I lean across and touch her hand. ‘You must be strong for them,’ I say firmly. ‘Pull yourself together.’
There is no time for more talk. The carriage draws up to the temple steps and I alight. The priest hurries towards me but I hold out a restraining hand.
‘I wish to be alone for a few moments,’ I tell him. ‘Later, I will come and offer my prayers.’
He nods and backs away, bowing deeply. Everyone in the city knows that my father has taken over power and that I am to be crowned. Therefore, it is in their interests to show me respect, whatever their private thoughts are on the takeover and the murder of their king. The priest is no exception.
Two shadows detach themselves from the gathering gloom and come forward. It is Shashilekha and her father.
I have glimpsed Shrinanna at court from afar on several occasions, but this is the first time we are face to face. He is elderly, his figure stooped with age, but his eyes—that are very like his daughter’s—are kind and this is of paramount importance to me, at the present juncture. He bows low and I nod curtly; there is no time for pleasantries.
‘How far is your village from here?’ I ask.
‘A few hours’ journey,’ he says. ‘We must leave now to avoid detection.’
I nod again. ‘I thank you for helping me. You will be rewarded when all this is over.’
‘You are good to my daughter and that is all the reward I seek,’ he says simply.
I return to the carriage. ‘Come quickly,’ I murmur.
Jayadevi stumbles out and turns to me, holding her sons tightly by the hand. ‘You must keep them safe. This is your duty.’ She has bitten her lips till they are bloody and her breath comes in quick, frightened gasps.
I disregard her words and kneel in the dust before the boys. ‘I will see you soon,’ I say, caressing their cheeks. ‘You must be very brave now.’
They nod solemnly and then they are gone, their figures swallowed up by the dusk.
The wind has changed; I smell rain in the air. I hope that this will aid their getaway—the rains by the coast are always fierce, and only someone very brave or very stupid would venture forth at night in these conditions. The gods seem to be on my side thus far, but I am still afraid for the boys. They are in great danger and will continue to be while my father stays here at this court.
My absence from the palace will have been noted by now. Questions are probably being asked and sooner rather than later, someone will remember that I had left along with the prisoners. What will happen then? Will my father send his soldiers to look for me? What form will his rage take? Will the boys be brought back forcibly to have their heads cut in public?
It is with difficulty that I make myself walk into the temple with Shashilekha to offer obeisance to the deity. The priest’s face is alive with curiosity but I give him no room to talk.
A few moments later, we are back in the carriage. Shashilekha arranges the cushions around me and I sink into their depths, trying not to think of what awaits me at the palace.
The rain has begun to fall; it starts with a few drops and speedily thickens to huge, roaring sheets of water that obscure the road ahead and rock the carriage from side to side. The carriage driver curses aloud and calls to the horses, attempting to steady them. The torches on the streets that line the way are all extinguished; no flame could hold its own in this deluge. Figures ride past us in the dark, but I am unable to distinguish their features or anything else about them.
At long last, we reach the palace. The gates swing wide open as the guards spot the royal carriage, and we sweep into the courtyard. Servants hold covers over us as we alight; the ground is a swamp of wet mud and pulls at my robes as I run across it and into the building.
It is a relief to be out of the rain and I stop to catch my breath.
My father appears before me. The blood momentarily drains away from my face before it floods back, heating my cheeks.
‘Where were you?’ he demands, his face suffused with worry and anger. ‘You did not tell anyone where you were going nor did you take your guards. What were you thinking?’ He is so close to me that I can smell his breath.
I have had time to think through my answer. ‘I was just doing your bidding, Father,’ I say meekly. I hear Shashilekha’s shallow breaths beside me; I know she is as terrified as I am.
‘My bidding?’ He looks baffled.
I look at the officials and guards around us. ‘I would speak to you in private, if I may,’ I tell him.
‘Come with me, then. Both of you.’ He ushers me before him to his chamber, giving orders to call back the search parties he has sent out. Shashilekha trails behind in our wake, our damp footprints marking the cold corridors.
