The Fisher Queen's Dynasty

by Kavita Kane

  Bhishm wore the stubborn look Satyavati dreaded. ‘This time I shall go myself and beg him for forgiveness. Why should Amba suffer for my mistake?’

  Satyavati shook her head impatiently. ‘Dev, he won’t listen. He just threw the girl out; why will he listen to what you say? He loathes you; he thinks you have ruined him in every way.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bhishm calmly. ‘That is why I shall entreat him to marry Amba. He hates me, and I shall bear the brunt of it, not Amba. He can’t forsake her, punish her for my mistake.’

  And with those words still ringing in the room, he strode out and rushed towards his chariot to go to Sauba.

  ‘How dare you enter my palace?’ shouted Shalva, staggering up from his chair. His chest carried the angry welts and scars of the skirmish. ‘What do you want now?’

  The wounds seem to be healing, but certainly not his injured pride, Bhishm thought. ‘Your forgiveness,’ he said simply. ‘And some kindness for the girl you love.’

  Shalva laughed aloud in fake astonishment. ‘Truly? After what you did to me, I can’t face the world. Do you realize that? I lost everything—my dignity, my love,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, his face a cold mask of fury. ‘I hate myself more than I hate you!’

  ‘You were a brave man, Shalva; you fought for the woman you loved till the very end,’ said Bhishm. ‘So why didn’t you marry her when she came back to you? The duel was a mistake. I did not know she loved you. Had I known, I would not have taken her away. I would have personally brought her to you, like I am doing now. Please take Amba back,’ he beseeched, his voice pleading, his hands folded in a rare gesture.

  His words seem to enrage the king further. ‘Who are you to bring her back to me?’ he roared. ‘You are a plunderer, a savage who took away what was not yours! Now you decide to return her on some generous whim!’

  ‘It’s not generosity; it was an error on my part for which the girl is being punished, Shalva! Please, I beg you!’ he repeated, imploringly. ‘I took the three princesses of Kasi for Virya, my brother. At that time, I did not know that Princess Amba loved you. The moment she told me, I sent her back to you. She is innocent. Why make her a pawn in our pointless fight? She loves you, Shalva; please marry her!’

  Shalva looked coldly at Bhishm. ‘I, too, loved her, and I fought for her. But I lost her . . . to you. So she becomes yours, does she not?’

  ‘She is not a trophy to be tossed around, to win, or lose,’ said Bhishm quietly.

  ‘Is she not? You certainly made her one! Why else did you come for her swayamvar?’ he taunted. ‘To win her, to abduct her, to defeat her other suitors—was it not? She was going to garland me, when you thundered into the court unannounced. You are nothing but a barbarian, Bhishm, a bully who uses strength and power to intimidate others. I battled you for her and I lost. I am a defeated man, Bhishm; don’t throw accusations at me!’

  Bhishm saw the wretchedness on the unhappy man’s face. ‘Is your pride more important than your love?’ he asked, mouthing Satyavati’s words.

  Shalva went white. ‘Yes, I am an honourable man, Bhishm. My honour and my respect are more important than my love for Amba. It caused my downfall. I lost her in a fair fight. I can’t accept what I lost. What sort of a man do you think I am?’

  ‘Definitely not an honourable one, if you don’t accept her,’ Bhishm said. ‘You brood about yourself; but what about Amba? You have abandoned her! Do you not wonder what will become of her?’

  ‘I have, and I hate myself more than I hate you!’ exploded Shalva. ‘You destroyed us, our love, our future! But why are you so earnest now? You should have thought of this before you charged uninvited into her swayamvar,’ returned Shalva bitterly. ‘You were seeking her for your brother, weren’t you? Why does your brother not marry her?’

  ‘Because she loves you, fool!’

  Bhishm saw Shalva’s lips tighten in a thin, unpleasant line. That pursed mouth made him realize that no matter how much he pleaded with Shalva, he was not going to change his mind.

  Frustrated, he turned to go.

  Halfway down the hall, he heard Shalva call after him. ‘If you are so concerned about Amba, why don’t you marry her, Bhishm?’

  The remark mocked him in the high-domed hall and echoed in his mind all the way back home to Hastinapur, screaming at him, laughing and leering. He reined in his horses, bringing the chariot to a standstill, breathing hard. He could not break his vow; he could never marry her. But he should, a voice taunted him. He had brought upon her this crisis. No! He could not; he could never.

