Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 21

Chapter Nine

Bheeshma was smiling as he was walking through one of the corridors that led to a small chamber where the spies brought their daily reports to the Pradhanamantrin. It was no longer part of Bheeshma’s duties to listen to these reports or to advice the Pradhanamantrin, but habits died hard. And if Vidura was irked by his uncle’s presence, he had not expressed it so far.

Vidura was alone when Bheeshma entered. The chamber was small, bare of ostentation, the only window was high up, and was meant to provide ventillation rather than light. There was a small table and two chairs, and a metal stand on which a pot of burning coals stood near the table. The sconces on the wall held burning torches.

Vidura was burning some parchments in the pot when Bheeshma entered. He frowned but did not speak as he sat down in one of the chairs. Vidura burned a few more parchments and came to sit in the other chair, facing Bheeshma.

“You seem very pleased,” he said now, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I am,” said Bheeshma. “I think I’ve managed to discomfit that arrogant Maharani.”

Vidura looked heavenward. “Was that what you did?”

Bheeshma stared at him in surprise. “You object to it?”

“My objections now would be rather superfluous, would they not?”

“I didn’t go to Madra to demand Madri for Pandu,” said Bheeshma. “But it seemed prudent to have the King for an ally,”

“Why? Madra is not that powerful a kingdom. Nor is it the nearest one to have a princess of marriageable age.”

“King Salya seemed a good ally to have. I have heard reports that he is a good warrior.”

“Coming from you, that is high praise,” conceded Vidura.

“I also wanted to discomfit Kunti. She’s too arrogant. She dares look upon me with contempt!”

“Does she now? My respect for our Maharani increases.”

Bheeshma frowned. “Do you mean I’m contemptible?”

“Of course not, uncle. But the man who has, through rather unscrupulous methods, obtained two wives for an impotent King might not be the most popular person with those women.”

“So? They are only women. Does it matter how they feel?”

“Maybe not. But have you considered the repercussions of what you did? Pandu is not capable of impregnating his wives. There won’t be an heir to Hastinapura. When Kunti was the only wife, it could have been blamed on her. But with Madri too married to him, the world shall know Pandu is impotent.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes to have Madri married to him. If we had blamed Kunti, the world would have expected him to marry again. And then, the truth would have been out. As it is, now we can do something to forestall the exposure.”

“I don’t see how you are going to wriggle out of this one, but I would be interested.”

“What were the reports you burned?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

Bheeshma coloured. It was the first time Vidura had implied that the reports of the spies was no longer his concern. But he made no angry retort.

“Let’s talk about your forthcoming nuptials then.”

“Oh yes. Let’s talk about how you finally managed to find for me a bride of equal status.”

“You think I’ve been unfair to you? There’s not a Kshatriya woman in the entire Aryavarta who would have you. You know that too.”

“They would have if I had been the King of Hastinapura!”

“We’ve been through this before, Vidura.” Bheeshma said. “I’m really not interested in your whining. You can marry this girl I chose for you or you can find someone who meets your expectations. But I tell you now that you shall never find what you want. Get real, nephew. Your birth disqualifies you.”

“Then why am I the Pradhanamantrin?” Demanded Vidura. “Doesn’t my birth disqualify me from that position too?”

“It does, but it is something people are ready to overlook. A King is a different matter altogether.” Bheeshma paused. “If you have any ideas of ever becoming the King, put it out of your mind. That shall never happen!”

Vidura’s face tightened in anger. He said nothing, but glared at his uncle in hatred. Bheeshma’s gaze was cool, and Vidura dropped his eyes drawing a deep breath.

“I don’t want to be married just yet,” he grated out.

“All right. King Devaka and his daughter shall await the Kurus’ convenience. But marry her, you will, for she’s promised to you now.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Vidura said, irritatedly.

“I’ve decided that Pandu shall go on a Dig Vijaya a month hence.”

“Are you hoping he will get killed? He’s too good a warrior.”

“I know. But it will take at least a year to finish such a campaign. No one shall wonder why Hastinapura does not have an heir yet.”

Vidura chuckled. “Neat. But have you talked to our monarch?”

“He will do as I say. He has always done so.”

“Yes, he has, hasn’t he?” Murmured Vidura. “But you would at best be postponing the inevitable. Once he comes back, we are back in the same position. Unless you mean to tell the world that he had sustained some – ah- injury that affects his virility.”

“No,” said Bheeshma. “I’m hoping a long military campaign might cure him of this- disability. Even though he’d a good warrior, he has never been tested. He has been pampered and that is probably why he finds himself unable to- well- you know what I mean.” Bheeshma’s face was red as he finished.

“I do. And I do hope you are right. But what if you are not?”

“There’s always Niyoga,” said Bheeshma dismissively.

“Is there? Niyoga is somewhat difficult to keep secret, is it not?”

“It won’t be required. Once he comes back from the Dig Vijaya, Pandu shall be able to prove his manhood.”

“You know uncle, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for long.” Vidura paused, watching Bheeshma carefully. “Did you really have her killed? The princess Amba?”

Bheeshma stood up so suddenly his chair fell with a clatter on to the stone floor. “Never,” he said through gritted teeth. “speak her name to me! Ever!”

He walked out, angry. Vidura looked at the pot where the fire had burned down to glowing coals and smiled.

Chapter Eight

The Palace of Hastinapura was decorated to welcome its new Rani. The three Queen mothers, Satyavati, the step mother of Bheeshma and the grandmother of the present King, Ambika, the mother of Dhritarashtra, and Ambalika, the mother of the King, watched the proceedings from the balcony of the Anthahpura which was covered with latticework. Being widows, it was considered inauspicious for them to welcome a new bride. That office fell to Kunti, the Maharani of Hastinapura and the first wife of the King. She was assisted by Gandhari, the wife of Dhritarashtra.

Dhritarashtra, though blind, stood on the right side of Bheeshma. He was a large man, though not as tall as his uncle, but his powerful physique was evident under his uttariya, which was flung carelessly over one shoulder, leaving most of his torso bare. If not for the ornament that covered his chest, none of the dasis would have taken their eyes off his body. Vidura stood next to him, his face as impassive as ever while Dhritarashtra looked serene. A smile of triumph hovered over Bheeshma’s lips. The smile was noticed by Vidura who raised his eye brows slightly in an enquiring manner. It only caused the smile on Bheeshma’s face to change into a smirk. Vidura rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at Kunti.

