Yuvan bows and steps aside, waiting for Salva to follow, which he does, keeping his head high and not even glancing at me. I wish him luck in my heart, and I know he will return only after the darkness is too thick for even the flickering flames from the torches to pierce through.
As he leaves, I begin to do so too, but my father stops me.
‘Daughter,’ he says and I bend my head, waiting.
‘It is not certain that your young prince will actually win your hand, so I do not want to see you being intimate with him. No, don’t deny it,’ I’ve lifted my head to say something but stop. ‘You may think my promise to his father is binding, but I assure you, it is not. I would have a good warrior for my son-in-law, three good warriors – soft statesmen are of no use to me.’
He has said his piece, and he walks on, leaving me there, head still bowed but my heart is defiant. Salva will win my hand, we will be married, and it is a swayamvara after all, where the brides are allowed to choose their grooms without their parents interfering, apart from offering guidance, and I plan to defy my father if it comes to that, and put my garland around Salva’s neck. I care not if the other rulers are upset, or if my father is angry, I will be with my husband, and that’s nobody else’s business but ours.
Chapter Four
I first hear his name when I am hiding in a little alcove only I know of, far from even my most trusted maids, definitely far away from my sisters who squabble like cats. My alcove is in one of the old towers – they used to be used by soldiers before the castle was turned into a palace, when my grandfather Shaguna lived in his own dwelling with his four sons, before they were all killed by my father – and even though the builders have done what they could to turn an old castle into the kind of luxury my father thinks he deserves, they had to leave two of the towers as they were or build new walls, and my father likes to keep his riches close.
Now, no one uses the little rooms, my father tried to put the newest slave girls in them, but they screamed and cried and talked of ghosts, and then no one would enter them at all, so I have them to myself. I prefer the one in the east, it is situated right over my father’s private rooms, so sometimes I can hear him talking when the wind is right, and I have learned of many things this way. I also like the one in the east, because I suspect young lovers throughout the palace have discovered the one in the west, and the last time I sought refuge there I found a broken anklet and long strands of hair across the carpet I dragged up there to sit on. It is closer to the servants’ quarters, and it would be a perfect place to be alone, I suppose, if you had nowhere else to go. I wouldn’t gamble my own future like that, it doesn’t take much to become quick with life.
I like to hide away by myself sometimes, especially now that everyone in the palace seems to have gone wedding foolish, and it is all my sisters can talk about from morning to night: will my husband be handsome, I should like for him to be handsome, but not so comely that people think we are a perfectly matched couple, oh no, because I want him to always feel like he is lucky to have me, and I want everyone who sees us to feel the same way. Sister, do you think I should wear the diamonds or the rubies on the first day we are married, or should I wear something simple like these coral beads?
So I’m sitting there, and drawing a picture of Sauvee on the wall with a piece of charcoal, and I have just got to her tail when I hear my father’s voice, loud and clear, almost as though he’s standing right next to me.
‘... To her son! Her son! As though I would give my royal daughters – even consider giving my royal daughters to the son of a fishwife. And do not tell me that long tale about her supposedly royal parentage. Most likely that was history invented by Shantanu and that woman’s father to keep scandal away from their doorstep.’
Someone else’s voice – low and soothing, but I can’t make out what he is saying and then my father again, making an impatient noise.
‘Don’t antagonize them? You forget yourself! Am I not the mightiest king on this side of the Ganga?’
The other voice is still gentle but a little more hurried, as though the person was trying to make an argument to which my father wasn’t listening to.
‘So her stepson, this Bheeshma, is a famous warrior, is it? I have the finest army within thirty yojanas, north, south, east or west of here. He is hardly going to take us all on. Besides, I have already agreed to the swayamvara, I’m not going to change everything just on one fish-woman’s say so.’
The other voice makes a short murmur; I imagine he’s decided it’s no use disagreeing with my father.
‘What sort of pompous name is Bheeshma anyway?’ snorts my father, and his voice grows muffled then, he’s probably turned away from the window and is making to leave the room. The other voice is quick and the last thing I hear is my father’s barking laughter growing fainter as he walks out of his rooms.
