Shashilekha is tense; I know that she does not approve of this visit. It will pose dangers for everyone, particularly her father. Yet now that matters have been set in motion, it is futile to retreat.
It is very early; the palace is yet to bestir itself. We pass a few guards on the corridors, yawning and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. When they see me, they snap to attention, looking sheepish.
We step briskly into the courtyard, the two soldiers in tow, and head for the plain carriage that is waiting for us by the gates. A few soldiers are about, but no one dares to question me. I turn my face to the sky. The sun is about to start its journey and a pleasant wind blows that still retains the relative coolness of the night.
The carriage driver seems completely incurious. He bows to me perfunctorily and looks away as if he can’t really be bothered about us. We commence our journey with a fearful rattling and jostling. The carriage—and its horse—are clearly on their last legs; I wonder whether they will be able to withstand this journey. The bench on which we sit is rough, splinters poking out down its length and affixed crudely to the carriage wall. The floor of the carriage has a few gaping holes and Shashilekha grimly arranges her feet around them.
I am willing to endure this discomfort if it means that my presence will go undetected. It is better to remain anonymous than to sweep down the roads in an extravagant procession, for it would then be an easy matter to trace my movements and uncover my secret.
The hours pass slowly and in comparative silence. We are each occupied with our own thoughts. Small villages and hamlets pass by in a whirl of dust and grime. Occasionally, there are bright patches of pink and white that relieve the eye, flowers that grow effortlessly all over this land, all along the coast and even in the Kosalan domain. Coconut trees and date palms are scattered across the landscape, standing firm like giant sentinels. These are the only familiar elements in an otherwise unrecognizable territory, and as we move further and further away from the known, irrational fears assail me.
I should have brought along more soldiers, I berate myself. If we are attacked, we might not be able to hold our own. I wonder where Lalitadeva is now. How long will he sustain this rebellion? Who is providing the money and means for him to traverse the land? Is he using his own resources?
When the sun is directly over our heads and cloaking the land in a haze of heat, we arrive at our destination. Shrinanna’s youthful aide stands to one side of the main village path to receive us. He looks ill at ease, clearly uncomfortable in the company of royalty.
I have already given instructions that he is to treat me like everyone else. Were he to show me unusual deference, suspicions would be aroused. I cast a swift look around the landscape. Perhaps I have been unnecessarily cautious, for the village appears to be deserted. A few cows graze nearby and they seem to be the only witnesses to our arrival.
I am glad to leave the cramped confines of the carriage and stretch my aching limbs. Our escort inclines his head, his eyes full of awe, and beckons to us to follow him. I remain uneasy—the village might give the impression of being empty, but perhaps there are eyes behind windows and around walls that are fastened on us right now. We can’t afford to take any chances, there is no room for carelessness.
However, despite the fear and the dictates of secrecy, my heart momentarily lifts in happiness. In a few minutes, I will be reunited with the boys and that is all I really care about at this moment.
THE STRENGTH OF A CHOICE
The dwelling is a modest one, little better than a hovel. It is set back from the main part of the village and partially shielded by a grove of bamboo trees—an ideal hideout. I feel a rush of gratitude towards Shrinanna. Someday I will appoint him to a key role in my service. He is trustworthy and resourceful; a ruler will always profit by an aide such as this.
Meanwhile, his man ushers me into the single chamber.
I see three shapes huddled in a corner where the shadows are thickest. The chamber is dark and dank with an unpleasant, pervasive smell—of stale food, unwashed clothes and human sweat. And of fear. I feel sick, all of a sudden, and take deep breaths to steady myself.
‘Dhruva, Kusuma!’ I call softly, now unable to keep the excitement from my voice. ‘Look, I have kept my promise and come to see you.’
I step forward, holding out my arms, but no one comes to claim their embrace. ‘Won’t you hug me?’ I say hesitantly. ‘Don’t you see who it is?’
I crouch by the figures, unmindful of the dust and grime on the cracked mud floor. My eyes have adjusted to the gloom by now and I can distinguish all three of them.
Jayadevi holds Kusuma in her lap while Dhruva’s head rests on her shoulder. Her clothes are filthy, her face is caked with dirt, her hair is a matted tangle. This is not the Bhaumakara queen I knew. She has lost weight and so have the boys. They look listless and tired, as filthy and uncared-for as their mother.
‘Don’t you feed them well?’ I ask the man sharply. ‘Why are they in this state?’
He looks me squarely in the eye for the first time. ‘They do not eat from me, Your Majesty. Perhaps they fear poison. And they spurn all offers of care.’
A pang courses through me. Does Shrinanna know about this? I suspect the man is lying, but I have no way to prove it.
I take Kusuma’s arm and shake it, but Jayadevi rouses herself from her stillness and pushes my hand away with a violence that belies her frail appearance. ‘Keep away from me and my sons!’ she snarls. ‘Why are you here? To crow over our state? To . . .?’
‘I saved your lives!’ I cry, stung by the unfairness of her remark. ‘I care for your sons—you, of all people, know that!’
She turns away and spits on the floor. Behind me, Shashilekha makes an involuntary sound of protest.
