‘Look!’ says Ambalika and points, and we all turn to see the chariot, a speck surrounded by dust but growing larger as it approaches us.
‘It’s probably just a king who was late,’ I say, laughing a little, because of how scared we all were. ‘Come, let us go back into the palace, Ambika, if you haven’t found it yet, it’s probably lost forever. Now, come on, the dust is everywhere, our clothes are filthy!’
I nod at Lalita who begins to herd the rest of our party together so we can walk back, and I don’t realize I’m doing it, but I’m also listening for the sound of the chariot to stop, for loud voices and laughter and explanations, and yet, it isn’t doing any of those things, it’s just getting louder and louder, and then Ambalika screams, ‘He’s going to run right into us!’ and I turn and...
Chapter Six
We are separated from our maids, all except Lalita who is holding on to my hand and she will not let go.
The man on the chariot has a cloth tied around his head and face, he is holding it in place with his teeth, and his eyes shine, black and glittering at me. He is holding a sword, which he has used to push us into a corner, close to his chariot, where a driver sits. I can’t see his face either, he’s covered with the same black cloth, only the wild curls on his head stand out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my father on his feet, signalling to his general and captains. The man has his back to them, and he spits out the cloth and smiles at us, an intense smile which shows all his teeth. He must be a madman, I realize with horror. I have never met one before, but stories say that they don’t care about consequences, or even death, that they are relentless in achieving whatever their poor addled hearts tell them to.
‘Don’t be scared,’ says the man, and his voice is low, not at all the shriek I was expecting because of him landing amongst us like a great wildcat. The guards are advancing towards the spot, they are going to take him away and we will never know what he wanted.
Behind me, Ambika clings to my fingers, squeezing them almost painfully, and Ambalika is holding a fold of Ambika’s sari clutched tightly into her fist. I think of us suddenly like a many-headed monkey and I can’t stop a spurt of laughter from escaping my lips. I think I must be mad, frightened out of my wits to laugh at a time like this when we are obviously going to die. Or worse.
‘That’s it,’ says the man, smiling at me encouragingly. ‘Laugh, little sister. This is a great day.’ From the corner of my eye, I see guards’ bowstrings, pulled tight. Then, almost carelessly, still looking at us, and nodding as you’d nod to a small child to show them that this is nothing to be afraid of, his sword hand darts from behind his back in an effortless movement. Three arrows that were whistling through the air towards him, clatter to the floor, cut in six pieces.
‘You will only hurt your own princesses if you keep shooting like that,’ he tells the army, and his voice is still pleasant, but my father hears him and orders the army to stop, stop at once, don’t use arrows anymore!
So, the swordsmen come forward, three of our finest, as we stand trapped, frozen, like cornered hares in the hunt. There are loud shouts as they advance, circling around the intruder from three sides, the sun glinting on their blades. I hear Ambalika give a gasp, she steps forward to see better, letting go of Ambika. Now my sisters are on either side of me, and I am holding both their hands, as Lalita steps behind us, encircling us with her arms so we are a knot, and we are in so much danger, it’s a good time, while he is distracted for us to just sneak away. I think the thought occurs to Lalita first, she murmurs it into the breeze, and it reaches my ears and I shift my head just a little, so she can see the corner of my face, my eyelashes blink against my cheek, a signal I don’t even know I’m giving.
And then I turn my head to see where we should go, and I catch Salva’s eye. I didn’t even know he was there, my beloved Salva, my heart expands at the sight of him, and he is coming towards us, he is going to rescue us.
What if this man, who is a better warrior than anyone I’ve ever seen, even my father, should attack Salva?
The four warriors continue their dance, none daring make the first move.
He wouldn’t hurt a boy, I tell myself comfortingly, and I shake my head at Lalita whose soldier training is making her restless for a weapon, we will wait and we will be rescued. Perhaps this is something that Salva himself set up, it would be so like him, a last-minute surprise for me on our wedding day. Maybe my father has helped him do it, after all, Salva is his ward, it would look well for him if his charge was the best trained warrior there.