I realize I was listening very hard, a little jumpy when he mentioned the swayamvara, I’m not putting it past my father to call it off at the last minute and just marry us to whoever he likes the most. He’s been sitting with his advisors till very late at night, going through the names and dynasties of all the rulers who are invited. One evening in the midst of his deliberations, he even came by to our chambers, sending the maids all into a fluster, for he never drops by, not even once when we were babies.
‘May I help you in some way, Father?’ I had asked, because I am the eldest, and it is my duty to make things easier for my sisters; later Ambika would accuse me of always pushing myself forward and not leaving anything for her or Ambalika.
He shook his head at me, and gazed at Ambalika, who was the only one unconcerned by his presence, I don’t think she even noticed he was there, she was so occupied rubbing jasmine oil into her hair as she combed it out, singing softly to herself.
‘Daughter,’ he said, softly, and it was clear to all of us that he meant Ambalika, who was now rubbing the oil into her soft hands, turning them over and over, and admiring them as she did so, I knew, because of the patient, loving expression on her face. Ambalika always looks like she is at worship when she is tending to herself, the look in her eyes as she dresses would remind you of a young saint trying to be close to the gods.
Ambika was watching all this, and suddenly she went and shook Ambalika’s shoulder, quite sharply and Ambalika said, ‘Oh!’ and looked up and noticed we were all quiet and that my father was still watching her. So then she said, ‘Father, excuse me, were you speaking to me?’
‘I was, Daughter,’ said my father, and his voice was gentler than I had ever heard it, except for when he is talking to my mother, and he almost smiled under his moustache.
‘May I help you, Father?’ said Ambalika, and I thanked Varuna silently under my breath that she was being courteous and present, because so often she just vanishes behind the clouds in her mind. Not in a way that would cause people alarm, but I often think she got more from my mother than just her straight nose and pretty mouth. Sometimes she lets her full little mouth fall open and hang there, and her eyes are blank, and it is clear that she isn’t, well, all there.
‘Daughter, when you are at the ceremony, remember to look very closely at King Shashwat,’ said my father, and because I knew what he was doing, I curled my toes into the deer skin on the floor and tried to keep my face still.
‘Is he very handsome?’ asked Ambalika, her eyes round.
‘He may or may not be handsome,’ said my father waving a hand dismissively. ‘He is a good deal older than you, but older husbands often make good ones. He also has a large kingdom and no heirs. You would be a great queen and your sons would be crown princes, and you would likely live longer than your husband and have to rule the kingdom on behalf of your sons.’
And I could see he was thinking he would rule the kingdom on behalf of her sons, because like all men, my father believes that death happens to every other man but him.
He patted her awkwardly on the cheek and asked if she was happy, if she was getting every
thing she desired, how she should not hesitate to ask for anything she wanted, because her time in her parents’ home was growing shorter, and soon she would have to give it all up and go away.
‘I should like some new anklets,’ said Ambalika, pushing out her feet to show him. ‘My old ones belonged to my grandmother, and have no stones in them at all.’
‘You shall have new anklets,’ said my father. Then turning to look at Ambika and I as well and finally remembering he had two other daughters, added ‘You shall all have new anklets.’ Then he left, after awkwardly switching to stroking her head and saying, ‘King Shashwat!’ at her as he left.
She went back to oiling her skin immediately, but Ambika gazed after my father with such a thoughtful expression, I was a little frightened.
‘What are you thinking of, Ambika?’ I asked, even though I was half certain that asking this question would be a mistake.
‘I am thinking, Amba, that since it is my turn after yours, and you will pick your Salva, that I will take this King Shashwat for myself.’
‘Oh, but Father meant for Ambalika to marry him!’
‘Father doesn’t care which of us chooses him as long as one of us does. And I’d rather have a throne than a crown prince who has to keep proving himself and kowtowing to his father or ours before he can do anything. A king wouldn’t have to listen to anybody, and as his queen I’d be quite in command as soon as he was too old to do anything.’