Bheeshma’s smile was seen by Kunti too, and her fingers clenched around the Thali she held. But her face remained smiling, and her figure remained relaxed. Next to her Gandhari stood ready with a lit lamp, the black silk tied over her eyes emphasizing the fairness of her complexion. Gandhari was a small woman, but she stood straight and her bearing held elegance as well as arrogance. Behind her stood the dasis with flower baskets and other necessities for welcoming the new queen. Kunti saw Vidura look at her with a mocking smile and she stiffened, but only for a moment. She relaxed and turned her head to look at him and raised her eyebrows at him with a mocking smile of her own before turning back to face the doorway.

The large ponderous chariot stopped in front of the palace steps, and grooms came to hold the horses still while servants and attendants went to fetch the footstool and steps to help the queen descend from the chariot. The King’s guard stood in a row, straight and alert. The King alighted from the chariot, looking weary and helped his queen alight.

There was almost a gasp from the assembled crowd at the first sight of Madri. They felt as if an apsara from Swargaloka had deigned to grace their Kingdom. And they could not be blamed for thinking that. The Princess of Madra was perfect in appearance. Her blue black hair was thick and the braids resembled the coils of a serpent, as it hung low down to her ankles. Her complexion was creamy and flawless, and her doe-eyes, lined with kajal were large and luminous. They were fringed with thick lashes, that at the moment lay against her rosy cheeks, the bride having lowered her eyes shyly. Above her eyes, were thick brows in a natural arch. In their centre was a red bindi above which the sindoor at the parting of her hair denoted her wedded status. Her nose was straight and her lips were moulded. Her face was heart-shaped and a small mole graced the right side of her chin.

Her body was equally perfect, the red saree that was draped around her, clung to her form, emphasizing her curves. Her shapely arms were covered upto the elbow with jewelled bangles that caught the light and reflected it as she walked. Jewelled chains adorned her neck and hung down low to her navel. She moved slowly and gracefully. The King held her hand and they shared a smile as they mounted the steps. The smile was not lost on those who stood on top of the steps to welcome the royal couple. Kunti’s smile became fixed, Bheeshma’s smile broadened, and Vidura was as impassive as ever.

The smile was also noticed by the three Queens watching from the balcony, and their glances became worried. Well they knew what dissension could be caused by two queens competing for the King’s affections. The queens Ambika and Ambalika, though married to the same King had never felt the need to compete for his affections, their sisterly affection for each other and the tie of their blood superceding the desire to have the husband’s attention all to themselves. But Kunti and Madri were not sisters, and the same could not be said for them. Well these ladies knew the weakness in Pandu that prevented him from noticing naught other than his own pleasures, and they knew he could not be depended on to quench the flames of the rivalry before they took root in both queens’ hearts.

No such thought or fear affected Bheeshma. He had little knowledge or experience of women, having sworn himself to celibacy at an early age. And if Vidura, with his experience, intelligence and intuition saw the storm about to brew in the royal apartments, he chose not to warn the Patriarch. He was still smarting under the news imparted by Bheeshma that his marriage had been fixed to the Sudra daughter of a King. So, he was to be married to the illegitimate daughter of a King while his brothers both married blue blooded princesses. The injustice of the system that condemned him to a life of servitude to his own brothers, even though he was better than both of them burned him. But there was little he could do, but to bide his time. Pandu was impotent after all, and no matter how many princesses he married, there would be no heir forthcoming for the throne of Hastinapura.

Of course, it was possible that an heir could come from Dhritarashtra and Gandhari, but it was unlikely. Having once been chosen unfit to be King, it was not likely that any child of Dhritarashtra could be considered a suitable heir to the throne. After Pandu, he might get his chance. He just needed to be patient.

None of these thoughts showed on his face as he paid his respects to the King and his new bride. Though Madri was beautiful, she did not attract him in the least. It seemed evident that she was a docile creature, unlike Kunti who was fiery. She managed to rouse the devil in him every time. Pandu was in for a rude shock if he thought his first wife would complacently welcome his second wife.

The formalities complete, the new queen of Hastinapura was led into the bowels of the huge palace by Kunti and Gandhari, the latter being led by a dasi.

Chapter Seven

The King of Madra, Salya welcomed his august visitor with every appearance of cordiality even while his brain was busy with speculation. It was not often that Bheeshma, the Kuru Senapati and patriarch stirred outside the boundaries of his prosperous Kingdom. And generally, Bheeshma’s visits to other Kingdoms were not without his own agenda. Aryavarta still talked about how Bheeshma had once abducted the three princesses of Kasi from their own Swayamvara to be forcibly married to his younger brother, the boy King Vichitravirya who had died less than a year later, leaving behind two young widows and an orphaned Kingdom. Rumours said that Bheeshma had arranged to have killed the eldest of the three, who had refused to marry Vichitravirya.

Salya while lending no credence to rumour, did not completely discount them either. At the time, Madra was a small Kingdom, but prosperous, its people contented, and the Kingdom was in good terms with all its neighbours. Salya was a young King, and ambitious, as all young men are wont to be, but he was neither foolish nor inexperienced. He had been involved in the day to day running of the Kingdom ever since he completed his studies, and he had also travelled the length and breadth of his Kingdom to make himself aware of the problems being faced by his people. Bheeshma’s visit gave him no pleasure, although he welcomed the patriarch with every appearance of joy.

The Palace of Madra was not large when compared to the palace of Hastinapura, but it was built on more flowing lines. It gave the beholder an impression of grace and elegance. Bheeshma was conscious of a feeling of being out of place in this beautiful building which seemed full of light as opposed to his own palace, full of dim corridors and airless rooms. He took his seat inside a large chamber which was colourful and airy. The furniture was as good as the ones that adorned his room in Hastinapura, and somehow that annoyed him.

Salya asked him about his health and they exchanged pleasantries about the weather, about the condition of roads, and about his journey. But Bheeshma was getting tired of small talk, and he said,

“I came here with a purpose, King Salya.”