  But would Virya agree to marry Amba? Bhishm thought over Shalva’s other suggestion, and the more he brooded over it, the more it seemed like the only solution.

  As soon as he pulled in at the palace gates, Bhishm rushed to meet Virya.

  ‘Why do you want to meet him?’ he heard Satyavati asking him. ‘He is with his brides. He is a newly-married groom, Dev; leave him be!’

  Bhishm turned around, his face flushed. ‘If it was not urgent, I would not interrupt him, would I?’

  They had reached Virya’s chamber and Bhishm went in unannounced.

  ‘Virya!’ he shouted.

  ‘He is king, Dev!’ muttered Satyavati. ‘There is a protocol!’

  ‘Let him know that it’s important,’ Bhishm replied curtly.

  Virya came out of his chamber, bare-chested, his hair dishevelled.

  ‘What is it?’ he bowed politely, a look of worry crossing his face. ‘Is anything wrong? What brings you here, dear brother, at this hour?’

  It was then that Bhishm realized that the day had still not broken into dawn, the twilight hour still dark, waiting for the sun to rise.

  Bhishm quickly explained the situation to Virya. He listened, cocking his head to one side, and then finally asked, ‘So, now what?’

  ‘I want you to marry Amba!’ said Bhishm.

  ‘No!’ replied Virya immediately.

  Seeing the look on Bhishm’s face, he retracted slightly. ‘I cannot marry her, Brother,’ he shrugged helplessly. ‘She loves someone else!’

  ‘But she was brought here for you!’ argued Bhishm. ‘You were supposed to be her groom as you are now of her sisters.’

  ‘You brought her; I did not!’ retorted Virya.

  ‘Virya!’ reprimanded Satyavati.

  ‘But I am being honest!’ he snapped. ‘Both of you decided this. It is unto you, not me! I would have gladly wedded her had she agreed. But she preferred Shalva to me,’ he said almost sulkily.

  ‘It is a question of the girl’s future, not about ego and honour, Virya,’ said Bhishm softly, but desperately.

  Looking slightly mollified, Virya tried to rectify his quick refusal. ‘No, Brother, it is not correct!’ he repeated, pleadingly.

  ‘But Shalva has refused to marry her, and she has nowhere to go! Please, Virya, marry her, at least for the sake of our family honour,’ entreated Bhishm. ‘For my sake.’

  Satyavati was amazed to hear the beseeching tone in Bhishm’s voice. Had the girl affected him that greatly?

  Virya folded his hands in quiet salutation, bowing his head low. ‘Please don’t plead with me. . . You are my elder brother. You are like a father to me. I have always obeyed you, but not this time. I have to refuse. She is not mine to marry!’ he repeated more strongly now. ‘I know you brought Amba here for me . . . but she considers Shalva her husband! How can I marry her then? It is not right!’

  Bhishm pleaded with his brother more, almost grovelling, sounding more desperate each time, till Satyavati could bear it no more.

  ‘Stop it, Dev! It doesn’t become you!’ she said abruptly. ‘We can’t do anything more on this!’ She turned on Virya furiously. ‘You can marry her for the sake of keeping her honour, can you not, Virya, as an honourable man? It’s not about love anymore; it’s a simple consideration. This is all a horrible twist of mistakes and misunderstandings, but only you can make things better now, Virya. If you do not have the decency to obey Bhi
shm’s pleadings, then I, your mother, order you to marry her!’

  ‘You can’t, Ma!’ said Virya, a glint in his eyes. ‘I am the king. I choose my bride and I do not want Amba, who loves another man.’

  ‘The girl has nowhere to go!’ Bhishm said passionately.

  Satyavati spread her hands helplessly. ‘Take her back to her father. . .’

  ‘You know he won’t accept her, just as Shalva didn’t!’ said Bhishm explosively, crashing one fist into his palm.

  ‘Try,’ she persuaded. ‘If he doesn’t, then. . .’

  ‘He will not accept her; I know him. We will have to keep her here.’

  ‘Here?’ repeated Satyavati incredulously.

  ‘Yes, she can stay here with her sisters,’ he said.

