Sivagami hugged her close. ‘I promise, my sweetheart.’
Akhila ran towards her father, waving goodbye. Thimma’s chariot soon vanished, leaving Sivagami behind to her new life.
‘I do not have the whole night to spend listening to your argument, swami,’ Revamma said to Roopaka and turned to Sivagami. ‘Walk,’ she said gruffly.
‘Easy on the girl,’ Roopaka said.
‘Thup!’ Revamma spat. ‘I know how to treat a traitor’s daughter. No one teaches old Revamma.’
Roopaka shrugged and walked away, leaving the old woman and her ward.
‘Walk,’ Revamma repeated as she shoved her. Sivagami started walking, with the fat woman panting behind her. She looked straight ahead and walked with steady steps, holding her bundle, feeling her father’s book inside it with her fingers. A thought stopped her cold. Was this the book Uncle Thimma was referring to? No, it could not be, she reassured herself, but the thought kept haunting her. She wished she had confessed to Thimma about the book. He could have told her the entire truth, but he was hiding something. She had no obligation to tell him about her secrets. It was her father’s book, it belonged to her, she repeated in her mind again and again. But the bad taste of guilt refused to go.
The soldiers at the gate made some lewd comment about Revamma and the woman paused to spit and abuse them.
As Revamma traded insults with the soldiers, Sivagami saw the silhouette of a palanquin and a few men waiting beside it by the river. What were they doing at this time of the night? Revamma spotted them then, and she hesitated to go further. A tall figure stepped out of the palanquin. Sivagami squinted, trying to make out whether it was a man or a woman—the person seemed too tall for a woman, but the gait was feminine. As the figure approached them, she heard Revamma gasp. The moonlight caught the diamond stud in the figure’s nose and Sivagami felt Revamma’s grip tightening around her wrist.
‘Is this the girl?’ the woman asked in a surprisingly gruff voice.
ELEVEN
Mahadeva
Prince Mahadeva was in Queen Hemavati’s chamber. More than his father, he feared his mother. He was scared the guilt and lie were written all over his face. He did not want to face her.
‘Look up when I am speaking to you.’ His mother stood up from her dewan and walked towards him. He reluctantly raised his head.
‘Now look into my eyes and tell me where your brother has gone.’
Mahadeva was in a fix. He knew quite well where his brother had gone. But how could he tell his mother? Everyone knew who Keki was and where she worked. Their mother would definitely fly into a rage.
Queen Hemavati had always stressed that she did not want her sons to be typical spoilt princes. She belonged to the land of snow, far away in the north, where rishis went on spiritual quests. She had very strict ideas on how to bring up her sons, on which she was often in disagreement with the king. Maharaja Somadeva, though, never had too much of a problem with this. He had a harem where he would watch the most beautiful girls dance, semi-naked, if the rumours were to be believed. And his mother would sit inside the puja room in meditation.
Mahadeva often felt caught between the two worlds. His mother talked about noble things and his father about practical things whenever he could spare some time. When he asked his gurus, they often told him to follow his heart. As if he knew what he wanted. Sometimes, his heart was with his mother’s prayers, and sometimes with the pleasures that his brother kept fantasizing about. Mahadeva had to agree that, despite his abusive and bullying nature, it was fun to be with his brother. He was always adventurous, full of life and vigour, and had interesting friends. He never bothered about his mother’s advice and did whatever he pleased. Mahadeva was the exact opposite.
‘Have you swallowed something? I asked you a question.’ His mother’s voice was ice-edged.
‘He…he has gone out,’ Mahadeva fumbled.
‘Oh, I never knew that. I thought he had the boon of being invisible and was standing beside you now,’ the queen’s lips curved in scorn. ‘Can’t you understand even a simple question and give me a straight answer? Look here and not at the floor. And stop twiddling your thumbs. That is better. Now, answer me. Where did you last see your brother?’
‘In the corridor,’ Mahadeva looked down again.
‘One son is a rogue and the other a coward. I heard that slave boy beat you in practice duel today.’
‘I hate duels,’ Mahadeva said without looking up. He heard his mother sucking in her breath.
‘I will get that slave boy whipped. How dare he insult you in front of everyone?’
‘He played fair and won. And there was no one there other than a few soldiers and Malayappa Mama.’
