The Crown of Seven Stars

by Gitanjali Murari

  ‘It is His Majesty, and the general,’ exclaimed a teacher, pointing out the royal carriage to his class. ‘Our king has returned to us! This spring is indeed special!’

  Vasuket smiled. Yes, this time it would be a long spring in Aum.

  7

  Calculating rapidly, Chakrawaru wrote a figure on a page, and turned it over with a licked finger. This went on for a few hours, the morning sliding into afternoon. At last he stretched, heaving a satisfied sigh. It had been a good month, of business deals and negotiations. ‘My treasury will soon be bursting at the seams.’

  A scratching on the door had him shut the register with a snap and just as he secreted it away, a voice called out to him from the other side. ‘Sir, His Majesty has asked for you, in the court.’ Chakrawaru spun on his heel. The king, in the court? Impossible.

  He ran all the way, stopping just once to catch his breath, and braked to a halt on the threshold. Vasuket, in wonderful spirits, sat surrounded by the council. Gone was the sickly pallor, his cheeks instead a rosy pink. Irrepressible chuckles had replaced the mournful sighing, and his exuberance was enough to put a young man to shame. Chakrawaru gulped. What mysterious wind had blown in while his back was turned?

  Catching sight of his advisor, Vasuket hailed him. ‘Just the man I want to see.’

  Chakrawaru approached with folded hands, his demeanour that of a devoted servant. ‘Am I dreaming, Your Majesty? This is a blessed day indeed, to have you back here.’

  ‘No magic wrought this miracle, Chakrawaruji,’ responded the chubby minister with an artful smile, ‘it was General Saahas!’

  A tremor ran through Chakrawaru, ‘We should be thankful to him, where is he?’

  ‘There he is,’ exclaimed Vasuket. ‘Dear boy, we were just talking about you.’

  Chakrawaru turned slowly. Saahas’s tall figure framed the high doorway, and when he walked in, Chakrawaru could only stare, his gaze devouring the younger man.

  No longer a stripling, experience had hewn Saahas into the mould that Meghabhuti had left for him, his whole being rippling with purpose. The tangled hair, bleached to tawny gold in the sun, was tied back to reveal the chiselled angles of his face. A firm resolve indented the chin, his creased brow like the lofty mountains that Chakrawaru had glimpsed only in paintings and when he darted a searching glance into the deep brown eyes, the memory of their last meeting rushed back, painfully fresh. ‘He pitied you.’

  ‘Chakrawaru,’ Vasuket’s voice seemed to come from a long distance.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Your Majesty.’

  The king chuckled, ‘My sudden appearance has robbed you of your faculties! Do pay attention now! The ministers will undertake a short tour of a military project with the general. I want them to go immediately.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty, I will make the travel arrangements,’ Chakrawaru answered, aware of the council’s mocking gaze, his own words coming back to taunt him, ‘The general will become the laughing stock in all of Aum.’

  ‘And I will take your leave, Your Majesty,’ smiled Saahas. ‘There is a schedule to plan.’

  ‘We too must make preparations,’ chimed in the council, excited like a bunch of schoolboys.

  ‘Wonderful,’ beamed the king. ‘Chakrawaru, you and I will take a walk outside.’

  The semal tree stirred in the breeze, offering them a fiery red flower as they passed under it. Chakrawaru picked it up, looking at it wonderingly. ‘Spring,’ he murmured in surprise. ‘It has a way of stealing upon us.’

  Vasuket laughed, rubbing his hands together. ‘Indeed, the season of renewal, of continuance. I want a grand reception at the palace when the general and the council return from their trip. Invite all of Sundernagari, arrange a feast fit for the gods and music to intoxicate the soul.’

  ‘Why, what is the occasion, Your Majesty?’

  Vasuket placed his hands on the advisor’s narrow shoulders, his voice dropping to a whisper, ‘The announcement of the future King of Aum.’

  Chakrawaru’s stomach flip-flopped. And even as he opened his mouth to ask, ‘Who is it, Your Majesty, our next king?’ a nasty little voice inside his head sneered, ‘As if you don’t know.’

  ‘Saahas, of course,’ Vasuket replied, eyebrows rising in surprise.

  ‘Of course,’ he intoned, his voice flat. ‘The general will be an able successor to you.’

