‘Why were you in such a hurry?’ He lowers his voice and thrusts his face closer to mine. ‘Are you hiding something, little sister?’
I step back. ‘Why would I hide anything?’
Around us, the carriage wheels creak and the horses stamp their impatient hooves. Everything is ready for my brother’s departure, but he stares at me as if he is trying to prise my secret out with his eyes. I flinch, involuntarily, at his scrutiny and he nods his head.
‘The haste doesn’t seem right to me,’ he murmurs so that he is not overheard. ‘If you are, indeed, hiding anything, I will find it out. This is as much my realm as our father’s. Remember that.’
He strides towards his entourage and they are gone within minutes.
He is now a hound on a scent.
NIGHTMARES AND DREAMS
I wake, sweating, from a terrifying and malevolent dream. I have twisted the sheets in my agitation and the cushions lie scattered around the chamber as if I have hurled them at some enemy. The torches flare in their brackets, but the shadows pooling between the patches of light are deep and sinister. Something lurks in them, a suggestion of menace, and I long fervently for dawn to break and scatter them to the winds.
I huddle against the wall, trying to recollect the details of my dream. They are disconnected fragments at first, but my memory begins to fill in the gaps and soon I know what has shaken me from my sleep so violently.
I was fleeing from someone or something, holding Kusuma and Dhruva by the hand, and pulling them along with desperate strength while they struggled to match their pace to mine. Kusuma tugs at my hand, begging me to stop, but I can’t afford to heed him and continue to drag him along, ignoring his cries.
Dhruva is trying to disentangle his fingers from mine but I can’t let go, not just yet. But as I tighten my grip, his becomes slacker and he slips away from me like a breath.
I turn to see where he is, but an army is behind us. I can see the banners and the horses; I can hear the trumpets bellowing through the air and the tramp of the soldiers’ feet.
Now Kusuma, too, slips away from me and although I search for them frantically, they are nowhere to be seen. I scream for them but no one answers.
‘But you are the one who has killed them,’ I hear myself say. ‘You have erased them from memory. They do not exist any more.’
My throat is parched. I take a sip of water and sit back, trying to calm myself. It was just a dream, I admonish myself. You are worried about the boys and that is why you saw these frightening images. This is just a fantasy conjured up by your fevered brain, nothing more.
The reassurances do not work; I can’t cajole myself into believing them.
Dawn finds me curled up, my mind in tumult, trying to distract myself with thoughts of the day ahead. There are important things slated for this morning; I can’t afford to give in to emotion now. My head is heavy; its veins throb with a dull pain. My mouth remains dry no matter how many cooling draughts I take. I give up trying to keep my thoughts at bay and torture myself with them anew. Was the dream some sort of premonition? Did it portend punishment for what I have done to the boys, to their name and legacy?
Shashilekha arrives in a nervous state. I have summoned her husband to court and she does not know what to expect. Will he be chastised or punished? Will he lose his titles and fortune? I suppose he is on tenterhooks as well—the summons I issued did not carry an explanation.
‘I do not mean to deprive him of his money,’ I say mildly. ‘If you decide to stay on with him, how will you run your household? I have taken everything into consideration.’
She takes a step towards me and is about to say something but checks herself and turns away.
I am too weary to wonder at her hesitation. Perhaps she loves her husband despite his bestiality and I am a fool for trying to intervene in her life.
My head aches even more and I long to stay in my chamber all day long, shunning the world and its problems. However, duty awaits me. I must not be seen as a ruler who is physically or mentally weak, or one who finds it difficult to shoulder the onerous burden of the kingdom. My audience is unforgiving and judgemental, and I must play to the best of my strengths as long as I am able.
Yet my dream is still stuck in my head; I cannot unsee it.
Shashilekha accompanies me to court; her presence is required today. Her nervousness is palpable and for the first time in many months, she fails to notice that I am not my usual buoyant self. She walks behind me with dragging footsteps, but I have no words of encouragement to offer. My thoughts consume me and I feel ill-prepared to face any task, yet the court is ready for me to start the day’s work.
