The Rise of Hastinapur

by Sharath Komarraju

  Pritha waited, and for the first time that morning the breeze seemed to turn into something harsh, sending her hair flying into her eyes and making her eyes sting.

  ‘You shall bear my child,’ he said. ‘If it is a daughter, she will grow up to be a priestess, and if it is a son he shall be a warrior of note. I do not think that your blood will beget any less.’

  He fell silent, the vacant look in his eyes getting hollower. She understood its meaning and said, ‘I shall not rear him.’

  ‘No, you shall not.’

  ‘If I am to become queen of Hastinapur, and if I am to marry into the line of the Kurus, they should not know that I have a son.’

  ‘No, they should not.’

  ‘You knew this yesterday too, did you not?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And yet you made love to me, my lord. Why give me a son that I cannot have?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Pritha,’ he said, ‘giving up your son for fostering does not mean that you do not have him. Once you give birth to a child, he is yours as long as one of you dies. Every mother gives away his son to fostering to some place or the other; that is the way of the world. The Lady of the River who lives on top of the mountain too had to give away her son, and he now champions the throne of Hastinapur.’

  Pritha had heard versions of this tale, one which she had thought was woven to keep alive the legend of the invincible warrior that was Bhishma. ‘Is it true, then, what they say of him, sire?’

  ‘It is, and if the Lady of the Great River, the foremost of maidens, could not escape the lot that is of all women, you shall not be saddened by it, either.’

  ‘Yes, my lord, but you must know why I must have this child. You foresee great changes in Hastinapur in my time as queen, do you not?’

  ‘The winds of change, my dear,’ he said, ‘have already blown over the land of the Kurus.In your time as queen, Hastinapur will rise to be the foremost kingdom in all of North Country. The weakening of Mathura will only aid that, and the son of Devaki and Vasudev shall stop the Magadhans from setting up a throne in Mathura, when he comes.’

  ‘So this son of mine – will he rule Hastinapur when it grows to power?’

  Surya thought about it, and behind him the first crack of dawn appeared in the sky. ‘You shall have other sons too, Pritha, and they will be sired by a king, and they shall have a higher stake to the throne than will my child.’

  ‘Then why, my lord?’ asked Pritha, sitting up in sudden anger. ‘Why do you give me this son who shall do nothing but live the life of a commoner?’

  Surya began to speak, but he seemed to stop himself with great effort. A lark came flying and perched itself on his shoulder, and Pritha saw in its black beak a pink wriggling worm. With a wave of the hand he sent it away, and as the bird took wing, a little part of the worm fell to the soil next to the sage and disappeared into the earth. Surya turned to her and shook his head. ‘I cannot tell you this, my lady. Perhaps with your great wisdom you shall see one day why I did this, but now, all I can tell you is that we are trying to shape our futures.’

  ‘Whose future to you speak of? The earthmen’s or that of the people of the Meru?’

  ‘Both,’ he said. ‘One is entwined with the other. We think that the establishment of Hastinapur as the greatest kingdom in North Country is good for both earthmen and the Meru people.’

  ‘But you still avert my question, sir!’ she said, feeling her fists curl up into balls. ‘Hastinapur shall become the foremost city in North Country whether I do or do not give birth to a child before my marriage. Why, then, did you play this game with me?’

  Surya sighed. ‘Pritha,’ he said softly. ‘Shaping the future of a kingdom is not as simple as reading its past. There is but one past and one present, but each instant of the present faces a thousand possible futures.’

  ‘Then I shall not give birth to this child, my lord! I shall kill him within my womb!’

  To her fury, he smiled at her threat. ‘You shall not be able to, my dear. Whatever you do, unless you kill yourself, you shall bear my child in ten months from now.’

  ‘Then I shall kill him after I have borne him!’

  ‘That, I shall leave you to decide. But you must listen to me, for I have not finished telling you the things you must do.’