I look towards Salva again, and I smile at him, as sweetly as I can, so he can see what he is fighting for. I look at my sisters, Ambika has the stubborn look she gets when she is unsure of something, when her chin is set and mutinous and almost touching her nose. It’s extremely unattractive.
At least Ambalika’s beauty still stands. Well ... in a certain light. In others, she is looking like a child now, not someone you’d want to bed, there are blackened tear stains on her cheeks, some of her hair has escaped its tight braids and falls about her face, and there’s something in the way she’s leaning against Lalita, one hand going through a loose strand of hair that suggests she’s going to start sucking her thumb. She doesn’t do it often, not since she was very small, but when she’s upset or tired, the habit resurfaces.
‘Don’t let her suck her thumb,’ I hiss to Lalita. Ambalika almost protests, but leans back again, to have her head stroked.
Then, a flurry of blades – weaves, spins and three quick thrusts, a scream. The man stands alone, heaving, and at his foot lies a bloody hand. I look again and feel my breakfast rise within me. As I turn, I see blood on my clothes, what I thought was sweat was blood all along, he has killed them, there is a hand and it is not attached to a body.
‘Who else?’ the man is shouting. ‘Who else would pit his arms against mine? I am only one man, and I have ridden a long way, surely there is a king here who would take his chance against me?’
My father takes two steps closer, flanked by guards on either side.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asks. ‘Why ruin this auspicious day? If it is one of my daughters you want to wed, you could have attended this swayamvara with all the other kings here. I would not have stopped you. Unless, you are not a Kshatriya?’
The man’s face contorts in another smile, but it is a fierce, bitter one. ‘Oh yes, I am a Kshatriya, O King. I am a better Kshatriya than any of these mewling dogs you have brought here. My kingdom is larger; my armies are more terrible. My family is so very old, our ancestors are gods.’
‘Is that so?’ says my father, and he is smiling too, but it is the smile I like the least, because it is the one he gives us when he is about to be cruel or cutting. ‘And why is it that your ancient family wasn’t invited to this ceremony? Forgive me, I have a hard time believing in your pedigree, I know too many so-called Kshatriyas who come by their family records with a crooked priest and a bribe to reflect the glory of each generation.’
‘At least, O King, my family is not known for killing their own brothers,’ says the man, and the crowd draws in its breath for this is one thing that is never mentioned, even though you might think it. The man turns his head towards the gasp and smiles, tilting his head, acknowledging the audience and then he picks up his blade and looks at it, all the while speaking very casually, ‘As to why you didn’t invite my family, who knows? We certainly made our intentions clear to you. We even told you we had no need for a swayamvara, not wanting to humiliate the rest of your guests, for I trained my brother myself and he is as skilled as I, only with slightly less finesse, but you know, he is young, he will soon learn.’
My father laughs – each note distinct – ha.ha.ha. The man turns towards us, and says, ‘Shall we go, Your Highnesses? And this is your maid? I suppose she can come with us, although it might be a tight fit in my chariot.’
‘You will go nowhere until you explain yourself!’ bellows my fa
ther, finally jostled out of the humour he is pretending to have.
‘And who is going to stop me?’
‘My army – and these kings, and – I myself, you arrogant son of a whore!’
Ambika cringes. This is the first time she has heard this insult and it hits her ears like a sharp drumbeat. Ambalika, thankfully, has found a place deep inside herself, and I’m not even sure she knows where we are. I have spent so much time eavesdropping in my tower that I know the words men use when they are angry; either it is your mother who is guilty or your wife.
I glance again at Salva. He hasn’t moved, he is pale underneath the kisses of sun on his face, his eyes are narrowed, his hand trembling against the hilt of his half-drawn sword. For the first time, I wonder if we should have made a run for it when we could, it is increasingly clear that this man is no slave to Salva. Nor anyone.
‘We have a long journey,’ says the man, ‘I can deal with you as I have with your soldiers.’ He points his chin towards the hand on the ground, and I feel my stomach knot again. ‘But I grow tired of this, King. I am Bheeshma, Bheeshma of Hastinapura. I suspect you know who I am. You would not give my brother your daughters, not even one, so I have come to take them all.’