Bhairavagupta stops me, red-eyed with exhaustion, his fingers twisting in anxiety.
‘I must speak with you, Your Majesty,’ he hisses, shooting nervous looks around him. ‘It is a matter of the utmost importance and cannot wait.’
Bhairavagupta’s ill-concealed agitation could give rise to all sorts of rumours and wild surmises. I suppress a twinge of irritation at his carelessness and ask him to go on.
‘Lalitadeva has been spotted,’ he whispers. ‘He is in the countryside, moving from village to village to muster support against you. Many volunteers have answered his call.’
This is bad news, but more in the nature of an irritant. Lalitadeva was a trusted minister, beloved of the people and the royals alike. If he is drumming up support against me, many will rally to his cause. But I will wait to see how far he can go before I crush him.
‘Where has he been seen?’
‘He is moving south,’ Bhairavagupta replies, still speaking in a low tone. ‘He was last spotted near the village of Sonagrama. My spies are carefully tracking his movements.’
I empty my face of all expression. One thought is moving in frantic circles in my mind: Sonagrama abuts the village of Kundalagrama where the boys are hidden.
No one must suspect that anything is wrong. I turn back to the others and ask for the first issue of the morning to be presented. A few curious glances are directed at me. I pray that the only speculation will be about my health, nothing else.
A man steps forward, pale and trembling. I recognize Mangalakalasha, Shashilekha’s husband. When I saw him last, he was proud and assured, strutting like a peacock in Shubhakara’s presence. Now he is craven, all spirit deflated. He does not even dare to raise his eyes. Shashilekha joins him, her watchful gaze on mine.
I waste no time on preliminary words. ‘I have heard reports about you, Maha-mandaladhipati Mangalakalasha, of a distressing nature. Your behaviour does not bring honour to your family of the Vragadis.’
He finally looks up at me. ‘I have served the throne faithfully, Your Majesty,’ he mutters. ‘I am your most loyal servant.’
‘What I refer to is something else and you know what it is.’
He quails beneath my stern gaze. The court is agog with curiosity. I know that rumours spread fast here and his domestic situation is probably known to all. In fact, Mangalakalasha must have boasted about it himself—the manner in which he subjugates his wife, the manner in which his status eclipses that of his father-in-law.
As he makes no response, I go on: ‘You must reform your ways. You hold your titles and fortune at my pleasure, and I will deprive you of them if matters remain unchanged.’
He looks contrite; perhaps this threat, if nothing else, will have an effect on him.
I nod my head to dismiss him, but Shashilekha suddenly starts speaking. ‘Your Majesty, I have a request.’ Her voice quavers but steadies as she goes on. ‘I wish to be your constant companion and servant—to be with you at all hours of the day and serve you. I cannot do that while continuing to live with my husband. Therefore, I crave your permission to leave him, to end this fruitless marriage if need be. I have no desire to stay in it.’
Mangalakalasha gasps in outrage and glares at her, but she keeps her eyes on mine and refuses to be affected by his wrath. I am taken by surprise, too, although I admire her well-concei
ved plan. How long has she been mulling over it? She has worded her plea in such a way that for him to refuse would be tantamount to insulting me.
I focus on Mangalakalasha. Everything hinges on my decision, but the husband has a say as well. Yet if I have read him right, he will play into our hands.
‘What is your stance?’ I ask him.
His eyes are bulging in rage, his face is flushed. Weak men like him can’t stand to be confronted in public by the truth. Their image is everything and a crack in it, however small, will damage the veneer wholly.
‘She has given me nothing,’ he blusters. ‘No heir, no money, no legacy. I married her out of pity, but this is how she has repaid me. I am well rid of her! Let her go where she wants, let her bring herself to ruin. I want no part of it.’
‘Then so be it,’ I respond. ‘From now on, you will live apart.’
Mangalakalasha licks his lips nervously. ‘My titles, my …’
‘Are intact,’ I interrupt him, barely troubling to hide the scorn on my face, ‘as long as you remain loyal to me and this throne.’