I am quaking with exhaustion and fear. I have to be convincing. I have to make him believe me—so much depends on it.
My father shuts the door to his chamber once we are in and turns to me impatiently. ‘Speak now. Where were you?’
A spark erupts from one of the flaring torches set around the room and the sound makes me flinch. But I straighten and look him boldly in the eye.
‘You wanted King Shivakara’s sons dead,’ I say flatly. ‘I arranged for it to be done.’
He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further. I take advantage of his silence and press on: ‘I have paid a faithful retainer of the family to do the deed. They must be dead by now.’
My father’s eyes swing to Shashilekha and back to me. ‘What was the hurry?’ he asks curiously. ‘I said the deed was to be done after your crowning on the morrow. It was to be your first act as the ruler—to extinguish all pretenders to the throne.’
I swallow hard and try to keep my voice steady. ‘What does it matter if I got it done the night before? It still remains my act. They died by my hand.’ There is a dangerous glint in his eye and I hurry on. ‘I sought to impress you,’ I say softly. ‘I will rule tomorrow not just by your hand but also because I merit it.’
He laughs, a mixture of pride and amusement. ‘And how do you know it is done? Who is this retainer? How can you trust him?’
Shashilekha steps forward and I hope he does not notice her trembling hands. ‘Sire, he will pay with his life if he does not follow his orders,’ she tells him. ‘He is known to my family and is extremely loyal.’
‘Do you trust her?’ my father addresses me, although his eyes do not leave Shashilekha’s face. Her lip quivers under his gaze, but she does not give way.
‘I would place my life in her hands if need be,’ I say firmly and even as the words leave my lips, I know it to be true. She has stood by me like a rock; I can trust her with anything.
My father crosses the room in two strides and seizes my hand. ‘You have always been more to me than your brother,’ he says. ‘Yayati is my shadow but you … you have my courage and spirit. You are more my blood than he.’
I stand still but allow myself to be enveloped by his pride. Yes, we are alike with shared ambitions. Yes, I know I can be as unscrupulous and ruthless as him if the need arises. Yet I did not factor in my love for the boys. Emotion has made me weak. I could try and stifle this affection, but it is too powerful to be laid aside. I should have fought it harder, I should have steeled myself, but there is always a weakness in every person’s armour—and this is mine, this inexplicable bond with two children who are not even of my blood.
I pray that he will not press me for details or demand proof of the boys’ killing. He does not ask about Jayadevi; she has never been a concern to him.
Shashilekha is still standing straight, but I know she is likely to buckle at the knees if this goes on much longer. I share her physical and mental exhaustion. It has been an extremely difficult day and it hasn’t even ended yet. I long for the safety of my chamber, for the oblivion of sleep.
He releases us soon after. Tomorrow will be another long day and he desires that I rest so that I am fresh for the ceremony.
Once in my chamber, I take several gulps of water from th
e mud pot by my couch. And then I fall back, my eyes closing against their will. Yet I have one more thing to do before I let sleep claim me.
As Shashilekha hovers over me, settling the cushions, I grasp her hand. ‘I am grateful to you,’ I murmur. ‘I could not have managed anything today without you.’
‘There is nothing to thank me for,’ she replies. ‘It is only right that the boys’ lives be saved. And my father and I were fortunate enough to help.’
Only time can tell if I have succeeded in saving their lives or in merely postponing their deaths. As if she can read my thoughts, Shashilekha says firmly, ‘You have no cause to worry about them. My father will guard them with his life. He will not divulge your secret.’
She pulls the covers over me so that I am shielded from the sharp gusts of wind that blow in though the half-open door. The rain is waning; by the morning, it will have gone but the air will remain fresh and cool.
‘Do you hate me, Shashilekha?’ I ask her. ‘Does everyone in this court think I am responsible for the king’s death? I swear to you—I did not know about my father’s plan.’