Salya looked warily at his guest. The King was a man of medium height and looked small before the imposing figure that Bheeshma cut. He had irregular features, a beak-like nose, eyes that were set too widely apart, and a square stubborn jaw and thick lips. But his eyes were keen and shrewd and so brilliant that most men who met Salya could not remember much more than that the King was overpowering in personality.

“I had not imagined you had come for the climate, Senapati Bheeshma,” he replied.

Bheeshma gave him a sharp look. “I came to request the hand of your sister for my nephew,” said he. “An alliance with the Kurus could only add to your Kingdom’s reputation,”

“But not to my sister’s happiness,” replied Salya, looking as relaxed as ever.

Bheeshma flushed. “What do you mean, King Salya?”

“Which nephew?” asked Salya pensively and not seeming to notice Bheeshma’s question.

“Vidura, the Pradhanamantrin of Hastinapura.”

The languidity left Salya’s form so suddenly that Bheeshma thought for a moment he was facing a different man.

“I think you seek to insult me!” Salya said, anger throbbing beneath his words.

“My nephew is the Pradhanamantrin of Hastinapura and-”

“And he is not your nephew, but the son of a Sudra maid sired by a Sage!” snapped Salya. “By demanding my sister for him, you seek to insult me and every Kshatriya in Aryavarta! Do you really think your prowess in arms entitle you to anything you set your mind on? Think well, Bheeshma. You are not in Kuru now. And if this is the way of the Kurus, then no King in Aryavarta shall ever form an alliance with you! That is something I shall personally ensure!”

Bheeshma paled, but the justice of the Madra King’s anger and the sense in his words must have penetrated to his head, for he made no angry retort. Bheeshma was no longer hot headed, but that did not mean he would swallow insults.

“I am sorry you feel thus, and I know you are justified in your wrath. I apologize, though it was not my intention to insult you.”

Salya bowed stiffly.

“However,” said Bheeshma, “I have an alternate proposal. Give your sister as wife to my nephew, Pandu, the King of Hastinapura!”

Salya relaxed again. “King Pandu,” he purred. “Oh, we have heard so much about your nephew the King. My spies have brought such interesting tales.”

Bheeshma’s frame tensed. “What tales?”

“Of whorehouses visited, of furniture smashed, of whores who lost their tongues and of rooms that had been rebuilt out of the coffers of the King.” Salya shook his head. “Would you marry your sister to such a one?”

Bheeshma’s eyes flashed in anger. “Have a care, King Salya! It is of the Kuru King that you speak!”

“Let me make myself plain,” drawled Salya. “The King of Kuru might throw tantrums in whorehouses for all he wants, but I shall not ally my sister to a man who has no control over his passions.”

Bheeshma drew a deep breath and said stiffly. “That was all in the past. The King no longer visits whorehouses, nor does he lose control over himself.”

“Oh, that is right. I forgot. The King is married now. Proffer my congratulations, and that of my sister too to the Royal couple.”

“Your sister shall be given equal status with Gandhari, wife of my other nephew Dhritarashtra.”

“It is not enough,” said Salya, “for my sister to be granted equal status with the wife of a blind man. She is fit enough to be the Maharani of a King, and I will not have her relegated to the place of a second wife.”

Bheeshma’s eyes were shrewd as he assessed the other man. “What is your price?” he asked abruptly.

“You think my sister is for sale?” asked Salya affronted.

“You have given me some plain speaking,” said Bheeshma, leaning forward. “Now let me speak plainly, King Salya. Not only your sister, but you and every blade of grass in this Kingdom is for sale, for the right price. So, name what price you require so my nephew Pandu may marry your sister. And also,” Bheeshma paused significantly. “the price for you to never interfere in her life or that of her children again.”

Salya sat back, still relaxed. “I wonder if the Kurus can afford that price.”

“Name it!” said Bheeshma. “Do not waste my time.”

Salya nodded. “All right,” he said. “I’ll name my price. And if even one gold coin is short, Madri shall stay in Madra.”

“You shall find not one coin short,” said Bheeshma.

Book Review: The Talisman Ring

The Talisman Ring is one of Georgette Heyer’s early novels. While the book combines the humour that is her hall mark and is set in the Regency Era and sports not one, but two romances, it will be hardly fair to simply categorize the book as a romance. It is a mystery rolled into a romance. And while the mystery occupies our minds, the romance creeps on us unawares.

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The mystery revolves around the murder of Mathew Plunkett, who was killed sometime before the story starts. Ludovic Lavenham, the heir to the Baronetcy of Lavenham is accused of the crime and is a fugitive from justice when the story opens at the home of Lord Lavenham, Ludovic’s grand uncle Sylvester who is in his deathbed. Enter Eustacie, the half french grand daughter of Sylvester with a thirst for romance and adventure and Sir Tristram Shield, another nephew of Sylvester who is prosaic and staid and with whom Sylvester has arranged a marriage of convenience for Eustacie and we find ourselves already intrigued. Throw into this mix Basil Lavenham, the Beau, the heir to the estate should Ludovic also die, who is suave and smiling and fancies himself one of the dandy set and all the elements of a romance is in place.

When Eustacie runs away and falls in with Ludovic, who has become a smuggler, the romance between the two is inevitable. She wishes to clear Ludovic’s name and in this she is assisted by Sarah Thane, a chance acquaintance who professes to have a thirst for adventure equalling Eustacie’s. Sarah is chaperoned by her brother Hugh, a harmless sybarite, whose memory retains only what is important to him. The missing Talisman ring is the key to solving the mystery, but who has it? Is it in the possession of Tristram, who is a collector of antique objects who has been most insistent that Ludovic is guilty and should be shipped out of the country? Or is it in the possession of Beau and does his belief in Ludovic’s story and his conviction that Ludovic should have faced his trial instead of escaping hide a more sinister motive?

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The romance between Eustacie and Ludovic blossoms almost immediately, Eustacie approving wholeheartedly of Ludovic’s devil may care ways and recklessness, and Ludovic being charmed by her spirit and beauty and her naivete. The second romance in the book is more subtle and only in the last pages is the reader allowed a glimpse into their feelings, though their earlier exchanges hint at a deeper attachment for the other.