  ‘He will make a far better king than me, Chakrawaru. Have you seen the way people look at him? They adore him,’ Vasuket smiled. ‘He reminds me so much of Meghabhuti, yet there is a difference. Even though people had looked upon Megha with awe, his penetrating gaze could make even the most stout-hearted quail. But Saahas,’ Vasuket’s sigh was light and happy, ‘Saahas has an easy charm, an openness that warms people to him. And his passion for Aum, Chakrawaru, all those wonderful projects! Yes, during the reign of King Saahas, the kingdom will swiftly march in the direction set by its founding fathers.’

  With a sickly smile pasted on his lips, the advisor rushed to his quarters. Once inside the sanctuary of his chamber, with the door firmly shut behind him, he pulled out the register, hugging it to his chest. ‘The man I detest, loathe with every particle of my being, he cannot be king. No, oh no, he will destroy my life, again. All the respect and power, earned so carefully, all will be gone the moment he sits on the throne. I’ll be finished.’

  All of a sudden, his legs gave way and clutching at a stone shelf, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. ‘The treasury is mine,’ he cried at his reflection. ‘It is my sweat and tears. I will not let anyone take it away from me.’ His reflection stared back at him. ‘Defame the general,’ it goaded. ‘Embroil him in a controversy, get yourself allies and him some enemies.’ Chakrawaru rushed into the storeroom.

  From beneath a pile of heavy quilts he dragged out a large wooden trunk secured with an iron lock. Hastily tugging at a string under his long shirt, he pulled out a bunch of keys and picked out a carved one. The chest opened with a satisfying click. Bundled inside were hundreds of scrolls all tied up neatly with strings. Unrolling one after another, he flung them on the floor, each a meticulous record of those obliged to him. At last, he found the one he was looking for. Jotted down in his admirable calligraphy were the details of the person he sought, a name and an address. The latter had been scratched out and written afresh, for it had changed since the time he had first made her acquaintance.

  Chakrawaru smiled grimly. The time had come to collect his debt.

  8

  He set out early the next day on his secret mission, the driver his sole companion. The unadorned yet stately carriage quickly left Sundernagari, pulled by four sturdy horses. A light breeze carried a potpourri of essences from the forests flanking the highway. But Chakrawaru was oblivious to sight or smell, preoccupied with thoughts of the woman he was rushing to meet. Manmaani.

  She had been curvaceous and coarsely pretty when Chakrawaru, tutor to the princes, had first met her. Newly married to his only friend Tinai, a grain and spice merchant, Manmaani had soon revealed her talent for sniffing out business opportunities, inducing her easy-going husband to speak to the tutor for contracts at the palace.

  Chakrawaru shilly-shallied for a long time, and when Tinai pressed him for an answer he replied in a hesitant voice, ‘I think you set great store by my tutorship to the prince, nevertheless I will put a word in the queen’s ear. Indeed, you can be assured of that, but . . .’ and here he opened his palms in an eloquent gesture of uncertainty, ‘Her Majesty is quite happy with the quality of supplies to the royal kitchen. The merchant has been in service since the time the older prince was born.’

  When Tinai reported this conversation to his impatient wife, Manmaani asked, ‘Did he say anything else? Tell me everything, even if it is trivial.’ Tinai recollected that his friend had rubbed his palms together quite vigorously, remarking that the weather had turned unexpectedly cold.

  ‘The tutor wants his commission,’ Manmaani declared and the matter was settled so
on after, the terms fixed to Chakrawaru’s liking.

  It didn’t take the tutor much time to convince the queen that the offerings from the royal kitchen were not fit for the King of Aum. He mentioned he had met a merchant who could supply grains that shone like pearls, spices that, with just a pinch, could perfume all of Sundernagari, and butter that was whiter than the fluffy seed of the cottonwood trees. Her Majesty immediately ordered the chef to organize a banquet using provisions supplied by this unknown tradesman. The feast was a success, the guests rapturously praising every fragrant morsel. King Vasuket heaped compliments on the chef, ‘You have outdone yourself tonight! Tell me, what is it that inspired you to cook so extraordinarily well?’

  The chef flushed with pride. ‘The ingredients, they spoke to me, Your Majesty. The colour, the texture, the shape and smell, they told me what to do. I simply followed their command. They were my inspiration, Your Majesty.’

  The following day, Tinai was appointed chief supplier to the royal kitchen. In a few years, the two friends grew tremendously rich and Manmaani quite fat. Chakrawaru salted away his share of the profits, for he led a spartan lifestyle. But Manmaani wanted more, more of everything. More clothes, more jewels, more houses. ‘And then the king and queen will take notice of me and invite me to the palace,’ she whispered, her eyes fixed on the tall palace gates. ‘That will establish me as one of the nobility.’

