‘Why are the Queen and her son trying so hard to kill you now? What threat can you pose to them?’
‘The best of friends make the worst enemies, Highness.’
There was no point pursuing the matter. Bruhannada had proved that he was not afraid of dying, nor was he about to abandon loyalty to the two people he had loved most.
‘What do you plan to do with me, Sire?’
‘You broke the law of this land and of this house, Bruhannada, and under normal circumstances, you would either lose your head or be incarcerated for life. But you’ve already paid a terrible price. I intend to recommend to His Majesty to let you go in peace.’
He looked at me quizzically and then laughed, ‘Do you expect me to believe you? We’ve been enemies so long, you’ll take your time with your vengeance.’
‘I may dislike you, Bruhannada, but don’t confuse me with you or your friends. The purpose of justice is not settling personal scores or vengeance. I believe you’ll be out as soon as His Majesty signs your release papers.’
‘That’s neatly done. You’ll wash your hands off me knowing that Prince Vikramaditya will do the dirty work for you: finish me and my wife.’
‘The state will relocate you wherever you want. In or outside Mewar. You and your wife will be given a new identity and some money to start a new life. Though I believe you won’t really be needing the latter since you are one of the richest men in Mewar.’
Mangal informed me that it would take him about a week to make the arrangements for Bruhannada’s and Urvashi’s migration. I had half a mind to ask him where he was planning to settle the couple but I knew what his answer would be: why do you want to know? He would of course be right. Ignorance, in some cases, is the better half of wisdom. And what about Vikramaditya, I wanted to ask Father, what did he plan to do with this barbaric murderer masquerading as his son and a prince of the realm? But of course I didn’t do anything of the sort. I didn’t want to be told to mind my own business or worse, that Vikram had been asked to read stories to the children in Nandanvan, the state orphanage at Chittor for three consecutive evenings as atonement for his crime.
I had fortunately little time for this kind of asinine carping. I was always behind in my work these days and there was also the question of Sugandha. She was now truly alone. Her one-time patroness, the Queen, had abandoned her and so had the Queen’s son. The Little Saint, I’m afraid, was behaving in a singularly unsaintly manner. I thought I had detected a thaw in their relationship when Greeneyes had recruited Sugandha for the veena recital on our journey to Pushkar. But Sugandha’s break with Vikram and the consequent rapprochement between her and me had rekindled the antipathy in Greeneyes. And since Greeneyes cut Sugandha dead or ignored her, the other women in the seraglio made it a point to ostracize her too. Who, after all, would risk the Little Saint’s displeasure now?
I started going home for lunch just to keep Sugandha company. She would be loath to let go of me and I got into the habit of sitting down for a second veena lesson with her. Her face would light up at such times and she would cling to me gratefully. But the pleasure of this companionship was short-lived. I came home one day to find the Little Saint waiting for me.
‘Sugandha won’t be serving you lunch any more.’
‘Why not? Is she unwell?’
‘You need not perturb yourself unduly on her behalf. She is strong as a buffalo and shares many of the creature’s habits, one of them being laziness.’
‘I am not interested in her pedigree. Where is she?’
‘Doing a little bit of work for a change. I have asked her to supervise the annual cleaning of the ladies’ quarters.’
I was not about to interfere in zenana politics and left but Sugandha was not home the next day either.
‘Don’t you think, Highness,’ Greeneyes was there to greet me again, ‘that Mewar would benefit if you sacrificed your post-prandial dalliance?’
‘When I need counsel about how to conduct the affairs of my office, I will hire your services, Madam. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you refrained from offering advice gratis.’
I was about to ask her to send for Sugandha when I thought the better of it. Both the Little Saint and the rest of the zenana would only humiliate and isolate her further.
‘May I suggest Your Highness, that pity is no substitute for love? Nor is duty.’
Was she a mind reader, this woman who would not be my wife nor would allow anybody else to be? She knew she had scored a direct hit and smiled her saintly smile.
Chapter
43
The day before Bruhannada and his wife were to leave Chittor, he sent me a message asking if we could meet.
‘Forgive me, Highness, for not coming myself but as you know it is not wise for me to stir out.’
I was not a little impatient with Bruhannada since I thought that that unpleasant chapter was closed and found it distasteful to be reminded that, as expected, His Majesty had taken no action against his favourite son.
‘I’ve been pondering about what you said to me some time ago, Sire. What would have happened if the most honourable man in the Mahabharata had thrown his weight with the righteous?’
‘I’m afraid, Bruhannada, that we’ll have to find a more opportune moment to discuss that academic question. And that moment, as you know, will not be available to us since you leave tomorrow.’
‘Would you say that a conspiracy to destabilize the sovereign power of Mewar is an academic issue?’
The eunuch’s breathing may have been laboured and laced with much asthmatic wheezing but perhaps that only helped to augment the effect of his words. I kept a deadpan face but I was sure that Bruhannada knew that I was merely putting on a bad show and was in reality instantly alert and all attention.
‘Will you record my testimony, Highness, or would you rather that His Majesty constituted the highest court in the land?’