The plights of the hapless bow street runners, Hugh Thane’s near-sightedness and tunnel vision, Sarah’s artless prattle to throw their quarry off the scent provide laugh-out-loud moments that will have you, to quote Heyer herself, in stitches.

For those who have read Heyer, shades of Leonie can be discerned in Eustacie, but at no point does she feel like another version of Leonie. She is as different from Leonie as chalk and cheese while still sharing some of her traits. Ludovic is wholly charming and Sarah is the level headed heroine who manages to empathise with the adventurous spirit of Eustacie as well as to keep her more reckless behaviour in check.

The book, just like most of Heyer’s other works, is well written and is rich in period details that makes the reader feel as if he is living the adventure. For Heyer enthusiasts, this book is a must-read.

Chapter Six

The palace of Hastinapura was an imposing building. It was the boast of the Kurus that there was none like it in the entire Aryavarta. No other King had ever sought to dispute that claim, and it was only in part due to the fear inspired by Bheeshma, who was the general of the Kuru armies and uncle to the present King.

The palace was large, and built of stone, just like all palaces of all Kings all over Aryavarta. But the palace of Hastinapura was taller and covered more area than any other palace of the time. The vast courtyard housing the palace was fully four yojanas in area. The tall and thick wall that surrounded it was octagonal in shape and one kosha tall. The palace itself covered an area of one yojana. It was surrounded by gardens, orchards and groves as well as several mansions for the use of visiting royalty.

The stone walls of the palace had been polished so much that they shone like gems. Large and thick doors made of wood opened to let a visitor to the palace into a large hall with a ceiling that was full ten dandas high. Large pillars in rows supported the ceiling. The pillars were carved with figures of dancing women and other such, and the walls were covered with colourful tapestries depicting stories of gods and goddesses and famous rulers belonging to the clan of the Kurus.

A casual visitor might go through to the next room, which was also large, and which was a kind of atrium. It was circular in shape, and from it led a number of corridors, each leading to a different area of the palace. One led to the Rajasabha where the King held court, another to the smaller sabhas where minor matters relating to administration were attended to; yet another led to the poor houses where the destitute could be assured of a full meal; another led to the dining areas for the Brahmanas where these luminaries could eat their fill; another led to the guest chambers; another to the servant’s quarters; another to the guard houses; another to the dining areas for the lower castes; and a last one to another circular room mirroring this one.

The corridors branching from this room were few in number and no guest was ever allowed to step foot either inside the room or the corridor leading to the room. For, one of the corridors leading from the room led to the living quarters of the King, another to the Anthahpura which housed the ladies of the household including the King’s wives and concubines; a third one led to the quarters of the other members of the royal household. All these royal apartments were linked to one another by innumerable corridors which spread through the palace like blood vessels. There were corridors that could take the King anywhere in the palace, if he knew them well enough.

The present monarch of Hastinapura, for all his paleness of complexion, was an observant man, and he knew all the corridors he needed to take him to the sabha, the practice arena, his own apartments, the dining area or even outside the palace, without his ever needing to come to either of the circular rooms. He was also a strong and healthy man for all his sickly appearance, and a formidable warrior in his own right, though not the equal of his uncle.

Walking by his side, Kunti, his new wife and the new queen of Hastinapura strove hard not to let herself be overwhelmed by the palace or its proportions. The palace of Kunti was large, but not the monstrosity this one was. And Kunti had never seen so many corridors in one palace before. The architecture of the place was impressive, but in spite of the lit sconces fixed to the wall, the colourful tapestries adorning the wall, the vases overgrown with flowers kept at every corner, and the statues of dancing women and men at regular intervals, Kunti felt a dreariness creep on her soul. The palace of Hastinapura was like a giant beast, waiting to devour whoever stepped into its gaping maws.

The footsteps of the King and the Queen and of those who accompanied them echoed in the silent corridors, causing the bride to shiver involuntarily. Pandu directed a questioning gaze at her, to which she returned a tremulous smile, though her insides were all churning in nervous tension. The King seemed reassured by the smile, however, and he refrained from making any further enquiries.

The King stopped before a set of doors, carved with leaves. The heralds announced the King in stentorian accents and the doors opened. A tall man, dressed well in clothes that would not look amiss on a King approached them with a broad smile. Only as he reached their side, did it strike Kunti that he was blind.

“Pandu!” He said beaming.

“Bhrata,” Pandu embraced him before bending down to touch his feet, indicating to his bride to do the same. Kunti touched the man’s feet and was bade to rise.

“Welcome to Hastinapura,” he smiled at her, before turning to Pandu and inviting him in. Kunti followed the two men, marvelling all the time at the warmth that was between the two which was in direct contrast to the frigidity that seemed to characterize Pandu’s relation with Vidura, though both hid it behind a facade of cordiality. She had no doubt that this man was Dhritarashtra, the elder brother of both Pandu and Vidura.

Kunti’s fury blazed up at the thought of Vidura and she kept her eyes lowered, so no one would see the rage in them. She pressed her lips together in anger, but this time it was directed at herself. She did not want to lose her control and equilibrium so easily. But Vidura seemed to be able to do it without even trying. She smoothed her features into impassivity and forced her anger to abate as she waited for Gandhari, the wife of Dhritarashtra to come and lead her into the inner apartments where the women dwelt.

Chapter Five

“Vasu!” the woman called out anxiously. “Vasu! Where are you?”

The cot was empty and she peered around. The child was not well. Where could he have gone?

“He’s here with me, Radha. Why, were you worried?”

She jumped in alarm as her husband came inside, carrying the young child in his arms. The child was around five, and lay pale and listless.

“I was worried,” she said. “How’s his fever now?”

“He’s no longer hot,” said the man as he laid the child on a narrow cot. “The medicine given by the vaidya has helped.”

“I am so worried about him,” Radha pushed a lock of hair away from the child’s forehead. “He’s never well. He’s always so ill, with his cough that never leaves and frequent fevers.”

“He’ll be fine once the climate changes. He never has any illness during Greeshma.”