His bow is obsequious, his smile drips with flattery. The only thing that matters to him in this world is safe, after all. I will keep a future eye on him; he will switch sides in an instant at the lure of wealth and without a single qualm.
Mangalakalasha moves away but I gesture at Shashilekha to stay. Her pose is relaxed, her expression is of one at ease. An unbearable weight has clearly rolled off her shoulders and I feel remorseful for not having taken action earlier. However, I can, at least, make amends now.
I raise my voice and address the court: ‘The titles of Shrinanna, a long-standing officer of this court and who is presently away on some work, are to be restored. All aspersions cast on his name and on the issue of his loyalty to the throne are to be ignored and discarded. I restore him and his family to full honour now.’
Tears fill Shashilekha’s eyes and spill on to her cheeks. She makes no attempt to wipe them away. The court holds its breath. This is a momentous proclamation on my part and no one knows what to make of it right away.
‘There is more,’ I announce to the eagerly listening throng. ‘I hereby order a charter to be issued, recording my grant of two pieces of land to my companion, Shashilekha, to enable her to construct a temple in her father’s name.’
Shashilekha seems too overwhelmed for words and merely inclines her head in gratitude.
Murmurs break out all over the chamber. It is rare for anyone at this court to be honoured so extravagantly and that the person in question is my companion, the daughter of a once-disgraced man, is deeply intriguing to all. My proclamations of today will provide fodder for gossip for a long time to come. Wild speculations will abound as to my motives, but I do not intend to take anyone into confidence.
My heart feels inexpressibly lighter for fulfilling Shashilekha’s cherished dream, and for repaying her father for his help and support. Now I do not owe anyone any debt.
Bhairavagupta looks annoyed; he had no foreknowledge of this and feels excluded. However, there are other matters to attend to and I can’t afford to waste time soothing his injured pride.
During the course of the morning, I allocate more money for repairs and consolidation in various parts of the kingdom, and for the pursuit of new sowing techniques in a landholding to the north whose owner promises greater returns if these are successful. I still manage to earmark a considerable amount of the revenues for Kosala, so I tell myself that my father should have nothing much to complain about.
Yet I know in my heart that this state of affairs cannot last for long. Before my father hauls me back to Kosala for my wilful handling of this kingdom, I should explain my reasons to him. He is prudent and sagacious and will understand me. Yayati won’t replace me on the Bhaumakara throne just yet. Surely my father will recognize that this is what I was born to do. It is my destiny.
Shashilekha’s tears do not stop; it is as if a dam has burst within her. She huddles at my feet, sobbing as if her heart will break, and I wait patiently for the storm to ebb.
It takes a long time but the tears wane eventually and the sobs die out. I make her sit back on the cushions and hand her some water to drink. Her face is stained with tears, her eyes are swollen.
‘I hated you,’ she says, ‘even before I set eyes on you. They told me you were an enemy, unknown to our ways, and that you would treat me badly. I was forced into serving you, doing menial work and being shown my place. It was a punishment for my father, to show him his place.’ She pauses, her eyes welling up again. ‘And yet, you have shown me kindness of a manner that I have never experienced before. In one stroke, you liberated me and restored all the damage done to my father. How can I ever repay you?’
I stroke her head, my fingers running through the silken strands of her hair. ‘I do not seek repayment. Your father should keep the boys safe. That is all I desire.’
‘He will,’ she says firmly. ‘And I … I will serve you till the end of my days. Wherever you go, I will follow you. My home is where you are.’
‘You must start drawing up plans for the temple,’ I tell her. ‘Let it be a magnificent one. It should inspire awe long after we are gone and have turned into memories.’
‘Yes, I will,’ she says, her eyes shining with happiness. ‘I will build it here in this city and enshrine an idol of Uma-Maheshvara within. The temple will be called Nanneshvara after my father.’
I take her hands in mine. ‘I want to see the boys. Can it be arranged?’
She is taken aback by this sudden change in conversation. ‘They are well,’ she says, troubled. ‘But it is not safe for you to visit them.’