‘Bheeshma! The stepson of that fisherwoman! Brother to her brats!’ My father lets out that strange laugh again, and glances at the other kings who laugh as well, all a little nervously. ‘You want to wed my daughters to your bastard of a brother?’
Bheeshma takes one step forward. I cannot see his face but it must be terrible, because there is instant silence. He barely moves, then the bow appears in his hands, arrow already nocked, string taut, pointing straight at my father’s throat.
‘Do not,’ he says softly, ‘ever speak so about my family again.’
My father takes a step back and opens his mouth, glancing at that arrow, and then does something I have never seen him do before. He stops talking.
Meanwhile, I see a glint next to that disembodied hand, a knife fallen just as the hand dropped, the fingers must have clasped around it, but in death they opened and the knife is free. I pull Ambika closer and whisper, ‘Pick up the knife.’ She looks at me and then follows my eyes to the floor. I can’t tell if she understands, because she is still and her face is blank but a moment later, I see her kick out a foot and push the knife towards herself. It is underneath her sari, and she bends, swift as can be, and I see that her fingers have grasped the hilt, and she hides it tucked besides her waist, and I hide it even further by pretending to straighten her clothes. Our eyes meet briefly, and I see that she knows what’s about to happen to us, and she has been paying attention, and for some reason, this is a strange comfort to me, to know I will not have to support all of us alone, that my sister is by my side and ready to do what it takes. It seems strange to think about it, but in that one moment, we are more sisters than we have been our entire lives.
‘If there is nothing else –’ Bheeshma glances over at the crowd, and we can all see him waiting. ‘Such royalty you have assembled, O King,’ he says, mockingly. ‘They do not even lift their arms to save a woman’s virtue. Maybe that is why you have selected them?’ He turns towards us and speaks directly to Lalita, ‘Girl, if you are joining your mistresses, help them on to the chariot now. It is your choice to accompany us or stay here. There are plenty of maids they will find in their new kingdom, and maids that were born women as well.’
Lalita flinches, but I am proud of her, because she holds her head high and looks Bheeshma in the face. ‘I am maid to the princesses,’ she says, ‘and if they go, I too.’
Bheeshma snorts. ‘I like your loyalty, child,’ he tells Lalita. ‘You’ll find we are partial to loyalists in Hastinapura as well. Now, get in.’ He tilts his head sharply towards the chariot, and Lalita jumps and starts moving Ambalika, who lets herself be placed on it, weak as a newborn kitten, helped up by the driver.
‘This is a true sin,’ I say. ‘You can’t just abduct us!’
‘I’m not abducting you, but you are only making the journey harder for yourself.’
‘Not abducting! And I suppose if I said I didn’t want to go, you’d let me stay?’ I’m not sure where all these words have been and how they are bubbling up to my lips, and I am glad for any defiance I have inherited, probably a gift from one of my grandmothers.
Bheeshma chuckles and then says, ‘No, I don’t think I could just leave you behind, Princess, but if one of your men were to fight for your honour...?’
My father is still shouting for his army to attack, but he is safely cordoned off by his generals, and I see one of them speaking to him and while my father’s face still looks angry, I see appeasement begin to wash across it. He’s not going to attempt to win us back.
Then, I look at the crowd, really look at all the kings who have been paraded before us, our possible future husbands, and I notice none of them meet my eye, not even Salva, they are all engrossed in the sky or their feet or a bit of thread on their clothes, and I feel my nostrils flare and turn back to Bheeshma and say, ‘I would fight you if I were a man.’
‘I believe you would,’ he says, and it’s funny, but he sounds a little sad for me, like he knows that I’ve looked at all those men and found them lacking.
Ambika is also on the chariot now, and she looks at me helplessly. I can’t let him just take away my sisters, I just can’t, so I grit my teeth and glare at him and ignore his hand waiting to help me up and land heavily with both my feet on the chariot, where I almost fall.