  The plan was astonishingly simple. Mix supplies of fine quality with those that were cheap and inferior. ‘Nobody at the palace will notice the difference, I promise you,’ she told the men. ‘While we continue to charge the storekeeper the same price as before, our costs will dramatically decrease.’ Tinai shot his wife an admiring glance and when Chakrawaru calculated the figures, he quickly agreed.

  Her scheme worked well for three months, and then one day Meghabhuti came to dine with the king.

  Even though Aum did not have enemies, Meghabhuti was aware that times could change with one snap of Destiny’s fingers. On its western border, a high stone wall shielded the kingdom from the jungles of Shandav that were infested with tigers. The southern side maintained a large garrison, for it had the widest and clearest access to Aum. The eastern side, bordering the kingdom of Swarus, had an army outpost too, but an insignificant one.

  ‘I am not worried about the east,’ Meghabhuti told Vasuket. ‘As long as we don’t break the peace treaty, Swarus will never use its magical weapons against us. It is the north entrance that worries me.’

  The approach from the north was through a narrow dirt track bounded by wilderness on either side, making it difficult for a large enemy force to launch a sudden attack. ‘But the gate is nothing more than a barn door, Your Majesty. A herd of mad cows can bring it down. Besides, traders, immigrants and visitors, all favour this entrance. A cunning foe, mixing with the crowd, could easily surprise us.’

  Vasuket listened to his general with one ear, preoccupied as he was with his plate of food. The meal looked as appetizing as always, its presentation flawless. But the first mouthful had disappointed him.

  This had been going on for the past few weeks. The queen had reproached the chef, who threw a tantrum at the storekeeper who, in turn, gently questioned Tinai. Widening his eyes in horror, Tinai swore that the ingredients were of the same fine quality as before, that if a finger had to be pointed, it should be at the chef.

  ‘What do you have in mind, Megha?’ Vasuket chewed morosely.

  ‘Hills of iron, Your Majesty, on either side of the north gate.’

  ‘Iron?’ Vasuket’s shout of surprise was magnified by a piece of rubble that cracked his molar. The queen, arriving just then, saw her spouse fling the offending plate to the floor, and rushed to his side, her gold anklets singing sweetly. Clutching his jaw with one hand, Vasuket roared, ‘I shall send the rogue to the gallows! How dare he serve stones to the King of Aum!’

  ‘This is exactly why I am here, my lord,’ the queen exclaimed, turning to smile ruefully at Meghabhuti. ‘Forgive me, general, not only for this intrusion but also for the insipid meal you have been served.’

  ‘Insipid indeed!’ the king snorted. ‘My queen, the chef is trying to kill me.’

  ‘He has begged to be relieved of his duties, my lord.’

  ‘Good! Because if he hadn’t, I would have relieved him of his head.’

  ‘But it really isn’t his fault. He is the best cook in the kingdom, and he told me today that he would rather die than serve us another indifferent meal.’

  Vasuket raised an eyebrow, ‘My sentiments exactly!’

  ‘Now, now, my lord,’ the queen remonstrated, ‘the problem is with the supplies. They have been steadily deteriorating in quality, and the merchant, I hear, refuses to mend his ways. Such behaviour does not befit a citizen of Aum, my lord.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Your Majesty,’ Meghabhuti rose to his feet, ‘we’ll make an example of the fellow.’

  And Tinai was arrested immediately and thrown into prison.

  Manmaani rushed to Chakrawaru, entreating him to help. But when the tutor refused to lift a finger, she threw back her plump shoulders, her eyes spitting fire, ‘I’ll move heaven and earth to have you locked up too. You will share the cell with my husband, and all of Aum will know that you were an equal partner in the business.’

  ‘What, what proof do you have? I haven’t put my signature on anything,’ Chakrawaru blustered, clearly unnerved. Manmaani smiled a smile so menacing that it chilled him to the bones. Hastening to assure her he would get Tinai out of prison, he placed his one and only condition before her, that the merchant and his family leave Sundernagari forever. Manmaani agreed and he grabbed the opportunity to have her sign an affidavit, confirming the family’s perennial debt to him. This he sealed and put away, certain there would come a time when she would need to be reminded of what was owed him.