  ‘As what?’ she argued hotly. ‘Dev, you are being unreasonable!’

  ‘Then what do we do?’ he asked desperately, his eyes so tortured that Satyavati’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Where will she go?’

  ‘Are you talking about me?’ asked Amba tonelessly.

  All of them whirled around, more embarrassed than shocked at her presence. Satyavati wondered how long she had been standing there, overhearing their conversation. Amba appeared calm, but her eyes were listless. She had heard it all—both the rejections—and Satyavati wondered how much more the young girl could take.

  ‘Shalva does not want me, nor does the king,’ she said absently, bowing to Virya. ‘Greetings, my brother-in-law!’

  Virya flushed, a dull red suffusing his face.

  Amba ignored him, and turned to Bhishm.

  He looked at her sorrowfully. ‘I pleaded with Shalva, but he refused. . .’ he muttered as if ashamed to say anything further.

  ‘I know,’ she said. She took in a deep breath and looked expectantly at him, her face not betraying the agony she was suffering. Her expression wasn’t pleasant to see. She seemed to have grown older just in the past few moments.

  ‘And that leaves no alternative but for you to marry me!’

  The Waiting

  The echo of Bhishm’s refusal to Amba had been hanging ominously in the palace for the last six years, and yet she continued to wait for him. . .

  Satyavati sighed as she stood by her window, watching the stately figure of Amba stride purposefully towards Bhishm’s palace. It was her daily practice, a pattern, and her sole purpose. She was going to confront him again. Yet again, she would beg him, curse him, rant and rave and beseech him to marry her. Each time he would refuse her, pleading with her instead to ask him anything apart from that one impossible task. He had suggested that he would take her back to Shalva, and that had enraged Amba further, driving her into an impotent frenzy.

  ‘I want you, not him, not anyone else!’ she screamed in despair.

  The vow was as terrible as him. He was now Bhishm in word and worse. Had it hardened him into a monster, cruel and insensitive? By following his promise blindly, could he not see the mad grief in the girl’s eyes? Was he protecting or hiding himself from commitment?

  But Satyavati knew this was not so. He was as tormented as the girl. Every word of Amba’s pierced him deep, bleeding him white, drowning him in his own guilt and sorrow. But while each time he refused her, the girl was crushed under despair and disrepute, it lifted him to further heights of exalted loftiness: he remained a man still revered, not reviled. But no one saw his inner turmoil. Watching Bhishm suffer made her suffer, for had it not been for her, he would not have taken that horrible oath of lifetime celibacy. It was testing him, Amba as well as her.

  ‘The girl loves you; do you realize it?’ she had confronted him one day, unable to see his agony. She saw him stiffen, his face carved in marble, but a muscle twitched at his jaw. He turned away abruptly.

  ‘I cannot comply with her wishes,’ he said stiltedly.

  Satyavati stared at his broad back, stiff and straight with obdurate resolve. She did not know whether to be exasperated or relieved. In her heart, she did not want him to marry Amba. She did not want to see them together—talking or laughing or arguing—she did not want that wretched girl in the palace anymore. . .

  A memory quickly seared through her mind: Amba, in the alcove of Bhishm’s palace, walking and stumbling, almost swaying, and Bhishm instinctively catching her by her waist. She had seen the girl’s eyes widen in sudden pleasure and she spread a hand against his chest, as the other gripped his strong neck. She had relaxed and let her head go back and her scarlet lips open a little.

  ‘I think it’s the fever,’ she had said softly, leaning her weight on his arm. Her head went back now, pulling him down, her beautiful eyes drooping, fluttering a bit, and her lips were parted and smiling. She pressed him closer, her breasts against his chest. She had heard Amba letting out a long, easy sigh, ‘Make me feel better; I am going mad with your love. . .’

  Bhishm had almost violently thrown her off, firmly holding her by her trembling shoulders. ‘No, Amba, I can never be yours!’ he muttered, his eyes burning wild and tortured. Satyavati had shrunk back in the shadows and hurried away. Was the girl besotted or desperate?

  She felt the taste of bile even now in her mouth as she was talking to Bhishm. She blinked, gathering her scattered thoughts.

  ‘Amba loves you, and you won’t marry her,’ she sighed. ‘Could it get worse?’

