silence in the room rings in my ears; the crowd is agog once again. Bhairavagupta stiffens to attention by my side.
‘I simply seek an answer to my question,’ the man replies defiantly. ‘But perhaps the voice of the people is to be silenced like the king.’
He has thrown me an open challenge. If I do not humour him, word will spread. Yet what will his question be?
‘What do you seek to know?’ I ask, a sense of foreboding rising in me.
‘What has happened to the princes?’ he asks boldly. ‘They have disappeared overnight, it seems. No one knows what has befallen them, but the people deserve to know.’
The crowd leans forward eagerly. Some nod in agreement; I know that this has been on everyone’s minds. What can I tell them that will mollify them and yet not jeopardize my hold on the throne? As I ask myself this question, I know that there is only one answer I can provide. One answer alone.
‘They are dead,’ I say loudly, and I hear a collective gasp of horror and outrage from the crowd. ‘But what has happened is in the past. We must now prepare for the future.’
The man continues to stare at me insolently.
‘Release him,’ I tell the guard. ‘Let him go his way.’
I look away from him and survey the crowd. ‘You are dismissed,’ I say. ‘I wish to confer with my chief minister alone.’
The guard lets go of the man and the dispersing crowd, now shocked into silence, swallows him up.
Bhairavagupta is agitated, but I signal to him to wait until everyone has gone.
The words eventually burst out of his mouth. ‘The man should have been arrested or beheaded, Your Majesty. He will foment trouble wherever he goes. We can ill afford to have a rebellion on our hands so early into your reign.’
‘And that is your first task,’ I say drily. ‘Make sure that he is silenced. I do not wish to know what method you employ.’
Once Bhairavagupta leaves my presence, my mind goes back to the boys. Was I right to have proclaimed them dead? Will they have to remain in hiding all their lives? I consider the one overriding factor that dictates their seclusion: my father. If word ever gets out that they are alive, he will return to hunt them down. So it is better if this fiction is maintained and the truth remain buried.
Another thought pushes itself forward. The throne rightfully belongs to the boys, but they can never inherit it as long as the Somavamshis hold power here—and they will continue to do so, for we will never give up the Bhaumakara kingdom. I wonder how they will fare once I am gone. Will the Somavamshi who rules after me ferret them out and kill these last scions of the Bhaumakara family? Will my elaborate efforts to protect them have been in vain? And did I protect them only to push them out of sight forever?
I feel dispirited and morose, all of a sudden. Power wrangles are ugly and there are always innocent casualties to them. If the boys didn’t exist, there would be nothing to trouble my conscience with. Perhaps it is better to be a commoner, preoccupied with the daily struggle for existence, than a royal enmeshed in blood feuds.
Yet my natural optimism begins to slowly reassert itself. Someday I will reveal the truth to my father and convince him that the boys pose no threat to us. We could even send them to Kosala to live out their lives under watchful Somavamshi eyes. I do not spare Jayadevi much thought. Why should I trouble myself with one who has shown me little affection? It would be better if she were dead and not around to clutter up my plans for the boys’ future.
When I return to my chamber, it is to find Shashilekha in a state of suppressed excitement.
‘My father has contrived to send me news,’ she whispers. ‘He says they are all safe and he will send us tidings from time to time.’
My heart lightens with relief. ‘He must exercise caution in this,’ I say. ‘I can do without information but no one must detect their presence.’
‘I will convey your warning,’ she assures me. ‘All will be well.’
I turn away and occupy my hands in some idle work, but she knows what is troubling me.
‘You had no other choice but to proclaim them dead,’ she says softly. ‘You did what was right.’
This is true; I could not have done anything else.
I determine to see the children at the first opportunity I get. It will be a risky venture, dangerous even, but my guilt might be assuaged if I can touch them, hold them in my arms and reassure them of my love.
I ensure that the court is full and then I summon the official scribe before we commence the day’s work.
I proceed to issue orders in everyone’s hearing: ‘In all official records issued in my reign either directly by me or by others, there will be no mention of my predecessor’s sons. King Shivakara died childless. Therefore, I have taken over the throne to ensure the continuation of his line. No other versions are to be inscribed on pain of death.’
He nods and steps back without comment. I can sense that the court is in a state of agitation. Murmurs rise and fall through the chamber, yet it is as the roar of a toothless lion. What can they do, after all? Each of those present has sworn loyalty to me. And my Somavamshi guards will not allow them to renege on their vows. I have prevailed yet again.
Later that night, Shashilekha hovers around in my chamber longer than is necessary, folding and refolding clothes and rearranging the cushions. It is clear that she has something on her mind but is hesitant to speak.
I wonder whether it has to do with the boys and my heart seizes with fear. But I know that if something ill had befallen them, she would have told me right away.