  Again, she thought, again he was speaking to her in that soothing voice of his, crooning to her and lulling her with words. He had seduced her the previous night with the same jousts, and now he was trying them again. She began walking backward, away from him, when he picked up his sack and pulled out from it a long, stick-like object which appeared to be made of black, rotting wood. He held it out to her.

  ‘What is that?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘It is yours.’ When she took it she noticed that the surface of the object was soft, and it gave to the pressure of her fingers. She held it gingerly, and when she lifted it up to her eyes she realized it was made of a thick, waxy substance. Five black strings lay curled inside the object, she saw, when she held it against the brightening sky.

  ‘Hair?’ she asked.

  ‘Sacred hair from the coat of Nandini, the cow of Vasishtha, and empowered by the chants of Meru’s High Priest, Brihaspati.’

  ‘What am I to do with them?’ she asked, giving in once again to curiosity.

  He stood up, went to the tree where his loincloth lay, picked it up and began to tie it around his waist. ‘The strands of hair aid in the Mystery of incarnation,’ he said in a voice loud enough for her to hear. ‘People on the Meru say that Devavrata is the son of a Celestial by name Prabhasa.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Pritha, taking a step toward him. ‘I have heard that too, and he does look like a Celestial, does he not, and they say he fights like one.’

  ‘Maybe he is, maybe not. I know not. But if Hastinapur is to become the greatest kingdom in North Country, it will need the help of more than one Celestial reborn. Your sons will finish what Devavrata started, my dear.’

  ‘But sire,’ she said, not fully understanding. ‘You said I am to have sons through the High King of Hastinapur, and now you say I shall have Celestials as sons.’

  Surya finished tying his loincloth around his waist and turned to the rising sun. ‘I shall train you in the Mystery, Pritha, so that you shall bear sons to the High King, but they shall all have the attributes of the Celestial that you invoke.’

  ‘Is that possible, my lord?’ she asked.

  ‘If it was possible with Devavrata, my dear, it is possible with you.’ After bowing to the sun he turned and walked back to her. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes and said, ‘But remember … the son I have given you is the only true Celestial, the only one who will have real Meru blood running through his veins.’

  ‘And yet you wish me to give him up.’

  ‘Give him up so that he shall live the life destined for him,’ said Surya. ‘You shall have more sons after him, and together they will build the golden city of Hastinapur, and your name shall be written about for a thousand years hence, my lady.’

  She felt none of the grandeur that his voice carried. As his blue, oval eyes bored through her, she felt something heavy drop in her chest, as if a rope had been tied into a tight knot and lowered down her throat into her stomach. She swallowed, but that only intensified the pain, and when she grimaced, he smiled at her. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said, ‘and I shall breathe into you the words that you shall utter when you lay with your king.’

  Pritha obeyed him. Dark, swirling shadows swam in front of her eyes, and all she felt were the calloused tips of his fingers on each shoulder, and a calm, soothing whisper chanting words in a strange language. Without knowing what the sounds meant she began to repeat after him, and in no time at all their voices merged, his throaty and hoarse, hers clear as a teardrop …

  When she opened her eyes, she was bathed in sweat, and the garment that had been covering her breasts had flown and caught the branch of th
e lemon tree to her left. She breathed heavily but steadily, and her lips parted. The stick with the hair lay on the grass between her two feet. She got down on her knees and picked it up with both hands. Then she touched it to both her eyes.

  Only then did she notice that she was alone. Surya was gone.

  FIFTEEN

  The man who entered Pritha’s chamber was hefty but moved with cat-like grace. His forehead was plain and smooth, and a smattering of thick black hair covered his strong jaw. He was neither fat nor thin, she thought, neither tall or short, neither fair nor dark. He had a perfectly forgettable face, which was perhaps why they called him the best spy in Shurasena. Over the course of seven years, he had built for himself a career in Hastinapur as a rice trader, but on her bidding he had been ordered to return immediately. Did he leave behind family and friends? Were they missing him now, wondering where he went overnight?