Kusuma does not even raise his head from his mother’s lap. He burrows deeper into it and curls up as if he wants to make himself smaller.
I turn to Dhruva. ‘I have come with presents. You remember how you liked my quills? I have brought you a special one now. Do you want to see it?’
Dhruva, my beloved Dhruva, raises his head and looks at me sternly. ‘I don’t want your presents,’ he says firmly. ‘You want us to die so you can sit on my father’s throne.’
The hostility in his tone stuns me. ‘This is only for a short while, Dhruva.’ My voice falters. ‘When the time is right, you can come back to the palace.’
‘Why? So that they can be executed in public view?’ Jayadevi scoffs. ‘You know you can never let us go. You are safe on the throne only because you have pushed us out of sight.’
Before I can react, Dhruva scrambles to his feet. ‘Please go,’ he says. ‘You are upsetting my brother. My mother says you have betrayed us and she is right. You should have slain us along with our father.’
Blood rushes to my head. I spring to my feet, turn around and walk out of the hut without a single backward glance. I stop the man from following us and take Shashilekha’s arm.
‘We must leave,’ I say quietly. ‘Work awaits me at the palace.’
She attempts to comfort me. ‘The next time you see them, they will be in a better state. My father …’
I cut her short. ‘I do not intend to come here again.’
I lead the way back to the carriage. There is still no one in sight, but the uncomfortable feeling of being watched persists and my skin prickles with unease. It is a mere instinct, but my eyes rake the area, nevertheless. We remain unobserved.
The carriage driver is taken by surprise when we come upon him lounging by the path while his horse crops the grass nearby. He springs to his feet and the soldiers come running from further down the path, trailing small dust clouds in their wake. They had not expected me back for a few hours more. The sun is ablaze in all its ferocity and sweat trickles down my back.
I swing myself into the carriage, fall back on the seat and close my eyes.
I am filled with anger—cold, raw and implacable. It engulfs everything else in my mind. I
loved those boys, and I risked my life and my father’s wrath to save them. I lied to almost everyone around me to protect them—and they have repaid me with bitterness and resentment.
I could have easily thrown them to the wolves, I could have let their fate overtake them. I should have left them in my father’s hands. He was right, after all. He has always been right. There is no room for kindness and empathy among royalty. We are in a never-ending race for power and the strongest is always the one who strips himself of all emotions. As my father has so successfully done. As I have failed to do.
I ignore the voice within me that says it is not the boys’ fault—their ears have been poisoned by their mother who has always disliked me. They are frightened and bewildered and they do not know what to think. The same voice reminds me that I never really intended to release them. They will never see their home again as long as I am on the throne. And when I die, the secret will die with me. They will end their lives as they lived it—in seclusion, away from everything familiar, as unremarked commoners. The thought is hard to bear, but I must reconcile myself to it.
For the rest of the journey, I remain silent, my eyes on the landscape moving past the carriage. Shashilekha glances at me from time to time but makes no remark.
The sun seems fiercer than before and beats down on us relentlessly. It seems as if the cold season never happened—it was so fleeting—and the heat and humidity are back in full force. The land around seems bathed in molten gold. Sweat trickles down my forehead and I wipe it away with an impatient hand.
It is a relief when the familiar waves of the Vaitarani shimmer blue in the distance, signalling that we are home. I step out of the carriage, dismiss the driver and guards with a curt nod, and beckon to Shashilekha to follow me.
‘I do not wish to speak to anyone,’ I say. ‘Tell them I am ill or busy. Everything can wait till the morrow.’
She nods and bows, her face concerned.
Once back in the cool confines of my chamber, I sink on to my couch and shut my eyes. I seek sleep but it eludes me.
The normal sounds of the palace intrude into my repose—shouted orders, the tramp of feet, the stamping of hooves, the barking of a stray dog, some maids giggling. I berate myself, over and over again, for being a fool. Emotions should never be squandered on the unworthy and I am guilty of doing just that. The boys will always be a threat to the throne, to me; I will be looking over my shoulder all my life. As will the Somavamshi ruler who follows me on the throne. I harden my heart and resolve to keep it that way, however difficult it might be.
Dawn finds me calmer, more at peace with myself. Shashilekha brings in a private missive from my father.
‘It arrived late last night,’ she tells me, ‘but I did not want to disturb you.’
I give her a grateful smile and turn my attention to its contents. My father seeks to know whether I am well and informs me that as the Kalachuri menace is keeping him busy, it might be some time before he can visit Viraja. He has also noticed, the letter continues, that the requisite amount of money has not yet come in from the Bhaumakara coffers. I am to look into the matter on an urgent basis.
I fold the letter away. The threat might be veiled but it is real. He has calculated how much revenue money is due to him and suspects that I know something about the shortfall.
I cannot send it to him, in any case. I have already assigned it to various development ventures, to farmers who show promise. I have already begun to show this kingdom that it is in capable hands. I will not undo all my good work. It will only benefit the Somavamshis in the long run if their Bhaumakara subjects are happy and prosperous.
I regain my focus. I am the queen of this kingdom, its crowned sovereign. My only desire now is to rule well. I want to be known as one of the most capable rulers of this land, even if it means somewhat defying my father in the process.
