Throne of Purvakhand

by ASHUTOSH RAI

The girl winced. She could not understand what Saile said but she was aware that she could not smile anymore. She stood still petrified staring the witch with shriveled eyes vowing to avenge if she probably could have any possible reincarnation.

  The room had been in light of candles. Kumud had a book called Anantvirum, the legend of Anantvir and his clan, placed on her lap and she had scarcely flipped its last page as she sighted the man standing on her door. She straitened her body on her feet and bowed reverently. ‘Pita ji,’

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked Vikrant staring her calmly. ‘It had been a frightening night. I am blessed. You returned unharmed.’

  ‘Yes, Pita ji. Its late night. You didn’t slept. You seem to be tired.’

  ‘Did I disturbed your reading?’

  ‘No… Not of course. I had just finished it,’ said Kumud blankly.

  Vikrant smiled. ‘Well, good night then. Books are indeed the greatest friend that one can afford.’ Vikrant walked sped near her, kissed her forehead and a weak hesitating smile crept over his wrinkled face. ‘Good night, my dear princess.’

  There was nothing unusual in his saying except the miserable husky fall in his voice. Kumud noticed it.

  ‘Pita ji,’ called Kumud steeply as Vikrant turned around to walk off. ‘Is there anything disturbing you. Anything unusual?’

  ‘No, nothing my child. Nothing special. How can anything disturb me?’ said Vikrant trying hard to put an indifference and show himself simple. ‘I hear only my heart. People should hear their heart if they want to be successful and happy.’

  Kumud nodded knitting her brows. ‘Good night Pita ji.’ The last sentence she heard had let her heart sound again for her best friend: Saraswatichandra.

  Next morning Saras wake up early than usual and took his bath and was just leaving his home but stopped his legs as he felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. He turned back to face the same everyday question of his mother.

  ‘Where?’ asked Gita. She was concerned about her child’s health. ‘You should not take single step outside. Look over your body and your health.’

  ‘Mother, these are just few cut and wounds,’ said Saras. ‘I am fine. Tomorrow you will see that this all have gone forever.’

  ‘So take rest for today,’ advised Gita. ‘Your yesterday’s clothes were worn and torn like you have been attacked by a beast.’

  ‘They were human but with fury of a beast’

  ‘Take rest. What is there to just waste your time in city streets?’

  ‘You know mother that I can’t,’ refused Saras. ‘She is waiting.’

  ‘You have gone mad. For her you are just a friend.’

  ‘Then I need your blessings. I have to make my place above than a friend in her heart.’

  ‘I don’t want you to get rejected again and again. I can’t see you to be disappointed.’

  ‘Have faith in me. I am your son. I won’t be. I will not leave trying till I don’t get my target aimed successfully. I will get the success. Maa, bless me good luck. Bye….’

  With smile Saras left his home.

  ‘Good luck my son,’ whispered Gita as she looked his way as he galloped the street and lost in morning fog behind trees planted on roadsides. Gita turned back to her kitchen and shake her head.

  ‘He is just mad. Totally.’

  Saras wobbled in the streets around the Vishnu Temple. He knew that every morning she use to visit the Vishnu Temple. He spend about an hour waiting her. She had been always very promising of her time about study and prayers. His mind was surrounded by horrible thoughts of her not coming the temple. Troubled by the horrible thought, he decided to visit the temple. The temple was surrounded by a boundary made of paved bricks. The rock walls of temple were engraved with various pictures of Vishnu and other deities. He stepped up the rock stairs of temple and bend down on his knees before the destroyed idol of the Lord. The idol was missing the crown and mace of the Lord. Nasur had taken them off on orders of Sharak. Saras stared the idol with pity drawn eyes. He slowly closed his eyes for the prayer, whispering, ‘O Lord of preservation and love. I know you look after all and you are aware of everyone’s desire. It is your blessings that my family is living its days with happy hours. I have everything except one thing. And you know it is an answer. Like your idol is incomplete without its crown and mace, I am too incomplete without Kumud. I want her true answer. I don’t know how it will be but I know it will be. I am aware of her feelings but she is not. I want to make her aware of what do she feels about me. And if I am wrong about her feelings then again show me the way to her heart. I am a Saraswatichandra, son of an Arkja and a Satyarathi. I will not accept her deny. I will to my last breath. Bless me success, daring and strength.’