I felt a little sorry for her – imagine wanting to go through life without great love, the sort that can only happen when two people are wed – but also a little envious, for she was right, and it would be so long before Salva was truly his own master, and we could leave my father and his father, and all fathers behind and just be ourselves.
I have not had much of a chance to see Lalita since we last went riding together. Soon after I hear my father in his chambers, I leave my little tower, because I can’t stay there forever, and it is better to emerge before they start to miss you and ask you questions about where you’ve been. As I appear in the corridor just before our chambers, I see her, as though I have conjured her up just by thinking about her.
She is about to bow and let me through, still stiffly formal, despite the ride we shared. But as I draw near, she looks me in the eye and smiles, the smile of someone you’ve had more than a passing encounter with. The smile, almost, of friends.
‘Highness,’ she says, stopping me, before I go in, ‘your maid, Bharavee, was delivered of a daughter early this morning.’
‘Oh, that is good news,’ I say. ‘Both healthy?’
‘Yes, from what I hear, they are recovering well. But, Highness, that means she will not be able to prepare for your ceremony.’
This makes me stop still. I depend on Bharavee, we all do. She knows how to do our hair, what clothes we must wear, she anticipates so no sooner do we think of being thirsty than a silver goblet filled with sweet wine appears by our elbows, no sooner are we tired, than someone is helping us to bed and unwinding our hair. She is essential for all to be calm and easy, and without her, I am afraid all three of us will go to pieces.
‘We will have to make sure the other maids know what to do,’ I say out loud to myself.
‘Highness, I was wondering.’
‘Yes?’
‘I was wondering, whether I could be of service.’
‘You want to be a maid?’ I am surprised because I’ve never thought of an eunuch as wanting to change from guarding us to dressing us. Just as I never think of a maid as a soldier, I couldn’t think of a soldier as a maid.
‘I’d like to try. If Your Highness agrees, and speaks to –speaks to Abhita, then I am sure she would have no choice but to agree.’
‘I could speak to Abhita,’ I say, hesitating, ‘but do you know how to be a maid? Carry out the duties Bharavee normally would? My sisters will object if anyone less than qualified was to tend to them.’
‘I’ve been watching Bharavee the whole time I’ve been guarding your chambers, Highness, I believe I could do it. If you could just let me try, just for a day or two, I think you might be pleased.’
‘Very well,’ I say. ‘The maids will not be pleased that I have chosen someone not from their ranks and set you above them, but I will leave that to you. You may begin immediately. I shall require someone to take a message to Abhita and then I would like a sandalwood bath.’
Her eyes light up, but she keeps a straight face and bows in front of me, palms folded, then leaves to find me a messenger.
Abhita, the most senior of our eunuchs, is a person to be reckoned with. She is old now, but even though her shoulders are stooped, she is still taller than my father. Though she wears a sari as a concession to our ways, she keeps her hair closely cropped, so that if you came across her in the night, you would see just a broad-shouldered shadow looming above you. Her skin is the darkest I have ever seen, she was brought by ship from a faraway country and has lived among us ever since. She is so good with languages, my father often has her translate for him when foreign envoys arrive. She has been the head of the eunuchs since I can remember, training them all to stand guard, and how to behave and in their duties. Truth be told, even I am a little frightened of her, and I wonder how Lalita will handle it later.
Like most old people, Abhita is set in her ways, and will not appreciate a eunuch’s desire to be a maid. She likes to say we are born to perform our own duty, not anyone else’s, and that is the way of the world. ‘If you don’t like it, take it up with the gods, not with me,’ I’ve heard her saying to a young, sobbing recruit, before she walked away without a second glance.
Instead of the messenger I expected, Abhita herself comes into the room, followed by Lalita, who tosses me a frightened glance and then looks intently at the floor.
‘Abhita!’ I say, surprised, ‘I was not expecting you.’
‘I heard Your Highness had a message for me,’ she says in her low deep voice, which years of smoking bhanga has turned into almost a growl. ‘I know messages have a tendency to change when they are passed on, like hatching a snake when you expected a cockerel, so I decided to come here myself.’