Radha nodded as she tucked the child in a blanket. “Greeshma is still a long ways off. Varsha has just started.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Atiratha. “The Vaidya said this is a mild fever. He’ll be all right in no time.”

“I hope so,” said Radha, shaking out another blanket to wrap around the sleeping child.

“I have to go,” said Atiratha. “The King and his bride are reaching today. I am part of the escort chariots.”

Radha nodded. “Go, then. Try to come back early. He’ll need more medicine.”

Radha sat near the child, watching him for a while after Atiratha had left. She knew she ought to be finishing her chores. She also ought to be decorating her house and should go out to greet the royal couple from the streets. But she did not feel like doing anything. Her child’s illness had driven all thought out of her mind.

She felt the child’s forehead. It was no longer hot, but still felt dry. She sighed in sorrow. How she had longed for a child! And yet, when she got one, it was of such delicate health. But then, it was not to be wondered at. No one knew that Vasu was not their son, but that they had found him. The river had given him to them.

Radha still remembered that day. Her husband had found a box, half buried in the reeds, and inside they had found a baby, half drowned, almost dead. They had thought he was dead, but Atiratha had detected the faint heart beat.

The vaidya had asked no questions when they took the child to him. The oushadhis he had given had saved the child, but the vaidya had warned them that the child could always be ill. And in the long Hemanta and Sisira that followed, Radha had feared the baby would not make it.

But little Vasu had survived the Hemanta and the Sisira. And when the seasons gave way to Vasanta and then to Greeshma, he had started to thrive. It seemed that being in the sunlight was enough to heal all his ills. And even when Greeshma gave way before Varsha, Vasu still remained strong.

The first gusts of Sharad had sapped his health again, and by the time Hemanta rolled by again, Radha was spending almost every waking moment nursing him and praying to all the Gods. Atiratha’s duties as charioteer in the royal palace meant that he had little time to spend with his wife and child, but it also ensured a steady supply of food and medicines.

And thus had the cycle continued. For Radha, the cycle of seasons now revolved around the times that Vasu was ill and the times that he was healthy. But this time, his illness seemed unseasonal. Varsha had started, but Vasu generally succumbed to his illness only during Sharad. And the last year, he had fallen ill only in the depths of Sisira when even the sturdiest of boys fell prey to illnesses.

Radha rose and went into the kitchen. She could not neglect her duties. She had to prepare food for her husband and a broth for Vasu. A warm broth was all he could eat when he fell ill.

Radha stirred the pot and at such times, her mind invariably returned to who her Vasu was. The box was an ordinary wooden box. There were some gold coins scattered inside the box. One of them was lodged in the baby’s fist and he seemed to have been sucking on it. The blanket he was wrapped in was made of silk, which seemed to indicate that he was the illegitimate child of some noblewoman. But there was no identifying marks anywhere on him or on his clothes. The coins were also ordinary, of the kind used in transactions all over Aryavarta, with nothing distinguishing their origin.

It was good that they didn’t know, thought Radha. That meant that Vasu was theirs. If no one knew where he came from, no one could take him away. And no one could tell him any tales either. She knew that if anyone came to take him away, they would not be taking him to a better life. They would be taking him away to kill him. After all, they had attempted to drown him when he was a baby. How could they keep him alive now?

Vasu coughed from the other room, breaking into Radha’s gloomy thoughts.. Radha dropped the ladle and went into the other room. Vasu was tossing and turning and the blanket and bed clothes were all tangled together. Radha could see the sweat beading his forehead. She touched his forehead, wiping away the sweat. She poured him a glass of water. He drank thirstily.

“Ma,” his voice was a thin thread of sound. “My head is paining,”

“I will bring a medicine now,” she said. “You just lay there quietly.” She stroked his forehead.

“The… light… hurts…”

She closed the window and the door, plunging the room into gloom. Going into the kitchen, she found the herbal paste that the vaidya had given for headache and came back into the room. She applied the paste lightly on to his forehead, using her fingertips to smooth it over. After washing her hands, she came and sat next to him, stroking his hair and face till he fell asleep again.

Muttering a prayer of thanks to the Aswins, she went back to the kitchen. She still had lots of work left. Only Vasu’s broth was ready. Perhaps she could decorate the front of her house too and join her neighbours for a while in greeting the king and his new queen after she had finished her other works.

Chapter Four

The King looked at his bride. They were alone in the room. The storm had not abated. Night had fallen and the lit lamps inside the room bathed the entire room in a golden glow.

The queen was sitting on the bed, facing away from him. Her hands were nervously twisting the edge of the sheet. She sat rigid and immobile, as she had sat the entire journey.

“Devi,” he spoke.

She rose and turned to face him, her face pale, but her voice was steady as she spoke.

“Swami,”

He walked towards her. She paled further, but did not retreat. Their eyes remained locked on to the other’s. He raised a hand to caress her cheek.

“So soft,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

She did not move, but her body lost some of its rigidity as she trembled slightly. He bent down and his lips touched her cheek, moving to her lips. She trembled as she kissed him back, her arms reaching up to clutch his shoulders. His hands moved over her body and he was kissing her hair, her neck, her shoulders. His breath was almost a pant now.

Suddenly, she was free and he was striding away from her.

“Swami?” her voice held bewilderment and confusion.

He stopped at the door and turned. “I’m sorry,” he said. His face was white, almost bloodless. “I… I am not able to… I’m sorry,”

She sat down, her hands clenched into fists. Her breath was heavy and fast. Her mind replayed the scene again, but she still could not make any sense of it. Not able? She knew what that meant. She had known before, and yet, she had hoped that the one who told her was wrong.

The window flew open and a wet Vidura stepped into the room, closing the window.

“Had a feeling you could do with some company tonight,” he said.

She sprang to her feet. “Get out! Or I’ll scream.”

“You could. But then, you would need to explain why you, a new bride is spending her wedding night alone.”

“We’re not in the palace yet.”

“Do you think that would stop any red-blooded male?”

“He has better control than you think.”

“You know, I do admire your loyalty to him. You’ve been married for how long exactly?”

“Get out,” she said, her voice icy cold.

“Oh I shall leave. But you know, someday I will be your only option. So why not now?”