  He moved back to leave the temple campus and saw Kumud just in front of him. Her eyes were closed and lips were praying to the lord. He heard her prayers. She had prayed the Lord to bless her with Saraswatichandra as husband.

  He left her praying as he got his answer. At the moment he can’t disturb her. Later in evening both confront each other on the lake opposite to temple. Saras was there since his visit to the temple. Kumud with a side bag on her left shoulder came to temple once again for her prayers and they saw each other at the lake where they had a sweet confession of love.

  Just like always Kumud’s face was glittering with charm. But one thing goes unusual. Saras was serious.

  He said, ‘Thanks!’

  ‘But for what?’ Kumud growing her eyes big and hands waving the amazement.

  ‘Your answer. I was just before you when you were praying the lord by standing two steps after me.’

  Like the traditional ladies she showed coyness. Oh! That one…. I mean…. .

  She could not complete her word and moved opposite in shy to the setting sun.

  This was unexpected to Saras. He said, ‘you can’t do like this. I never expected that a frank girl like you will shy.’

  Without turning to Saras she moved ahead gazing at sun and said, ‘Every girl know this and even do this. So as you know that my graduation are finished and soon father will start looking a good man for me or he will announce my Swayamvara. So you know what you have to do.’

  ‘I will ask your hand before your father may take any action.’ Showing confidence Saras said. He saw something like a manuscript in her bag. And his eyes caught a little sight of the symbol printed on its cover. The symbol of Ashtputras. He moved his hand to it and said, ‘I thought right? It is a manuscript.’ He took it out of the bag.

  Seeing the old manuscript he asked her, ‘What is this? It has the symbol of Ashtputras. Is it their story? Or it is a book of any subject like music, dance, mathematics, or a book of language like Purvaindi or Devwani Sanskrit…?’

  ‘That is a symbol used by many people. Initially it was symbol of flag of Lord Vir but with time it transferred to Ashtputras and Rakshaks. The emblem of Satyarathi warriors is inspired by this symbol,’ replied Kumud. ‘And this book is Anantvirum, the first love story written in Sanskrit which narrates the beautiful story of eldest Ashtputra Anantvir and Agniputri Athiya whose love was beyond the boundary of sentiments. It was of pure heart, not of lust. Which later takes Anantvir and his seven young brother to the battlefield where the legendary warrior Vitravir slayed Sakra, the son of Devraj Indra. Sakra was too a lover of Athiya but only for skin of Agniputri. The war was horrendous and in last Indra defeats the Ashtputras and send them to Kaal Chidra Bandigrah where they died.

  Saras asked, ‘I too know this story. I heard is from my mother. It is a fiction. I just don’t know what happened to Agniputri after the war. Do think really there were Ashtputras who defeated the Gods.’

  ‘Existence lies in belief. If you believe then yes they were and if you don’t then surely the answer is no. For me they were true. After that dreadful bloody war Indra asks her to accept him as husband but she died in honor which represent that it was a true love which only few lucky people have their life and surely Anantvir was of those few. But
I don’t believe that Ashtputras died in Kaal Chidra. This version of story is truly fake,’ answered Kumud. ‘I mean it is said that they constructed Kaal Chidra Bandigrah. They must have escaped. They already had defeated the gods when the gods had seized Sutala-loka, the adobe of pious Asura king Varan.’

  ‘How can you say this?’ asked Saras.

  ‘You know Saras what conditions are today. People are dying every day by fear, by tyranny. No one has the audacity to stop Emperor Sharak. The Satyarathi warriors submitted before the black flag or else were murdered. Everyone know what happened with the king of Tayns. The Dwarf was murdered brutally in his own kingdom. No one could defeat Sharak because he rules in shadow of Jakrant. Jakrant is only man who escaped from the prison of Kaal-Chidra. Ashtputras had built that prison. We heard and read this in tales and history books of human origin. They must had escaped from that prison like Jakrant and then Anantvir and Athiya have lived a happy life.’