‘If it’s treason we are talking about, then I must, as you know, first inform His Majesty. Before I do that, I’m duty bound to ask you to reconsider. For if you are implicated in a conspiracy, turning a witness for the state will not necessarily protect you nor will it grant you immunity.’
‘I appreciate your warning, Highness, but do you really believe I would take such a major step, a step from which there is no turning back, without due thought?’
‘No, Bruhannada,’ I found myself strangely subdued, ‘Few people get a second chance at life. Now you are tempting the fates for the third time. What will happen to your wife Urvashi and to your unborn child?’
‘I’ll take you briefly through a series of contradictory propositions. But that is the logic of my mind at this stage in my life and that is how I arrived at my decision. I’m now truly what I started out my career as: a eunuch. Urvashi is a kind and gentle woman. In time she, too, will tire of a husband who can give her no pleasure.’ Bruhannada paused to drink some hot water. When the congestion in his throat and chest eased a bit, he went on. ‘I’m not very good at being an object of pity, Sire, but in truth, what will kill me is my own bitterness against what my life has become.
‘You may find it difficult to give credence to this but there is no vengeance in me. My destiny and the source of my power lay in my loyalty. However reluctant I may have been to face up to it, you’ve challenged my notion of loyalty. I need to find out if I can still make my life worthwhile.’
I’ve always found eunuch flesh repulsive and yet I caught myself laying my hand on Bruhannada’s shoulder. ‘You are a courageous man, Bruhannada.’
The weight of all the obvious ironies of the moment was a little overpowering. Barring a victory over the Moghul Babur, I could not have wished for a greater boon from the god of my house, Shri Eklingji, than a confession from the man who Mangal and I suspected had masterminded Queen Karmavati’s plans to secure the future for Vikram. And yet there was something disturbing, if not devastating, about Bruhannada’s loss of faith and fidelity which I would always find d
ifficult to come to terms with. If only the Queen and her son had known and trusted their retainer a little better, it would never have occurred to him to reconsider his loyalty to them; no, not even after my brother had tried to butcher the eunuch.
How many of us know when to leave things well enough alone?
* * *
I watched my associate justices take their places with a curious sense of detachment. Had I been in a facetious frame of mind I would have said that it was the same old gang: Pooranmalji, the Pradhan; my uncle Lakshman Simhaji and the Finance Minister, Adinathji. I had forgotten how many years had passed since we had met for Vikramaditya’s treason trial. Like a lot of men who bald early, Lakshman Simhaji had always grown the hair on the side of his head long so that he could train it to cover his pate. But there was so little hair left above his ears now that it stuck out like a cat’s whiskers. Pooranmalji had become frail and there were cataracts in both his eyes. There was still not a wrinkle in Leelawati’s great-grandfather’s skin but the light had gone out of it and Adinathji’s movements were slow and unsteady. It struck me then that while other people age in our eyes, we ourselves never do. You’ll invariably find the elderly referring to a contemporary as that old man, forgetting that they themselves are close to ninety.
How did the other three members on the bench view me? Did they see me as older and worn out, but without a line of wisdom on my forehead? Was I the official court cuckold for them, the prince who would take a new wife only on condition that she would lie with somebody else?
How did Father see me for that matter? Was I the harbinger of black tidings or was I the bad news itself? He had sat in his office for the longest time yesterday without uttering a word. I knew he wanted to pace up and down, close his eyes tight and ask me to get out and not show my unlucky face again. But he was the king and he was trapped in the finality of his own authority.
‘How do you know this is not a ploy on the eunuch’s part to go scot-free?’
‘Bruhannada is a free man, Majesty. You pardoned him and set him free.’
‘He wants revenge, that’s what it is. He wants to get back at the … No, that doesn’t make sense because he would lose his own head in the process.’
‘No, it does, Majesty. The thought had occurred to me that the eunuch hated his former masters so much that he was willing to destroy them even if it cost him his own life. But he will have to furnish proof for everything he says and the court will verify all his allegations.’
‘Have you fixed the venue?’
‘Not yet. Mangal would prefer to select the place only after you appoint the judges who will constitute the bench under you and fix the date.’
‘Never delay a good action; but the unpleasant ones, perform them even faster. The proceedings will start tomorrow. You’ll preside over the same court that heard Rao Balech’s plaint against Prince Vikramaditya.’
‘Me?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Your Majesty is the Chief Justice of Mewar. This is a matter that only you can decide.’
‘Do I notice a certain amount of discomfiture, Prince? Since you have aspirations to the throne, I’m sure you’ll have to be doubly careful in assessing the evidence.’
‘What if the case has ramifications not just for Mewar but for the whole confederacy?’
Father turned his good eye upon me. I was not certain whether I saw loathing there or the confirmation of fear. I realized that I had gone too far.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Bruhannada is an ambitious but circumspect man, Majesty. He would not stake both his reputation and life that lightly.’
‘Whatever the truth,’ there was a chill in Father’s voice which suggested that he had made his truce with the demons inside him, ‘I’ll stand by you, Prince. Consult me when you need to.’