  ‘We cannot bear to think of such things, my lady,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘But I have made arrangements for news of my death to reach Hastinapur in a few days. I think my wife will not miss me.’

  A wife. Of course he had a wife. A young man who lived in a city for seven years without getting married would attract notice. He may have even had a child, to ensure that prying eyes would not fasten on him. She felt a tiny prick in her heart; it had been just over a month now since Durvasa had left her, and now, because of her, this man had to abandon his wife. Were men always like this, forever, tied to circumstance, placing duty over love?

  ‘They tell me your name is Rishabha,’ she said, waving him closer.

  ‘That is the name I took in Hastinapur, yes.’

  ‘And your real name?’

  ‘It does not matter, my lady.’

  ‘They tell me you were a rice trader for seven years. I wish to send you to Mathura.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘There will be danger to your life.’

  He smiled at her through tight, pursed lips. ‘My life is always in danger, Princess.’

  In the faint saffron light of the lamps she did not see his eyes well as she would have liked, and the man had a trick of never allowing his eyes to rest as he talked, so she could not tell for certain what went through his mind. She looked for scars or spots on his face and was able to spot perhaps two or three black moles on his forehead, but then he rubbed it with his swarthy hand and they were gone.

  She picked up the linen pouch next to her and handed it over to him. ‘This contains all that you need. I have written down your instructions in the book you will find in it. Once you enter Mathura, I shall not be able to communicate with you easily, so I implore you to ask me all questions you may have.’

  He took the bag and tucked it under his arm. ‘How long shall I have to live in Mathura, my lady?’

  ‘As long as it takes you to secure a job as a guard in the prison.’

  ‘The royal prison?’

  ‘The prison in which they hold my brother and kinswoman captive.’

  Rishabha’s face hardened just a little. ‘You do not know where this prison is located?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You must find out where it is and enter it.’

  His face remained stoic, cold as marble. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘if I am to free High King Vasudev and Lady Devaki from the prison, I must tell you right now that it is an impossible task that you have given me.’

  Pritha said, ‘I do not wish you to free the king and queen. You are to rescue the child that Lady Devaki bears without letting it succumb to the hands of Kamsa.’

  Rishabha’s face softened, and a certain ease entered his stance. ‘That is a less difficult assignment.’

  ‘And one at which you cannot fail.’

  ‘I shall try my very best.’

  Pritha gave him a curt nod. ‘You shall enter Mathura through the eastern gate, where grain traders come from Magadha with donkeys laden with sacks. You shall carry with you a little bag of rubies that will gain you entrance into the city, and you shall stop nowhere until you reach the farm of Nabha, which lies to the western end.’

  ‘I presume, then, that the bag contains the rubies.’

  ‘Yes. It contains rubies, directions to Nabha’s farm, and my coronet which you will carry to convince him that you are my man.’

  ‘Very well, my lady.’

  ‘He will take you to Kurusti, a priest whom I know, who will help you get to the prison. These are the only two men in Magadha that you will trust until you begin to make your own friends. And you will need many friends, indeed, to become a guard at the prison.’

  ‘Aye, that is so,’ said Rishabha, bowing.

  ‘How many days do you think you will need to do this?’

  ‘Days, my lady?’ Rishabha’s mouth curved in a sly smile. ‘You have asked me to infiltrate the prison of Mathura’s High King, and you say it will take me days? I say it shall not be done before next year, Your Majesty, and that too if I am lucky.’

  Pritha thought of the last month and the chaos that must have ensued in Mathura after realizing that the High Priests had fled and had taken with them the secret of the black stone. The kingdom would be in disarray now, which meant that there would not be a better time than this for Rishabha to enter it. But entering the prison was not as easy as entering the city. Kurusti had not even known where the prison was.

  But they had time. Durvasa had said that the decline of Mathura would take almost ten years, so even if Rishabha took two years to rescue the future king, it would not be disastrous. The important thing was that Rishabha must not fail.

  ‘You can take two years if you so wish, Rishabha,’ she said, ‘but you must not fail.’