  ‘Your imagination had the logic which I too believe in. I don’t know why but I believe that Ashtputras may be live like the way ostracized group of human legends are,’ said Saras firmly. ‘Anantvir is my inspiration. Not just a story which some of us believe is true and some regard it just a beautiful work of fiction. Anantvirum is story of great humans who proved that human race has unfathomable possibilities. We can achieve everything that we desire. We all have dreams. We all are ambitious. Some in its true way and some in its worst way. In its true way it is beneficial for everyone and in its worst version it is an aura of annihilation. The choice is ours. I am not a man who will neglect everything that happens around him. My mother and father had raised me to fight for the good, fight against Sharak.’

  ‘Don’t you think that before wrecking war, we should try for peace? What matters most for you?’

  ‘Peace and war are matter of thoughts and consequences. Love is a matter of soul. The thing which matters me the most is that I love you and see I even have you. You have me!’

  Kumud smiled and said, ‘Yes, you are right. I have you in my heart and forever.’

  ‘Well, can I found you a single day without any book in your hands?’

  ‘When you are alone then just be with your books. You will wonder that you have a good and best friend,’ said Kumud.

  ‘Are your books best than me?’ asked Saras and in answer she crept a smile on her lips and blushed.

  And then they have regular romantic meeting for a week.

  Like other day of the week he again came back to home late evening and confronts his father Nandkant.

  ‘Your mother said that you there is a girl in your heart. If it is so then forget her for always,’ said the Nandkant. He was on his campstool which he rarely uses when he is angry or in deep threatening tension.

  No second and Saras realized that something had happened very wrong, probably worst.

  ‘Do you have any problem Pita ji?’ Saras asked insisting Nandkant to open the pain that had been tormenting his soul.

  ‘How much do you love her?’ asked Nandkant.

  This question stunned Saras’ soul. Nandkant was well acknowledge to Saras and his feelings.

  Saras said, ‘I don’t know except the knowledge that I have only one heart which sounds her name.’

  Nandkant replied in grief, ‘I had a visit to the royal house of governor and I want you to win her in the Swayamvara which is going to be held on tomorrow in the royal court. You have to revenge my insult.’

  ‘Insult?’ The word surged the rage within the young man. ‘Who dared to insult my great father? I will slay his all kin.’

  ‘The General Vikrant’, she intervened, before Nandkant could speak.

  It drew some tension in his mind for a while but he recovered from it soon after few seconds, held his bow but Nandkant restrained him.

  ‘Neither this time nor this way, Saras,’ said Nandkant.

  ‘Hear your father,’ ordered Gita.

  Saras came near to Nandkant, sat on knees and Nandkant said him all that happened in his meeting with General Vikrant.

  ‘I visited the house of General Vikrant to meet him and asked his daughter’s hand for you but he denied. General said me that a Brahman not marry a girl from royal house and insulted me by arguing that the Brahmans are poor and not even strong enough to save their family so how you would keep his daughter happy and I had challenged him that a son of priest is better than a man of royal house in every sense, You have to show him the power of education and manners we gave to you. He has announced Swayamvara of his daughter and made the rule that only people from the warrior class of the state can participate.’

  ‘And remember my words always. The great warrior, sages and philosophers have no caste and in this way, you are eligible. You may not aware of yourself but you are something that no one can deny.’

  ‘So what I have to do Pita ji? I mean what is task of Swayamvara’, he asked.

  ‘A very small but hard target to achieve. You have to lift a hammer which is two hasta long with a golden handle whose diameter is about twenty angula and then you have to beat the golden drum placed left to it’ , Nandkant replied.

  ‘Only a hammer. Nor is it an insult for all brave men in that swayamvara to lift a simple hammer. I think General should keep a competition which have something which show your intelligence and strength,’ said Saras.

  ‘It is hammer of Vindhvir, the third Ashtputra. So giant that you will need your both hand to handle and lift it and from many manvantara no man on earth can even displace it to distance of a single point of dust.’ Gita smiled in angst. ‘And I know that this is not the real problem. You have saved people from Vahunians so you are enough mighty to hold that hammer.’ The wrinkles of worry were rising on her forehead. ‘How will we get entry as only people of warrior caste are allowed to take part? Vikrant must have increased the security especially for us?’