I have no idea where Mangal had stowed the eunuch on the previous night but I was relieved to see him enter the private durbar-room in the Atithi Palace with four of Mangal’s men. Bruhannada had obviously spent as restless a night as I had. His face was drawn and he had the tortured look of a man who had tried hard to still the ghosts of his past but had not succeeded. The only indication that his asthma may have acted up last night was a shortness of breath and the occasional involuntary nasal wheeze. Mangal had remembered to keep the lota of hot water next to the eunuch’s seat but Bruhannada’s voice was steady as he took the oath of truth on the Gita. He knew that he was centre-stage but that knowledge seemed to quieten him instead of making him theatrical.
‘Swearing on the Gita does not make testimony proof from prevarication.’ I could barely hear the Prime Minister, his voice was lower than a whisper but there was no mistaking the virulence in it. It was no idle threat but an earnest of imminent danger and damnation. ‘However distasteful it may be, perjury is an inescapable feature of the judicial process. We are not conducting a trial but today’s hearings may lead to one or several of them. You have come forward of your own free will and, I take it, are about to make grievous charges. They may ruin reputations, they may unseat people and heads may fall. Be warned, that any tampering with the evidence or distortion of the truth, any statement which may not withstand verification, will earn you the highest penalty in the land. Your body will be dismembered, your limbs flung in the eight directions of the universe and your head impaled on the Ram Pol as warning to all those who would accuse others for their own gain or to get even with their enemies.’
I do not believe any of the judges of the Court of Last Resort were likely to take their task lightly but the weight of Pooranmalji’s words was crushing and all of us were a little awed and subdued. All except Bruhannada. He cleared his throat and spoke in measured language.
‘I do not take the Honourable Prime Minister’s words lightly. I put it to you that I am seized of the gravity of the charges I am about to make. I stand here not only as accuser but as one of the chief accused.
‘Fourteen months ago, I was asked to get together a group of the most trustworthy people from within and without Mewar who were deeply dissatisfied with the state of affairs in our kingdom. My sponsors were concerned about the growing power of His Highness, the Maharaj Kumar, a man who they thought had brought dishonour to Mewar. They were worried about the way His Majesty, Maharana Sanga, had come to depend more and more on him. They feared that His Majesty was becoming senile and were anxious about the issue of succession. They wished to save Mewar from the Maharaj Kumar by appointing a candidate of their choice to the throne. Over the next eleven months, I travelled extensively and secretly met some of the most powerful and disaffected nobles, vassals and allies of Mewar and put together a committee of seventeen people. As chief convener, the first ground rule I laid down for all our communications was that under no circumstances would we put anything on paper. Our plan of action was to undermine the authority of both His Majesty and His Highness, the Maharaj Kumar, at every possible opportunity but not interfere with the course of events until the Padshah of Delhi and Mewar and its allies had met and the outcome of the battle was known. If we lost, we did not need proof that His Majesty was ineffectual and incapable of leading the nation. If he won, we would have to rethink our tactics.
‘I’m now open to questioning.’
There was a rasp to Bruhannada’s voice and he was overtaken by a fit of acute coughing. When he was able to breathe, he poured himself some hot water from the lota and drank from it. Even as he sipped the first few drops, Mangal looked at the copper container as if he was mesmerized by it and sprang up, ‘Don’t drink the water, don’t drink.’
It was far too late, the tumbler had fallen from Bruhannada’s hand and he was choking. Seven interminable gasps and only the whites of his eyes showed and he was dead.
Looking back, I keep asking myself if matters may have stood differently with Sugandha had I been a little more attentive when I got back from Bruhannada’s funeral on the day, or rather, night of the hearing. It was late, past three thirty in the morning by the time we briefed
His Majesty, informed Bruhannada’s wife Urvashi and as the parting irony, I poured the ghee over the wood blocks and lit the pyre. Mine were the last words over the dead man’s body.
‘There is no man of greater integrity, the Mahabharata tells us, than Bhishma. Bhishma was Bruhannada’s ideal in life. There is little doubt that Bhishma’s patience, self-control and abstinence were tried as no man’s were. Yet when it came to loyalty, I doubt if even the great Bhishma was tested as harshly as Bruhannada was. He came through without any consciousness of doing something special, something almost superhuman. He did it because he believed in the teachings of the Gita: because it was his duty and nothing more.
‘But that is not where his greatness lay. His valour and his daring lay in the quality of his mind and soul. He had that rarest of gifts: he could question the very principles which had been the polestar of his life and which had nearly cost him his life. Not, mind you, out of vindictiveness or a sense of despair and disillusionment, but because he perceived the possibility of a more honourable and meaningful loyalty than the one he had been practising: a faith in just causes and the value of right over wrong.
‘He could be accused of overreaching. Anyone who challenges accepted wisdom, is. The sad truth is that it cost him his life without his being able to test his new concept of duty.
‘Was he greater than Bhishma? That is an irrelevant and meaningless question. What matters is that he may have made not just all of us but even the great Bhishma rethink the notion of loyalty.
‘There are not too many people about whom we can say that.’
And then I sang out, loud and clear, in the morning darkness the words of the Gita that I had heard on a thousand occasions and which only gained in meaning and vision instead of losing their edge, the more I heard them.
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