She casts her eyes down and this is how I know she is lying. ‘No one blames you,’ she says. ‘You are held beloved by the court and you were a good friend of the king.’
‘And you?’ I persist.
‘I do not hate you.’ Her voice is firm and assured; she speaks the truth now. ‘How could I when you have treated me so well?’
I am satisfied for the moment. I fall asleep immediately, even before she leaves the room. It is, thankfully, a dreamless sleep. And it is one that banishes my demons.
This is perhaps the most memorable day I will ever live through.
I am a woman staking my claim to power; I will ascend one of the mightiest thrones in this land. From today, I will write my presence into the Bhaumakara annals. All in this land will bow to me.
It matters little if the path to this one was marked with blood. Thrones are acquired in different ways and almost always with violence. This is one of the laws of the world we inhabit. What matters more is the mark one leaves behind—and I know that mine will be a strong, enduring one.
A fleeting memory of Shivakara’s coronation distracts me. Thrones are fragile; they can change hands in an instant. But I will hold on to mine with tenacity. I will show my father—and this land—what I am capable of.
The ceremony is slated to take place within the hour and I must prepare for it. The Somavamshi priest is here as part of my father’s entourage. The ceremony will be conducted according to our rites, not that of the Bhaumakaras. It is bound to be of many hours’ duration, therefore.
Shashilekha enters in her usual quiet, unobtrusive way, bearing a parcel. ‘You are to wear this for your coronation. Your father has sent it.’
I take it from her and open it to find a beautiful red silk robe nestled within, embroidered with pearls and other precious stones, so that the entire cloth glitters with a radiance of its own. He has planned everything in meticulous detail, right down to what I will wear when I am crowned the Bhaumakara ruler.
My eye suddenly alights on a plain green robe that I used to wear when accompanying Shubhakara to the Buddhist shrines in the city. I think rapidly. It is simple, in the style of the Bhaumakaras, but stately. I decide, on the spur of the moment, to wear it for the ceremony.
‘Put the silk one away,’ I instruct Shashilekha. ‘It will appear jarring to this court. If I am to rule these people, I must appear as one of them.’
She smiles in approval. I wear very little jewellery, too, and leave my braid bare instead of entwining ornaments into it as is the norm for Somavamshi royalty.
I make my way to the throne room.
The entire court is assembled there—a sea of hostile faces and a scattering of neutral ones among them.
My father is standing at the far end with the Somavamshi priest. His lips purse with displeasure that I have flouted his wish in so obvious a manner. I will explain it to him later, but a thrill courses through me at this minor victory. It is no small matter to defy my father, but I have now done so twice in succession.
The priest steps forward to begin the ceremony.
The next few hours pass in a blur of fire, smoke, incense and chants. The throne is hard, even uncomfortable, and capacious so that it seems to dwarf my being at first. But as the ceremony proceeds, I seem to have grown twice my size in stature and pride, and I seat myself with a dignity that is apparent to all.
I see grudging respect even in the eyes of the naysayers—and there are many who would dispute a woman’s right to exercise power. For the moment, though, they are silenced—and my father looks on with approval at the way I have conducted myself. Confidence surges through me as I prepare to receive a line of officials who are to take their oaths of fealty to me. I am keenly aware that while some murmur the words of loyalty, others utter them boldly like an open challenge. I treat them all with the same respect and graciousness. There will be time enough later to sift the troublemakers from the others.
A grand feast follows. I cannot bring myself to eat more than a few morsels, although the enticing fragrance of rice and fish and sweetmeats fills the air.
My thoughts feed me instead. I am well aware of stepping into unfamiliar shoes; I am not a true inheritor of the Bhaumakara legacy. From the furtive glances that are sent in my direction and the many whispered words, I know that the people feel the same. My rule has been imposed on them and they are already chafing under its burden. Yet such is the way of a conquered populace—obedience or death are the only options open to them.