“Get out,” she said through gritted teeth.

He opened the window. “It’s not as if you’re a virgin, so there’s no need to play the innocent with me,” he said before he disappeared.

She ran to close the window and stood with her back against it, biting her lips so hard to prevent herself from screaming. Was her past to be a stone round her neck forever? Was she never to be free of it? She should never have paid those men up front. She should have asked them to come to her once the job was done and then she should have cut out their tongues to ensure her secret was safe.

She straightened. She would not weaken. That man would not defeat her. He might be privy to her secret, but he was only the Prime Minister and she was the queen. The King would be hers. In a way, his being impotent was a blessing. He would have no other wives or concubines who could take her away from her. She would do everything in her power to ensure that he would be under her thumb. And then, let the Pradhanamantrin beware!

She started blowing out the lamps one by one, aware of a faint feeling of irritation. It was the job of the maids, but the room was too small for the maids to be there. She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she climbed on to the bed. The cot was too narrow. But the Sthapathi and his people had placed a most comfortable bed and sheets. And though they had burned fragrant incense in every room, Kunti still felt that the room stank.

She pushed all that to the back of her mind. This was only a temporary stop. Tomorrow, she would be in Hastinapura, in the palace. And she was a queen now, no longer a princess. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

Chapter Three

The sky was overcast and there was no breeze. A procession of chariots moved forward slowly, almost sluggishly as if they were loath to reach their destination. These were not the war chariots built for utility nor the hunting chariots built for speed. These were the chariots that were used by the nobility of Aryavarta for travel in leisure. There were seven chariots in all. The chariot in the middle held the King and Queen of Hastinapura. The leading chariot held the Pradhanamantrin, Vidura. The last one held the Sthapathi, a corpulent man named Sravana and his assistants. The second chariot held the king’s personal attendants and the queen’s maids. The rest of the chariots contained the items that every royal household held to be indispensable for their comfort.

The chariots were accompanied by a contingent of soldiers. The ones who rode close to the Royal chariot were the King’s own guards. Though they rode close to the chariot, they still kept a discreet distance as though they wanted to give the newly wedded couple their privacy.

Kunti, the bride sat rigid in one corner, her eyes looking at the passing scenery without seeing anything. So many thoughts had been chasing across her mind that her brain had shut down for the moment. In the other corner sat Pandu, the monarch of Hastinapura, lost in thoughts of his own.

Neither noticed when the chariot lurched to a stop before a large square building surrounded by a low wall. Vidura dismounted from the chariot and moved towards the royal chariot.

“Maharaja, we are at a pathikavasa. If you and Maharani would like to refresh yourselves, and to partake of some food?”

The King came out of his abstraction. He looked at Vidura and gave a tight lipped smile.

“Of course,” he said. “Call us when everything is ready.”

Kunti’s eyes on him were slits of fury and he bowed to her before making his way to the last chariot. Sravana was already directing his assistants to various tasks. There was a flurry of activity with maids and attendants running hither and thither with various items of furniture and furnishings and bric-a-brac.

Sravana turned as Vidura reached him and executed a low bow

“Mahamatya,”

“Sthapathi,”

“What a nightmare,” muttered Sravana, mopping his face. He was already sweating profusely. “That place is a pigsty, not fit for our Rajan at all. But what to do. The rooms are all tiny. That entire building is smaller than the Royal Apartments at Hastinapura.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to make the place habitable.”

“There were a few- ah- unwanted elements in there. We had to commandeer the place for the King and to pay them off to leave.” Sravana gave an anxious glance at the Royal Chariot. “Didn’t want to have a commotion with the king here.”

Vidura nodded. “You did well.”

One of the assistants came up and bowed. “Everything has been made ready, Sthapathi.”

“I better go and check. You’ll bring them?”

“Immediately,” replied Vidura and sauntered back to the Royal Chariot.

“Everything is ready, Maharaja,” he said respectfully.

The King gave a curt nod and Vidura withdrew.

“Devi,” Pandu proffered his hand to his wife, to help her alight.

Kunti looked blankly at him for a moment before smiling serenely and placing her hand in his.

They alighted to see maids and attendants lined up and a carpet spread on the floor strewn with flowers. The drab exterior of the building had been decorated with flower hangings. The inside of the pathikavasa was spotlessly clean and well lit. The shabby walls had been covered with rich tapestry and the rough stone floor was now covered in a soft plush carpet. The King’s own cushions and silks adorned the functional furniture of the place.

“The rooms are rather small, Maharaja,” said Sravana nervously.

Pandu looked around the room and nodded. “It’ll do,” said he. “It is not as if we are staying here for long.”

Vidura and Sravana exchanged a look. Then Vidura cleared his throat. “A storm is about to break, Maharaja. I would request that we stay here till it blows over.”

A roll of thunder rang out just then as if to emphasize Vidura’s words.

Pandu nodded curtly. “So be it.”

The attendants and maids surged forward to lead the Royal Couple to their rooms. The King’s bedroom was the largest room in the place and despite all the attempts of Sravana’s people to turn it as luxurious as the King’s own chambers in the palace, it was evident that the room was too small. But Pandu appeared not to notice, nodding absently and complimenting Sravana.

The maids led Kunti to her room, which was as large as the King’s. The room next to it had been converted into a bathhouse and once the queen and his maids had entered the rooms, the Royal guard was there, preventing anyone else from entering.

Kunti sat on the bed, oblivious to the maids removing her bridal finery and ornaments. Her hair was freed from the tight braids and coils into which it was wound and the maids led her, covered by blankets, into the room with the bath. She was bathed and her hair washed. Braziers from which perfumed smoke was spiralling upwards were used to dry her knee-long hair. Her hair was bound into a simple braid and she was dressed in an exquisite orange coloured silk which draped her form like a tongue of flame.

As the maids opened her ornament box, Kunti came out of her abstraction.

“That one,” she said pointing to a pair of small ear rings which were made of pure gold.

The maids stared at each other. It was not seeming in a Royal bride to adorn herself simply, but they dared not disobey her. A thin necklace and a pair of thin bangles and anklets completed her adornment.