‘Well, that is – admirable,’ I say, coughing to cover my confusion. Abhita steps forward with an expression of feigned concern, and I wave her away. ‘No, I am all right. I just wanted to ask – to tell you, that I will be using this young eunuch as a maid in my quarters from now on.’ I force myself to keep my eyes raised and on her face. As usual, it is impossible to say what Abhita is thinking, her deep eyes stay inscrutable, and her expression is as placid as mine is.
‘If Your Highness would forgive the advice of an old woman,’ she says, slowly, ‘But would not another maid trained in her job be more suitable than this one? I selected her for a soldier because that is how she was sold to me.’ Here Abhita tosses a glance at Lalita, and for a second, her expression slips and I see loathing. She does not blink as she adds, ‘It may have been a poor bargain, but she is certainly not suitable for overseeing young princesses.’
‘I appreciate your advice,’ I say, ‘but nevertheless, I would like to try her in my rooms. She has expressed the desire to help us in this delicate time and we are always grateful for loyal servants. As you know.’
Abhita folds her palms and bows. I have a feeling she wants nothing more than to grab Lalita by the hair and drag her back to the eunuch quarters where she will be whipped, but she can’t do that now, since I have asked for her, and it could appear to be done from a place of jealousy. I make up my mind then, that no matter how terrible a maid Lalita is, I will find her something to do near my chambers to save her from Abhita’s wrath.
As soon as Abhita leaves, Lalita runs up to me and grabs my hands and places them to her forehead. ‘Thank you, Highness,’ she keeps saying, ‘Thank you, thank you.’
I am slightly uneasy with this gratitude, it seems as though I have saved her from some unimaginable fate, and surely her being sold to the palace must have saved her from
something even worse? Also, I know my mother will object to this, if she ever hears of it, so Lalita must be transformed into a very good maid indeed. I look down at the part in her hair, slightly greasy, with the smell of work and skin, and I gently extricate myself.
‘The bath, Lalita,’ I tell her, and it may be my imagination, but she looks slightly disappointed, as if she expected more from me in this moment, a sort of shared joy in her escape, but you can’t encourage this sort of thing, you need to make sure everyone knows their place and their role, otherwise how will you be a good queen? I pick up a small bound collection of paintings that has just arrived and begin to look through them, and I hear her go, her chains clinking softly.
Salva is sitting with the three concubines from the harem – all three very pretty, even if they do seem a little older than us. One is massaging his feet, the other his shoulders, and the third is sitting in his lap, wearing very little, and giggling up at his face. His arm loosely drapes about her shoulder, I notice, as I walk into his chambers, and she is stroking his chest. He isn’t smiling, his face is drawn and tight, but his eyes are fixed on the concubine’s breasts and she knows it from the way she thrusts her nipples out and bites on her lip.
Salva has always said that without women and wine – the two indulgences of most kings – a kingdom could be run better, and I am surprised to see him luxuriate in one of the things he calls a waste of time. That’s what I say as I walk in, in fact, ‘I am surprised to see you wallowing in a waste of time,’ and my voice is low and terrible like thunder.
The two concubines massaging him stop immediately and turn away, but when the one on his lap makes to get up, he pulls her closer. ‘My Lord!’ she says, and giggles, tracing her finger over his upper lip. I look away, sickened.
‘If there’s something you need to do before we meet, I wish you’d—,’ I stop, because I don’t know what to say next. This isn’t my Salva, my future husband, the person I know better than I know myself. Do I know him? Normally when he is upset or angry about something, he is sullen, and then the whole palace stays out of his way, because a sulky young ruler is as dangerous as a bull elephant in heat, and about as unpredictable. This time though, while I still recognize the set of his mouth as a bad temper, it seems to be laced with something else – a little spark of cruelty that I never noticed in him before. It is almost as if – and I dismiss the idea as soon as it enters my mind – he staged this whole encounter just for me to walk in and find him there. As if this was no accident.
Girls of the Mahabharata Page 4