I rise to my feet and pace the chamber. ‘I know it is full of risks,’ I say slowly, ‘but I yearn for their company. I want to reassure myself that they are fine.’
‘What of Lalitadeva? What of his spies?’ She looks even more troubled.
His sighting is common knowledge, then. How easily news spreads! If the disaffected officers at court know that he is at large, they might defect to him despite the oaths of loyalty they have sworn to me. I do not want to resort to violence unless it is unavoidable. I have travelled a long path—from a point of no popular support to a stage where things are changing. I have tried hard to endear myself to my subjects and I now encounter many responses of genuine warmth from them. Not all of them hate or resent me. In time, I know I can win them all over. I do not want to run the risk of turning them against me again.
I ask Shashilekha to repeat what she has just said. Her mood of effervescence has vanished; she is sombre and wary.
‘I said that I will send word to my father. Let us see what he says.’
I send for Bhairavagupta. He arrives, unsure and irritable as always.
I do not blame him; it must be hard to serve two masters at the same time—one formidable, the other mercurial. Caught between the two, he is unsure which path to take, for he runs the risk of angering both.
‘I will leave soon for a short tour,’ I inform him. ‘Some villages were left out on my previous round and I am eager to visit them.’
‘Your Majesty, forgive me for saying so but this is foolhardiness of the worst kind,’ he says, exasperated. ‘There is no need for you to inspect these places. Let me or someone else go in your stead.’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘I know the journey is fraught with risks, but I intend to do it over a single day. And I will exercise every caution.’
He shakes his head in puzzlement. ‘Your Majesty, you are exposing yourself to unnecessary risk. I told you that Lalitadeva is prowling around the country, seeking supporters. What if he ambushes the royal procession? What if he injures you or cuts you dead?’
‘Send the best guards with me, then,’ I retort. ‘And procure an unmarked carriage, which will not excite comment. Lalitadeva will not suspect anything even if we should cross paths.’ He looks even more unhappy, but I press on. ‘If the rumours about Lalitadeva are true, then it makes
sense for me to also be in the area and win over more loyalties. Perhaps, while doing so, I can find out more about his movements.’
‘That is a task best left to the spies, Your Majesty!’ he cries. ‘It is not your place to ferret out information.’
I draw myself up to my full height and stare at him haughtily. When I speak, my voice drips with ice. ‘And you would deign to tell your ruler her place?’
‘I … am truly sorry,’ he stammers in confusion. ‘But your father …’
‘Is not here,’ I finish his sentence. ‘And so, I will take any decision that needs to be taken.’
When he leaves, I find myself shaking. He is right, I am taking stupid risks but the clamour of my heart will not be silenced. I have to see the boys or I will go insane. I have to touch them to reassure myself that they are real, not creatures of cloud and vapour like in my dream. I have to assuage my guilt.
Shashilekha’s father sends word of a day when I can safely visit, when most denizens of Kundalagrama would be away attending a cattle fair in a nearby village. He will not be there to receive us, though. He has to be away for a fortnight, leaving one of his trusted servants in charge. The appointed day falls within this period.
On the one hand, I do not want anyone to see us together and suspect a conspiracy. On the other, I know that the boys see him as their protector and it is better to encourage this belief in order to ensure their compliance at all times.
The journey will take some hours, hence we will leave at dawn and aim to be back before sundown. A skeletal guard will accompany us—two veteran soldiers of the Somavamshi guard who are known for their discretion—and, of course, the driver of my carriage.
Sleep eludes me the night before. The prospect of seeing my beloved boys after so many days is exhilarating, but the attendant dangers are savage and frightening. They keep surfacing in my mind and assuming more hideous dimensions.
Dawn finds me wide awake and restless, eager for the day to be dragged out, eager for the day to be over. I dress rapidly and check the small basket of gifts that I am taking along for the boys—sweetmeats of their liking, a beautifully carved toy cart for Kusuma and a quill for Dhruva that is specially fashioned for a child’s hand. I smile, remembering all the times he used to practise his penmanship under my watchful eye. I wish I could bring them many more presents but a bigger bundle might cause suspicion, so I must be content with these few items.
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