With disapproving glances the maids kept the ornament box aside. But in spite of their disappointment they had to admit that their young queen looked lovely. To be sure, her high cheekbones could not be considered a desirable feature, but her eyes were wide and set under dark arched brows and her nose was straight. Her lips were finely moulded and she had a firm chin. Dimples peeped in at the corners of her mouth when she smiled.

“Maharani,” Vidura bowed low as he entered the room. “Maharaja begs your company for dinner.”

Her face lost her look of abstraction and fury and loathing flashed in her eyes as she looked at him.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain started to fall.

Chapter Two

“We have to do something,” spoke the man. He was tall, regal in appearance, with an unlined face, though his hair and beard were both turning grey. He was pacing inside a handsome room, spacious and furnished minimally. Both the ornamental desk and the colourful tapestry were both of the highest quality. A large window at the north wall stood wide open and provided enough illumination.

“What can we do, uncle?” demanded a younger man, sitting at the desk. He was also tall, with a determined chin and piercing eyes. But at the moment, he looked anxious. His fingers were drumming the wooden surface of the desk.

“I don’t know,” muttered the older man. “I really don’t know, Vidura. All I know is we can’t allow this to get out.” He paused. “You are certain about this, aren’t you?”

“Neither I nor my spies were hiding in the bedroom, if that’s what you mean,” Vidura’s voice was dry. “But the whore talked, of how the King could not –ah- perform, and of the tantrum he threw when he realized that.”

“If she talks again-”

“She won’t. She will have to pleasure her men without a tongue from now on, both her and the one to whom she gossiped. I have rebuilt the room he demolished, and the owner does not know what caused the tantrum. He believes his whore displeased the King.”

“You left them alive?” there was displeasure in the old man’s voice.

“They are both illiterates,” remarked Vidura. “I deemed it better to leave them alive. The statement is more effective that way. Just in case our monarch gets the urge to- try his nonexistent virility in some other whorehouse.”

“Perhaps I should talk to him,” muttered the old man.

“Perhaps. You are his uncle, and the best judge.”

“I don’t want to risk my mother finding out.”

“She has her own ways of finding out things, but this is one secret that is safe from her.”

“She wants to see him married,”

Vidura snorted. “And then, the shameful secret of the impotency of the Kuru King will be all over Aryavarta.”

“You think so?”

“Any princess whom we choose will complain to her father if she learns her husband is impotent. That means war. And while Hastinapura is strong enough to win, the news will be all over the continent.”

“But if he is not married, that could lead to the same kind of talk.”

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Vidura chuckled. “It’s an interesting conundrum. But there is one point to be noted.”

“Which is?”

“If he doesn’t marry, it will lead to talk, true, but that talk will at best be speculation. Whereas if he does get married, it won’t be a speculation, but a fact.”

“The Kuru King has to be married.” Said Bheeshma decisively.

“Then be prepared for war, and ridicule.” Vidura’s tone was bland.

“Not if she chose him,” said the old man, thoughtfully, his hand stroking his beard.

“A Swayamvara?” asked Vidura. “That could work, uncle Bheeshma. But you will have to get an invitation for our King. Then you will have to convince him to agree to go. And then, you will have to find a way for the girl to choose him. And frankly, in spite of his good looks, he looks far too pale and unhealthy for any girl to voluntarily choose him.”

“She will choose him. I’ll make sure of that.”

“But even if it is a Swayamvara, the girl’s family could still demand reparation from the Kurus. And if they do, it won’t be in secret.”

Bheeshma frowned. “I think I know what to do,” said he slowly. “While we cannot make Pandu anything other than what he is, there is a way to ensure that the honour of the Kurus remain intact. We managed to do that once. We can do that again.”

“How? By abducting another set of princesses?” Vidura’s voice held a hint of acerbity.

Bheeshma frowned again. “You think you can judge me for that act?” he demanded.

“I am not judging you, uncle. But I think such a course of action twice in a row might be – inadvisable.”

“Don’t worry. I have a better plan. But I need your help.”

“You want my help for Pandu,” Vidura’s voice was flat.

“I want your help for Hastinapura.”

Vidura nodded. “For Hastinapura.” He paused. “Have you considered that Hastinapura might be better served to have Dhritarashtra as its King?”

Bheeshma grimaced. “Do you think I made the decision lightly to have Pandu as the King? Dhritarashtra is blind!”

“He is only partially blind. And the physician did express hopes for his sight improving.”

“We can’t have anyone but a whole man as the King.”

“Right. A partially blind man is not whole, but an impotent one is.”

“You don’t understand. Pandu looks whole. And that is what matters. When people see their King, they should not feel repelled. They should feel joy, admiration, devotion, hope. The sight of a partially blind man invokes revulsion and at best, pity.”

Vidura shrugged. “Whatever you say. What is it that I’m to do for you? I beg your pardon, for Hastinapura?”

“You don’t feel devoted to this Kingdom?”

“I am devoted to it, uncle. But I can still see the realities under the colourful exteriors. Just like our monarch, our Kingdom too is deeply flawed.”

“And you think you are the best person to be its King,” said Bheeshma suddenly.

Vidura said nothing, just kept gazing at his uncle. Bheeshma drew a deep breath. “If… if circumstances were different, Vidura… why did you never say anything before Pandu’s coronation?”

“To what end? To be called unrighteous by our priests and presumptuous by my brothers? To be called ambitious by you? We both know I am better than both my brothers. I am more – whole- than either of them. And yet, I am denied the Kingdom because of- what? My birth? We all share the same father. And yet, my birth is considered inferior because my mother is not a princess.”

“It is not that,” stammered Bheeshma. “By law, they are the sons of Vichitravirya, and you-”

“I am the son of a maid. Sired by a sage. A bastard if you will.” Vidura paused. “So, what can I do for this vast Kingdom of the Kurus, in return for my birth?”

Bheeshma took two parchments from a sheaf on the desk and handed it to Vidura. He read the first in silence. And then, “My spies don’t appear to be as effective as I thought.”

“The news would have come to you, had I not killed the source.”

“But the men are still alive.”

“One of them is.”

Vidura nodded as he examined the second parchment. “I see your plan. We can’t trust this to spies.”