I watch her for a while and then ask her gently if something is wrong. Before she answers, I realize, with a twinge of guilt, that I have done nothing to ease her domestic situation although it has been in my power to do so for a while now. I make a silent vow to remedy matters.
‘I have a question,’ she says, her tone uncertain.
I nod and she goes on. ‘Are you removing the boys from the Bhaumakara records in order to protect them?’ Word travels fast at this court; I have not told her anything about it myself.
‘Yes, I want to discourage speculation about them,’ I reply. ‘Better that my version is inscribed in the records. People will slowly start to believe that the boys never existed. It is easier this way.’
The real answer to her question hovers in the air between us: I have erased the boys from the records in order to protect my name and safeguard my hold on the throne. I will be judged better in years to come if it is believed that Shivakara had no heirs. And if a thing is said often enough, it becomes the truth. The past has shown us this time and again.
I am burying them deeper in oblivion. Is it because I seek to protect them or is it the lure of the throne? Is it my father’s blood in me?
The Bhaumakara administrative machinery is a well-oiled one and runs smoothly with very little intervention on my part. In this sense, it is a seamless transition of power. H
owever, it takes me a while to learn the names of the varied administrative units and divisions as well as those of its principal officers. I apply myself to this task with ferocity and the details are soon imprinted on my memory. This does not satisfy me, though, for I yearn for some action and a more concrete way to mark my presence.
I set out on an extensive tour of my realm. I know the capital well enough; it is the outlying parts, the small villages and other holdings that I need to acquaint myself with.
The kingdom of the Bhaumakaras is huge; I cannot hope to cover more than a small part of it, but it will suffice to expand my knowledge. Most of it consists of tribal strongholds, areas that bow to the Bhaumakara centre but that are, nevertheless, fiercely independent. The terrain changes as we traverse the land, but it is mostly coastal. The kingdom is drained by three big rivers that nurture the people and determine their prosperity. And they determine the weather as well. Fortunately, we are not drenched by rain nor scoured by sun—the days remain pleasant and mild.
I am escorted by my Somavamshi guard and a few other officials, some of whom ride ahead to alert the people and make preparations for our visit.
Bhairavagupta stays behind to look after court affairs. He disapproves of my wanderings through the kingdom, and perhaps he is right. The people know what had transpired in the battle for the throne and are, therefore, hostile towards me. My father does not expect me to do anything other than sit on the throne and let Bhairavagupta handle the rest.
Yet if I occupy the throne, then I must rule—it is the sacred responsibility of any incumbent. And I yearn to show my father that I can discharge my duties as capably as any man in my place, that I can be a ruler in every sense of the word. I have been cloistered in the safe domain of womanhood for far too long. It is now time to examine my strengths.
Everywhere I go, walls of resentment are thrown up, massive and virtually impenetrable. I am faced with sullen crowds who are made to welcome their sovereign yet are grudging in their responses. This hostility does not arise from the fact that I am a woman—the rule of women has public acceptance in this land, after all—but from the knowledge that I have replaced the Bhaumakaras on their throne and that, therefore, I am a usurper.
I am determined; I will not be confounded by their silence and suspicion. I make efforts to talk to the people about their problems, I inquire after their children, I release money from the treasury to aid their progress. It does not work all the time, though. The villages around the capital are particularly obdurate—they will not thaw despite all the warmth I confer on them.
The areas beyond these borders are more receptive, more willing to let a relative stranger into their homes and hearts. I find that I am able to disarm them by my words and charm them by my concern. This is a talent I did not know I possessed.
I also seem to own a discerning eye that can unerringly identify shortfalls in a landscape. Accordingly, I know when a well is required and when a rest house; when a shrine and when a granary. I give orders for the disbursal of funds in a manner that would have my father frowning at my recklessness.
My way of thinking is simple: if the Bhaumakara kingdom is to be a subsidiary of the Somavamshis, it should prosper in order to fill my father’s coffers. And it can prosper only if it cared for and allowed to develop as it did under its erstwhile rulers. In this sense, I will be continuing the legacy of the Bhaumakaras.
Meanwhile, I exult in this unfettered freedom that enables me to follow my instincts wherever they lead me, that gives me reason to speak my mind without fear of censure, that allows me to explore unknown places. Once, I did not know the world beyond my city; now, there seem to be no limits to what I can learn. Each day, each experience teaches me something new, and my mind is curious, receptive, eager to embrace fresh horizons.
I return to the capital, weary from my travels but immensely satisfied.
Little has changed in the month or so that has elapsed, Bhairavagupta assures me. He is relieved that I have returned safely from my whimsical venture or he would have had to answer to my father.