  ‘That’s not a matter of concern,’ said Nandkant. ‘My son is ready and he will break the arrogance of those royal suitors of warrior caste.’

  ‘I can defeat them. If needed then I can slew even general Vikrant but that hammer? I has read that that hammer is celestial.’ argued Saras. ‘How can I lift it? Only Ashtputras and other few very powerful warriors like Gal, Tezvir, Rudravir, Arkja could lift and use it.’

  ‘I know from childhood you are keen about Ashtputras and their powers. But Saras, these are just few man made tales and ballads?’ said Gita. ‘From ages that hammer is on same place. It was given to King Samru of Kundey by the ostracized human legend, Lord Panskrodha, to keep in safety. And after King Samru died, no one tried to lift it.’

  ‘But what if they are real like evil lord Jakrant?’ asked Saras.

  ‘Don’t take that evil name, Saras,’ yelled Gita. A variance of eerie marks crest over her forehead. ‘It brings misfortune to young men and girls. The name itself means a curse that increases its wrath every time it is spoken.’

  ‘Ok! I will not say that name..,’ said Saras firmly. ‘Twenty three years before he too was a man found only in tales of gods and demons. And mother, we know well what he did when he returned. He destroyed Virnagre, the greatest kingdom of earth –twenty three years before. And we know what happened after Lord Panskrodha gave that celestial hammer to King Samru. He too failed to lift it.’

  Gita just rolled her eyes toward Nandkant in a pause.

  ‘Never forget that I fought the war against Sharak and we made you a warrior for the same reason. So I am warrior and you are warrior son of a warrior priest’, said Nandkant. ‘Never say that you can’t do.’

  ‘Yes, I know you fought against demon king Sharak and you both trained me in war art for the same reason but if any man could not lift that hammer from ages then how I would lift it?

  ‘Not again, Saras,’ warned Gita. ‘Don’t be stubborn. Be brave. Even if tales are true, never forget that you yourself has truth in your veins. You are living to guard the goodness and truth on this earth. You well know the tales and legends. Sage Narad had
once said that a man with self-confidence whose heart do not have evil can lift that hammer easily. You said that king Samru could not lift it but at least King Samru gave it a try. If you believe in yourself then you can and if you are a coward then you must stain my name and hard work. I think your love for us and that girl Kumud -is just of name. In reality you don’t love us. You just pretend.’

  Saras was startled. He was numb, trying hard to belief that he heard such words from his mother. ‘No, mother. Please, never say this. I will be dead if there will be any day when I will forgot you, father and Kumud,’ said Saras abruptly. He hold his hand over his heart and breathed. He felt that for a moment he had lost his breath. ‘Never say this again, Maa. These three names are my breath.’

  Gita was furious. She thought that Saras was losing his bravery but Saras was thinking about the difficult size of hammer. It was more than the perfect grab of his fist.

  ‘Yes, my son you can,’ encouraged Nandkant. ‘Believe in yourself like you believe in existence of tales of Ashtputras.’

  Someone knocks the door while the arguments were on the tongue. She was a maid of Kumud with her letter in which Kumud had confessed her love and asked Saras to participate in her Swayamvara.

  Nandkant read the letter and said, ‘She want you to participate. She believes that you can.’

  Saras nodded that he will participate in Swayamvara and gave a chance to Gita so she finally can glare a smile on her fifty three years old face though she looked of just forty.

  With full determined ambition Saras and Nandkant entered the royal house to participate the Swayamvara. The doorkeeper refused them to enter.

  ‘I think you know me well and you don’t like if I will return to my old way. Neither Sharak could do any harm to me then nor today you both can stop me and my son,’ ranted Nandkant. ‘Get lost of my way.’

  Saras was surprised that the soldier who had denied them to enter before, allowed them now to enter on one command of his father. The Swayamvara was held in the royal hall decorated with lights, perfumed flowers and decoration of gems and shining stones. As they enter, the people of warrior caste “KSHAKTRIYA” stand against them. They were arguing that a man from the priest caste “BRAHMAN” is born to teach and do sacrifices not to be a warrior or a king and as per rules the Swayamvara he cannot participate.