I do not allow myself to think of the boys. They hold no place in my affections now.
What gives me cause for cheer is the attitude of the people around me at court and in the city. I sense a growing warmth, a grudging but unmistakable respect. They have clearly decided to give me a chance, to judge me on the merit of my actions. My plans of reusing the surplus revenue in schemes of progress are bearing fruit. There are daily petitions of gratitude at court, daily pleas for more assistance in the overall interests of the kingdom. The crop yield is burgeoning; people have enough to eat and more. They are slowly beginning to lose their fear that I would rule in a manner contrary to the kingdom’s interests.
The Bhaumakara army is still loyal to me and I have the backing of Somavamshi might. Lalitadeva’s challenge is as a baby’s fist waved in the face of a giant. I have been playing with him all this while, as a cat plays with a captive mouse, giving him the illusion of freedom but ready to stamp him out in an instant.
And I? I am fulfilling my destiny. This is what I was meant to do, the real purpose of my life. I, Prithvimahadevi, am the true goddess of the earth, this Bhaumakara land.
Why, then, should I let the anger of two worthless boys and their spiteful mother affect me?
I send carefully worded letters to my father that purport to provide reports but are extremely vague in their content, thus hoping to stem his suspicions for a while longer. This seems to work, for I only hear from him on a sporadic basis. Shivagupta informs me that Yayati is engaged in a prolonged stand-off with the Kalachuris on the border and that my father is monitoring the situation from the capital. They are, at present, too preoccupied to investigate any irregularities on my part and I intend to take full advantage of this fact.
Shashilekha has cause for happiness as well. The temple dedicated to her father has neared completion and she is looking for suitable priests to conduct its services. I have visited it once and the glow on her face as I looked around gave me great happiness. It is a small but beautifully designed building and, once the deity is enshrined within, people will flock to it from all over.
‘My father’s name will remain immortal in this land,’ Shashilekha exults, as we take a pause in our inspection, ‘long after his mortal days are over and even after I am gone.’
‘And you have made it so,’ I point out, wondering whether I will make my father’s name immortal, too. Or will it be the other way round? Will I be known only because of him? Have I done enough to be remembered? And will it be in a good way?
When I look out of the palace at the surrounding areas and at the gently lapping waves of the river a few leagues distant, my worries mostly slip away. The tranquil atmosphere soothes me and I get a few moments’ respite.
Yet at all other times, I am tense, on edge. There is no denying the fact that I am constantly unhappy, no matter what I do. I must look the truth in the eye; I can’t run from it any longer. The decision I need to make tugs at my mind all the time. I need to resolve it in the best possible way.
The more I veer towards one possibility, the more I know that it is the right course; indeed, the only one that I can take under the circumstances. I could hold on to my anger and to all the arguments that I shape under its influence, but the truth is something else altogether. And this is the sole thought that guides me, at this point.
As the days go by and the possibility firms itself into a decision, I am finally content. I begin to survey all the work that I have started, to tie up any loose ends and to prepare myself for change. Perhaps this is how I will always live my life—moving on from one situation to another, experiencing fresh adventures at every turn. This is my fate.
When Shashilekha comes to me and complains that Shivagupta has been hounding her, asking her what she knows about the princes’ deaths, I know it is time. She has evaded him thus far, but she can’t keep him at bay endlessly. It is time to move, and destiny reminds me of this fact soon after.
The very same day, Bhairavagupta comes up to me, his face ashen. ‘Lalitadeva’s power grows. More villages have fallen to him, more people are flocking to his side. There is talk of desertion i
n the court. I overheard it today.’
He is a fool to be so agitated. I can crush the rebels any day I want and throw the pieces of their defiance to the wind. I could destroy Lalitadeva now, throw him in the dungeons, even behead him, if need be.
But my choice is different. I will not go down that path.
Shashilekha looks up as I enter. She has been folding my clothes and they lie in a neat pile by my coffer. A sweet scent fills the chamber.
‘I gathered some parijat for you,’ she says eagerly. ‘I know you love their fragrance.’
‘I need to send an urgent message to your father.’
The colour fades from her face, but she makes a visible effort to control herself. She has learnt to deal with blows all her life and so, she steels herself to face another. ‘Has something happened?’ Her voice is hoarse with fear.
‘I am sorry,’ I say simply, ‘for involving you and him in this plot. If harm should befall either of you, the fault will be mine and mine alone.’
‘What has happened?’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Nothing has happened yet,’ I say, pretending to a calmness that I do not quite feel, ‘but I have decided to release the princes. Your father should take them to Lalitadeva as soon as he can. It is an easy matter to trace his movements now that he is not in hiding any more. Let Shrinanna pretend to do so on his own initiative. Let the boys continue to believe that they are beholden to him for their safety.’
‘And you?’ Horror dawns on her face. ‘What of you? If they are released, your hold on the throne is at risk. You know that!’
Bitterness suddenly floods me. ‘Let them crown their rightful prince, then—a little boy whose feet will dangle from the throne for many years yet. Let them see how the kingdom will prosper under his useless mother whom they will surely crown regent.’
Queen of the Earth Page 12