I am relieved as well. I have missed the comforts of the palace, however meagre they are, and the company of Shashilekha, whom I had left behind in favour of another maid in case news from her father were to come through. All is well with the boys, she tells me. Her father has sent word once. It seems that he uses different messengers each time so that suspicions are not aroused.
I wonder if this is wise—the more people that are involved, the greater the risk—but then I reflect that none of them know the real significance behind the seemingly innocent messages. It is just a father sending word of his welfare to his daughter, after all. There is nothing amiss in that.
Yayati arrives with a small entourage, resplendent in Kosalan court finery and flushed with importance, looking around him as if he were the sovereign of this realm and not I.
I am glad to see him; we have not set eyes on each other since I left home to be married. The intervening years have done little to change him. He looks as he was and still attempts to mirror my father in his mannerisms and actions. My brother brings tidings of my father and aunt—the former sends his blessings and the latter her love, asking Yayati to specifically convey her pride in my newly exalted rank.
‘She misses you,’ he tells me when we are alone, after he has been given the mandatory tour of the court and palace. ‘After you left, it seems she has lost her purpose in life. She talks about you all the time.’
I grieve to hear this. She is always in my thoughts, too. I wonder why my father did not send her here with Yayati, but perhaps it is not considered seemly for a widow to be seen traipsing around in foreign lands. I smile wryly for I am guilty of doing just that—but then, I have lost touch with the irksome rules and proprieties of my father’s court.
‘And you?’ I ask him. ‘What of you? Why has it taken you so long to visit me?’
He straightens and pushes back the hair from his brow. ‘I am Father’s right-hand man now,’ he says, preening. ‘He is grooming me to take over from him soon.’ He pauses and surveys the sparse interiors of his chambers with distaste. ‘One day, this kingdom will be mine, too. I will transform it; I will make it look as splendid and prosperous as Kosala.’
I am stung by his presumption, by his dismissal of my role. ‘This realm is mine now to rule!’ I retort before I can stop myself. ‘Do you think I am here simply to mark time until you step in? Father has put me on this throne himself. He did not call for you, then!’
His eyes darken with anger. ‘You are getting above yourself, sister,’ he snaps. ‘Your role here is of a mere caretaker. Soon I will take the reins from you. Do you really think Father chose you for your qualities?’
‘Perhaps he did.’ My voice is raised; I am becoming incautious in my rage.
He throws his head back and laughs. ‘You are a woman,’ he scoffs. ‘And women are never rulers. If they find themselves on the throne, then it is only till such time as the man takes over. As I will do, in this case.’
‘This kingdom has seen women rulers,’ I respond hotly.
‘Only because the man in question was incapable of ruling.’ His tone and words mock me, although he refers to a man I never met.
One of us has to withdraw from this argument before it turns ugly and I force myself to do it. He takes my silence for assent.
‘Know your place,’ he advises me. ‘You are only in temporary charge here. There is nothing for you to do, in any case. Bhairavagupta is to handle everything.’
Words rise to my lips, those that would counter his assumption and inform him about the actual state of affairs, but I choke them back. I will wage my battle alone and the triumph will eventually be mine, too. I look at him now with growing dislike. Blood binds us together, but it does not blind me to his faults.
My dislike grows over the days that follow. He is officious in court, haughty and pompous, acutely conscious of his status as the conqueror’s son and inheritor. He is rude to
the officials, peremptory in his demands to know their credentials, and dismissive of their work and worth.
Bhairavagupta does not reveal my secrets. I wonder whether this is due to a misplaced sense of loyalty but then realize that he could be saving his own skin. If he admits that I mostly take my own decisions, he would appear in a poor light before my father. Therefore, he holds his silence.
Shivagupta is fawning and obsequious, unleashing a fresh wave of distrust in me. I have had little to do with him since I ascended the throne, preferring to delegate this part to Bhairavagupta. Now he basks in Yayati’s admiration and is everywhere at once.
I grit my teeth, waiting for this ordeal to end—and a few days later, it does. Yayati is summoned back to Kosala to deal with a fresh insurrection and I can’t quite hide my relief at seeing the last of him. We exchange abrupt words of farewell and I charge him with loving messages to my aunt. While he watches his servants organizing the horses and baggage, he turns to me.
‘How did you get rid of the bodies?’
The tone is casual, the question is not. I swallow hard and focus on keeping my voice steady. ‘Do you mean the princes?’
‘Yes.’ He is impatient. ‘Father says you got rid of them. Who killed them for you?’
‘Why talk about a bygone deed? They are gone now. I don’t know where the bodies are.’
I hope fervently that he does not persist on this track, but his suspicions are aroused. I can see it in the way his nostrils flare and his eyes narrow—a mirror of my father in this. Perhaps my face isn’t as empty of expression as I had imagined or perhaps it is my defiant tone.
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