  ‘I shall try my best not to fail, my lady, for that is the only way I shall stay alive. I shall write to you every second full moon.’

  ‘How will your messages reach me?’

  He smiled. ‘I shall take care of that, my lady.’

  ‘Do not make use of Nabha or Kurusti for carrying your messages.’

  ‘I shall not. But if you do not hear from me for four full moons, you should assume that I have failed, and you should begin new plans to save the future king of Mathura.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I shall take your leave now, my lady,’ he said, rising. ‘I shall return tomorrow, if you please, to bid farewell before I set sail for Mathura.’

  After he left, Pritha leaned back in her seat and rested her head back against the top of her chair. The mention of the full moon from Rishabha suddenly reminded her that it was only two nights away now, and if she had not lain with Durvasa, she would have begun to bleed today. But she had waited with folds of linen ready at hand all day – perhaps the first time in her life when she had so fervently willed it to arrive – but her thighs had remained dry. The weight in her chest reappeared, and she found herself looking past the window into the night sky, at the curved shape of the moon, wishing the night of the full moon would not come, just this once.

  SIXTEEN

  As she did every day, Devaki threw her arm to her side as soon as she opened her eyes. For the last twenty days that had been her ritual; she had taken to sleeping fitfully and in deep fright fearing that her bed would be empty when she woke up. The guard at the door carried keys on his waistband, she knew, and Kamsa would soon know that she had given birth to a daughter. Somewhere deep within her she harboured a frail flicker of hope that her brother would pardon his niece; after all, how could a girl, who would one day be given away to another kingdom, cause his death?

  Her desperate fingers touched the cold flab of the babe’s thighs, and she relaxed. On the other side of the bed Vasudev slept. She had often tried to speak with him these past few weeks, but he would turn his head away every time she opened her mouth. In times of trouble men wished to act while women wished to speak; they sought to fight and vanquish while women sought to understand, to feel, to change. He must have felt some of her sorrow, she thought, resisting the urge to reach over and smoothen his
brow. So what if he did not wear it on his face?

  She began to run her palm over the infant’s body, warming it against the gathering cold of the night. Through the window she saw a dying streak of lightning. The rains had persisted well into the winter this year, and she had heard the guards say to one another that Mathura had lost the love of the gods, that their favour left the city with the High Priests. It was now the eighth full moon since the temples had been abandoned, and even from the prison Devaki could feel the air of despair thicken all over the city.

  A click on the lock made her sit up. It was well past meal time, and their pitcher of water by the bedside was full. The incense sticks were only half-burnt, and the candles still had not weathered down to their stumps. What did the guard want, then? She drew the baby closer to her and her hand gripped the sheet of the bed.

  The guard entered and bowed. ‘The High King is on his way, my lady,’ he said, clutching his sword tight in his left hand.

  Before she could ask why, the door was covered by a hefty shadow, and the next moment her brother stood at the foot of the bed, one leg hoisted upon it, staring at the bundle of linen hidden behind her hand. She had not seen his face for a while now, but it seemed to have aged. His cheeks and chin sagged, and a web of lines had begun to invade his features, starting at the forehead. She guessed that the departure of the High Priests had hit him hard, and even now she found it in his heart to feel pity for him.

  ‘How could you be so foolish, Devaki?’ he asked. Vasudev stirred on his bed, and as he sat up, Kamsa bowed to him. Then he clapped his hands, at which two soldiers marched in and held Vasudev by his arms. ‘Do not think otherwise, my lord,’ said Kamsa, ‘but I do not wish you to hurt yourself.’

  ‘Brother,’ said Devaki, ‘do not take her. Whatever you do, do not kill your niece.’

  His eyes came back to fasten themselves on the baby, and it sent a bolt through Devaki’s spine. He sighed morosely. ‘My sister, do you not see that you have left me with no choice? When I ordered that you should be put in prison, I told you that you must not have children if you wish to keep our love alive.’