‘Easy there,’ says Bheeshma, as he climbs up next to the other man, and then turns back to smile at us all, ‘Look your last on Kashi, Princesses, because soon we’ll be in the greatest kingdom in the whole world!’
Chapter Seven
So here we are, hurtling through forest and field at the bottom of a chariot. It has been a few hours, and the sun which blazed above us when we left is now settling himself down for the evening in the distance. The sky is pink and gold and all aflame, there is no sound of anything but the chariot wheels which rattle slightly thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck-thuck and the horses’ hooves – there are four of them, and they are beautiful, but I can only think about all I have left behind, and the sight of their tails, lifted so high and dainty reminds me of my Sauvee who will wonder where I have gone and whinny to be told.
The driver, whose name is Yashas; not that Bheeshma has introduced us, oh no, that would be too much talking for him, and I am learning he is a taciturn man. But I hear him also talking to Yashas, using his name constantly and gently, like the slow drip of rain just after a storm. ‘Yashas,’ he’ll say, ‘go a little faster here, I don’t want anyone to see us and try to stop our chariot.’ Or, ‘Yashas, do you think we’ll be able to make camp before the sun sets?’ Yash-as, like that, like he enjoys having someone to call by name, although, the gods know he could just turn around and make our acquaintance as well, even though I would not be kind to him, I just want to know more about where we are going, what he means by stealing us away like this.
He has placed some soft skins on the chariot floor, and it is larger than it looks, which is to say it is still a very small space, but none of us have even dared to get up and stretch our legs or look around. If we did, we’d be able to move apart from each other, unstick our thighs from the floor, he stopped once, right after we started, when Lalita whispered to him that we needed to make water, it’s true, I had forgotten myself, but as soon as she mentioned it, my knees went weak with the force of having to keep myself from wetting my clothes. He was kind after we stopped, offered us food – fruits and bits of dry deer meat, a drink from the leather waterskin that was stored under the seat in front. But we weren’t ready to forgive him by eating his salt or letting him treat us as though we were honoured guests. We all shake our heads silently and fall back on the soft skins.
We whisk through Kashi too quickly for me to say goodbye to it, our heads down as Bheeshma orders us – ‘Stay down!’ and ‘Don’t look at anyone
!’– his eyes on us as we cower in a corner of the chariot. We have been weeping – not all at once, I had a few tears of despair, before my eyes turned arid at the thought of what might come. Ambalika sobbed in fits and starts of fear in the beginning, her mouth wide open and turned down, and then subsided into stormy thumb sucking, which I cannot stop. And Ambika cried too, some real tears mixed with the ones she feigned to show us all how she was suffering. I glance towards Ambika now, her tear-stained face is set in sullen lines.
‘I am so tired,’ she says, seeing me watch her, ‘and so weary of this chariot, I feel like my head will split apart if I have to hear these horses for one more moment!’
‘Ambalika is not complaining and she’s littler than you,’ I tell her. ‘Be more like our little sister.’
Ambika shoots me a look and then jostles Ambalika by the shoulder roughly, ‘Sister! Little sister! Are you even in there!’
‘Stop it,’ whines Ambalika, moving her arm away and then settling back into her silence. She lets her eyes droop closed and as we watch, one thumb makes its way across her cheek and into her mouth, while her forefinger twirls a lock of hair on her forehead. I sigh.
‘You see?’ says Ambika. ‘She’s the next best thing to an idiot. It’s lucky she is so beautiful, or she’d be dead by now.’
‘You don’t die of stupidity, stupid,’ I say.
‘If you are put to death from being of no use, you do!’
This is usually the time someone would intervene; our mother when we were very young, girls, girls, play nicely with each other, our father telling us not to be a bunch of squabbling hens, even one of the older maids, if she knew us well, your Highnesses, this is not fit behaviour for girls of your position!
But now there is no one to stop us, Lalita wouldn’t, she’s too young, and besides, she’s asleep too, with Ambalika’s head across her lap. Ambika and I could fight and fight and fight and there would be no one to remind us that we need to get along so that we can stand together.
Girls of the Mahabharata Page 7