My father is loud and expansive, joy and satisfaction writ large on his face. His name will be written in letters of gold in the Somavamshi annals as the greatest ruler ever, the only one who curbed the mighty Bhaumakaras and attached their substantial realm to his own. Thus has his ambition been achieved; he has become a legend for his people in his own lifetime. Yayati and the other rulers to follow will merely limp along in his giant shadow.
And yet, he will be named as a murderer in the Bhaumakara records, the villain who attacked their defenceless king and summarily dispatched him to the other world.
What of me, I wonder. What will they say about the daughter of such a man who helped him achieve his legacy?
THE SPREADING OF WINGS
My father leaves the following morning, taking the bulk of the Somavamshi soldiers with him.
The hour before he departs is spent in giving me instructions—on how to treat disaffected Bhaumakara officials, on keeping the populace under strict control, on snuffing out all signs of rebellion, on using force without any qualms in order to maintain my rule.
‘I am leaving my best soldiers behind to guard you and execute your orders,’ he tells me. ‘Use them well. And take Bhairavagupta’s advice on every matter. He has been well-trained by me.’
My heart beats faster at the thought that I will be alone on the throne from here on. I will have to keep my own counsel and take my own decisions.
‘I will send Yayati to check on you and your welfare every now and then,’ my father adds. ‘For the rest, there is Shivagupta. If the matter is urgent, he will know how to contact me in the shortest possible time.’
‘I do not like him,’ I say, somewhat petulantly. ‘There is something untrustworthy about him and his ways.’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ he says harshly. ‘He commands your army now. It would be well if you let go of your unreasonable dislike and learnt to trust him. He has played a crucial role in this entire affair. In a way, you owe your throne to him and his clever manipulations.’
I remain silent.
More instructions issue forth. This kingdom is to be run as a feudatory of the Somavamshis from now on. Every decision that is taken is to be in the latter’s interest. The entire revenue of this realm is to be sent to my father and he will decide how it is to be reallocated. The ultimate aim is the aggrandizement of Kosala and the abasement of Toshali. And I am to be
the instrument that will achieve it all.
He hugs me just before mounting his horse and my heart swells with love, as usual. ‘Make me proud, my daughter,’ he says loudly for the entire entourage to hear. ‘You are a true jewel of the Somavamshis.’
I watch them till my eyes ache with the strain and until they shrink to indistinguishable shapes on the distant horizon.
The cold season is almost upon us, and the wind is fierce and biting. It will be a short one as always but greatly welcome for the brief respite it provides from the heat and humidity.
I turn to go back to the palace and my guards fall in line behind me. They are to accompany me everywhere from now on—these are my father’s orders. It is feared that there will be attempts on my life from those loyal to the Bhaumakaras, for there are many who oppose my regime.
I do not like this new restriction; I must recover a measure of my earlier freedom.
I tackle the most difficult task so as to get it out of the way. I ask for the entire court and palace staff to be assembled, and watch while the officials and servants alike jostle for space in the throne room, speculation rife among them as to the reason behind my order.
When the talk dies down to a low murmur, I rise and instant silence descends on the gathering. All eyes are fixed on me, all ears are straining to hear my words.
It is a heady feeling, indeed, to command such instant obedience. I begin to understand how power can go to one’s head so that it begins to intoxicate the wielder, and he craves more and more of the same. This is how men like my father are forged—with an all-consuming desire for it and the banishment of all scruples towards this end. And this is, perhaps, the way I will eventually go, for I am my father’s daughter in everything.
‘Good people of this realm,’ my voice is loud enough to reach the farthest corner of the chamber. ‘I stand before you as your queen and ruler, once wife to the mighty Shubhakara and sister to the beloved Shivakara.’ I pause. My audience is rapt, eager for me to say more. ‘I mourn the loss of these stalwarts, but such is the way when death claims its prize. Meanwhile, I want to assure you of my love for this land and its people. I will rule with your consent and cooperation. And henceforth, I will be known by the title Tribhuvanamahadevi, the second of that illustrious name, to honour the memory of my great woman predecessor on this throne.’
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