  Scanning his stiff back turned against her, Satyavati decided she would have to try another means of talking it out with him. ‘She worries me, Dev. She is beside herself with this mad hatred-love she has for you! She is losing her mind, I think,’ she started hesitantly, unsure of how Bhishm would take it. She saw him regarding her with pain in his eyes. ‘Six long years in Hastinapur, receiving only your rejection each time, is undoing her. You can see that, can’t you? She sees her two sisters so happy. She loves you but I think she hates you more. She blames you for her misfortunes. She would have lived as happily as her sisters, had it not been for you. Loose tongues are not being kind to her, Dev, and such ugly talk will not bode well for her, you or us.’

  ‘But where else can she go?’ he said dully.

  ‘Does that mean you should make her suffer here—seeing you, loving you, waiting for you every day?’ asked Satyavati in an exasperated tone, tapping an impatient finger against her lips. She would have liked to throw the girl out of the palace and out of the kingdom, but Bhishm would never allow it.

  He flushed under his fair skin, his mask slipping, his brittle eyes darkening in anguish. ‘What should I do?’ he said helplessly. ‘I can’t leave her, and I can’t accept her!’

  She flinched at the torment in his voice. ‘Dev, you have to let her go—for your good and for her betterment,’ she said gently. ‘I have seen that look on Amba’s face from the very day you got her here. You defeated her lover in a fair fight; you showed him to be a weakling, not man enough to marry her. You were her new prince in shining armour, her saviour; and now she looks up to you for everything, Dev!’ she said. But his face was again stony, and his jaw was clenched.

  She continued after a pause, her voice persuasive. ‘That is why I did not want her to stay here. You can’t marry her, and she can’t stop hoping that you will. It is cruel on both of you. She sees you, talks to you, and you are one of the only people whom she shares a laugh with!’

  He gave her a strange look. ‘She is our guest, and she can stay as long as she wants. That’s the least I can do for her,’ he said woodenly.

  ‘Not anymore! She’s being called Virya’s concubine, Dev; have pity!’

  ‘I can’t marry her, you know that!’ he exploded, his voice breaking, his eyes tortured. ‘I can’t. . .’ he muttered to himself, his breath hoarse. ‘I can’t save her, please!’

  ‘Then release her!’ she shouted back.

  It was as if he was speaking to Amba. Satyavati again felt a red hot flush of jealousy—it was an unfamiliar feeling, burning through her, searing her with its very intensity.

  She had never shared him with anyone. He had been with her si
nce the very first day she arrived at Hastinapur. Nothing had come between them—not his oath, her guilt, Shantanu, Kripi, her sons, the throne, and not even Hastinapur—nothing, except this girl. Amba was slowly driving a wedge between them. She had felt him distancing himself from her, more concerned about Amba, worried sick about her, silent and staring at her with his bleak, guilty eyes. Amba had some strange power over him. Was he in love with her? Or was she mistaking his heightened sense of guilt for love, the burden of which he carried so heavily upon himself? Again, she felt pierced by that hot stab of jealousy burning right through her soul. Does he love Amba? She did not dare ask him that question. It would not just rile him; it would also defile him, and his capacity to keep the oath would be desecrated.

  Satyavati drew in a deep breath. He rarely lost his temper, or rather, he rarely showed it. This fit of rage was unusual; he was breaking from the inside as well.

  ‘I know you can never wed her, so let her go,’ she pleaded. ‘I have tried to explain to her, too, but she hates me even more for suggesting it!’ she remarked. ‘She’s right. It was because of me that you had to take that vow. She resents me for that!’

  She saw him look out of the window, towards the distant river, a sparkling Ganga in the horizon. She stared at him, and thought, No wonder that girl is in love with him. Tall and fair, with that careless lock over his chiselled, handsome face, tanned from his campaigns, winning wars, brilliant and brave, gentle and gracious, kind even to his prisoners—but not kind enough to that girl to break his oath and marry her. . .

  She felt a prick of alarm. Her own worst fears were being brought back.

  He would not marry Amba, she was certain; but, sometimes, seeing Amba’s persistence, she wondered if Bhishm would break one day. That small fear grew larger each day as Amba continued to remain in the palace, corroding her confidence and conscience. Amba as his wife. No! It must never come true, she thought with panic. I have to somehow get the girl out of here.