  Chakrawaru entered a small town, redolent with the strong, sweet smell of rosewood. When he stopped a passer-by for directions to Manmaani’s house, the man glanced curiously at his fine carriage.

  ‘Are you sure you wish to go there, sir? That neighbourhood is . . . dark, unseemly . . .’ he trailed off.

  As the carriage proceeded, the greenery began to vanish and the sky above turned murky, the sun preferring to stay behind with the rosewood trees. Mangy stray dogs growled at the horses, not one merry soul calling out a greeting. Chakrawaru was taken aback. ‘What is it that creates this dismal climate?’

  All of a sudden, the horses neighed in alarm, rearing up on their hind legs, and jolted, he fell in a heap on the carriage floor. ‘What is the matter, chaalak?’ he yelled at his driver. A hand appeared at the window. Unlocking the latch from the inside, it yanked the door open. A burly figure filled Chakrawaru’s terrified vision. The dim light obscured the features, but it was unable to quell the dangerous gleam in the eyes.

  ‘Hand over your valuables, mister,’ the stranger growled and Chakrawaru froze, a whimper escaping his lips. Laughing, the robber rifled through his victim’s pockets and found a silk pouch full of gold coins. An excited voice called out, ‘These are fine horses, bhaiyya. Let us keep the carriage too. Mother and I could use it for long drives.’

  ‘And who will drive the carriage?’ snapped the robber. ‘We’ll just take the horses.’

  Chakrawaru was aghast, ‘What! Please, how am I to travel with no money and horses? Have some mercy, young man.’

  ‘You are fortunate I haven’t slit your throat. Isn’t that merciful enough?’ There was an unmistakable glint of a curved blade in the robber’s hand. He said over his shoulder, ‘Nandan, get the chaalak to remove the horses from their traces.’

  Nandan. Chakrawaru frowned. Where had he heard the name before? Manmaani’s youngest and most adored son. ‘Wait a minute,’ he shrieked, stumbling out of the carriage.

  ‘What now?’ The robber turned, the dagger flashing once again in his hand just as his accomplice appeared. Unlike his brother’s rugged profile, the latter’s angelic features
shone from under the grime and dirt. Chakrawaru pointed a trembling finger at him, ‘I would have recognized you anywhere, Nandan. I’ve bounced you on my knee. And you,’ he said to the burly one, ‘you are Ashwath. Even as a child you were as strong as a tree.’

  The brothers exchanged a quick glance. Ashwath moved swiftly, pressing his dagger against Chakrawaru’s scrawny neck, ‘Who are you? The king’s spy?’

  ‘No, no, no,’ he cried, suppressing a wild desire to laugh. ‘I am your father’s friend, your uncle Chakra.’

  It was a narrow, decrepit house in the darkest corner of the neighbourhood. Similar houses jostled each other, separated only by thin walls. Outside, piles of rubbish filled the muddy lane, pigs burying their snouts in them. Inside the house, the air, heavy with the stale smell of garlic and sewage, made Chakrawaru baulk. The baithak, a windowless parlour, was sparsely lit. Trying to scrimp on oil no doubt, he grimaced, glancing around. The furniture was old, and the threadbare carpet could not soften the hardness of the uneven stone floor pressing through his soft leather shoes.

  When she walked in with the tinkle of anklets and the jangle of bangles, Chakrawaru felt a flutter of excitement and bounded forward to greet her, his voice high-pitched with emotion. ‘Bhabhi! Dare I hope you are as glad to see me as I you? It was most opportune my meeting your boys.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘How I wish dear Tinai were alive.’

  Manmaani came to stand next to a lamp, its soft glow enhancing the sparkle of her kohl-lined eyes and deepening the blush in her cheeks. Chakrawaru appraised her keenly. She wore her shabby clothes well. The odhni covering her head outlined her face, its gentle gold shimmer softening her sly features and adding graceful warmth to her figure. She had lost a good deal of weight but still retained a becoming lusciousness, and despite her changed circumstances, managed to convey an illusion of tasteful style.

  A tear glistened on her lashes. ‘Oh, it has been terrible, bhaiji,’ she uttered in a choked voice, ‘to watch my boys struggle every day for a few gold pieces. If only my husband hadn’t departed so soon. I miss him so much.’ A snort was quickly muffled. Nandan, lolling on a low divan, suppressed a grin. Manmaani continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘He died of a broken heart, never quite got over the betrayal. I daresay you know what I am talking about.’ She raised her eyes, looking directly at her guest.