“No. Which is why you must accompany Pandu to the Swayamvara.”

“I will need to talk to the man first.”

“He is to be executed at sunrise tomorrow.”

“No time to waste then. Arrange a meeting at sundown today. In the meantime, I’ll make arrangements for the King’s journey.” He paused. “How did you convince him to accept?”

“By impressing upon him that there’s no other choice. The world expects it of him. Hastinapura expects it of him.”

“For the first time, I’m feeling a bit sorry for him.”

Chapter One

The night lay silent, blanketing the landscape in a dark shroud. The moon was a sickle in the sky, not giving enough light to illuminate the earth. The shadowy outline of a large building was barely discernible. The faint light of the moon shimmered over the surface of the river nearby. The night was cold though Sharad had not yet given way to Hemanta.

The sound of an oar splashing broke the silence, and a boat came gliding by, a small lantern bobbing on its prow. It was a small boat, similar to the ones used to transport passengers and goods from one bank to the other. But unlike such ferry boats, this one was covered, almost like one of the pleasure boats used by the nobility.

“Halt here,” a gruff voice spoke and the boatman paddled the boat close to the bank. A man jumped out. Another man threw him a rope which he used to pull the boat closer to the shore and tied it to a tree. The second man too jumped ashore.

“Where are they?” whispered the second man. His voice was soft.

“They’ll be here,” said the first man.

“It is cold,” shivered the second man. “I don’t like this waiting, Ruchika.”

“You’re being paid for it,” replied Ruchika.

“I don’t like dealing with Kshatriyas,” grumbled the other man. “They pay, but they make us do things that are beneath us.”

“You’re a hired assassin, Madana,” said Ruchika. “What is that which is beneath you?”

“Exactly. I am an assassin, not a priest. If they want someone threatened or blackmailed, they should find a Brahmana!”

“I prefer the blackmail to strangling women and poisoning children,” said Ruchika.

“We are assassins. We are supposed to kill.”

“Not women and children. Not through poison and deceit.”

“Bah! You are too squeamish. What does it matter how they die?”

“Well, this job is a kill. That I can assure you.” There was some distaste in Ruchika’s voice.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” said Madana.

“There are some things that I do not like,” said Ruchika.

“Where are they?” Repeated Madana. “If the guards see us…”

“Guards?” Ruchika snorted. “No guards will bother us. It is the King’s own daughter who has hired us.”

“A Princess?” Madana was surprised. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” was Ruchika’s enigmatic reply.

A faint scraping sound was heard and both men stood alert. An aperture opened at the side of the building, large enough for a person and out of it emerged two women, followed by one man. The woman in front was small, almost a child, and was carrying a lamp.

“I think it is them,” muttered Ruchika.

They stood their ground as the woman walked up to them, followed by the other woman, who was carrying a small bundle and the man who was carrying a small chest. The chest appeared to be heavy.

The woman halted a few feet away from them. She made a gesture to the man with her and he laid the chest in front of them with some difficulty.

“Payment in full, in advance, as agreed,” she said. Her voice was low and cultured. And she seemed but a girl.

She gestured to the man who opened the chest which was full of gold coins. The two hired killers looked at each other and nodded.

“Who’s the target?” Asked Ruchika.

The woman made another gesture, this time to the other woman who laid the bundle she was carrying on top of the coins. They could now see that the bundle contained a baby, barely a week old, fast asleep.

“Drown it!” Said the girl viciously. “But do it only after the sun has risen. It won’t wake till then.”

She turned around and went back into the building followed by her retinue, leaving the two men gaping after her. They looked at the chest full of coins, now obscured by the sleeping form of their target.

“A baby?” Asked Madana in a horrified voice. “She wants us to kill a baby? Who is she anyway?”

“She’s the princess who hired us,” said Ruchika, picking up the sleeping infant. “And if you don’t want her men to hound you for the rest of your life, you’ll do exactly as she said.”

“Why did she want us to do it after sunrise?” Asked Madana as he picked up the chest with some difficulty and followed Ruchika to the boat.

Ruchika shrugged. “Whims of royalty, maybe. Or maybe she does not want it drowned within her kingdom.”

The two men clambered on to the boat with some difficulty, Madana untying the rope. The boatman picked up the long pole he used to push away from the bank.

“If we are to drown it, we better do it now, while it is still asleep,” said Madana.

“The princess said after sunrise,” said Ruchika.

“I thought you didn’t like killing children,” said Madana.

“I don’t,” said Ruchika. “But I have to live.”

“What is the name of that princess?”

“They call her Kunti. But her real name is something else.”

“That baby?”

“Hers, if rumour is to be believed.”

Madana shivered. “And I thought I was cold blooded.” He paused. “If it wakes, it could start crying and that is going to attract attention. Drown it now, I say! What difference would it make? How’s she going to know?”

“This river isn’t deep enough,” hissed Ruchika. “The body will wash ashore in her own lands. Some servant from the palace will recognize it! How long do you think we’ll live once that has happened?”

“The fish will eat it. It won’t be recognizable!”

“Are you prepared to take that chance?”

“We would reach the Ganga soon. I am not drowning an infant in the Ganga!”

Ruchika considered and then nodded reluctantly. “We better drown him here, then. Here, I’ve an idea.”

He spread a blanket on the bottom and emptied the chest’s contents on to it. Then he put another blanket inside the chest and put the infant on top. He took a few handful of coins and scattered them on top.

“For extra weight,” he explained.

Madana nodded. Once Ruchika closed the chest, he picked it up. It seemed curiously weightless now that it held only a sleeping infant. He threw the chest onto the dark waters of Aswanadi where it sank.

“There, the body won’t wash ashore now,” said Madana.

“Let’s hope not,” said Ruchika.

“Let’s go away to the north for a while,” said Madana as he sat down.

“All right,” said Ruchika.

Madana shivered again. “This job gives me the goosebumps.”

Ruchika chuckled as he brought out a small flask.

“How about something to keep us warm?”

The two men drank deeply. The boat drifted away from the shores of Kunti, towards the wide expanses of the Ganga.

In the darkness, they did not see the chest bobbing in the waves, in their wake.