‘I will pluck out your tongue. Mama! Calling a slave uncle! The soldiers must be laughing about the cowardly prince of Mahishmathi. How did I give birth to a wimp like you?’
Mahadeva had grown numb to his mother’s taunts. It had ceased to hurt long ago.
‘Oh Mahadeva,’ the queen said, gritting her teeth and Mahadeva looked up.’
I did not call you, I was calling Lord Mahadeva. Shambho Mahadeva. I don’t know what sins I committed in my previous life to be punished thus with unworthy children. Tell me, where has my rogue son gone?’
Mahadeva looked down again. He wondered how his father coped with his mother. Was this why he was always in the harem? What if he, too, had such a dominating wife when he grew up? For no reason, the pretty girl who was in the corridor when he was talking to his father flashed in his mind. The way the wind played with her curly hair…
‘Answer me, Mahadeva!’ His mother’s raised voice shook him out of his reverie.
‘I thought you were asking Lord Mahadeva,’ he said, and immediately regretted it. He did not know where he had got the courage to talk back.
‘Good, you are showing some spirit. I like it when you do so—but to others,’ she lifted his chin and stared into his eyes, ‘not to me.’
Mahadeva nodded.
‘Were you thinking of some girl?’ Hemavati asked suddenly, and Mahadeva flushed red. He shook his head.
‘Like father, like son! One Kamadeva is enough for this palace. I don’t want my boys to grow without ethics, morals, and values. You are my sons and the blood of Trayambaka flows through your veins. My forefathers were rulers during the Mahabharata war. We are not some mercenaries who suddenly rose to a royal status after murdering their masters. Unlike the house of Mahishmathi, our house dates back thousands of years. I want my sons to be like my father, not like some…’
Mahadeva had heard these words a hundred times. He wanted to escape from the chamber. If he could go to the open courtyard by the fountain, he could lie down in the grass and stare at the countless stars in the sky. He could perhaps dream about that girl.
‘Mahadeva, I had asked you to keep an eye on your brother and report his actions to me. For the hundredth time, where has Bijjala gone?’
He knew Keki had taken him to the notorious den, though Bijjala had avoided his question. Mahadeva finally decided against telling his mother about Keki.
‘He…he was called by Skandadasa,’ he managed to say. ‘He wanted Bijjala to know about tax collections.’
Mahadeva thanked his stars for being able to come up with a plausible lie. At this time of the evening, the only person who worked would be Skandadasa. Others would have gone home or to some tavern or devadasi’s inn. His mother frowned.
‘I would never have imagined Bijjala to show this much interest in his studies. And that too about tax! Are you sure you are not lying to me?’
‘That…that is what he said,’ Mahadeva spluttered, his heartbeat increasing manifold.
‘He has made a fool of you, as usual,’ the queen said disdainfully. ‘Find him and bring him to me. If he is in Skandadasa’s place, learning about the taxation laws, I am ready to sweep the streets from tomorrow.’
Mahadeva hurried out of his mother’s chamber, relieved that he had
escaped relatively unscathed. From the Antapura, a song floated out. He wondered how he would find Bijjala. He did not know the way to Kalika’s inn, and it was not something the prince of Mahishmathi could openly ask about. He walked aimlessly. The song from the Antapura became louder. The roll of the mrudanga and the twang of the veena kept pace with the anklets of some dancer. He tried to imagine the face of the dancer. And, surprising him, the face of the girl he had seen in the evening came up again. He tried to shake off her image. Such a pretty girl was sure to have a lover. Mahadeva checked himself—what nonsense was he thinking. He shook his head and smiled.
The night was young and fresh. Moonlight glistened on the dark green leaves of the jasmine plant. The smell of nishagandhi lingered in the air. And again that girl was dancing somewhere in the corridor. He was going mad, he thought. Was he in love? He wished he could confide in someone, even Bijjala would do. Could that girl sing? He did not know, but in his imagination, she could. And her song was coming from the fountain.
Water cascaded like molten silver in the moonlight. And he saw her there. Sitting by the side of the fountain, her feet immersed up to her ankles, wearing a jasmine garland. He remembered the words of Kalidasa about Shakuntala. The only thing that was missing was the mandatory deer. He smiled at the thought and ran towards her. He could hear her song, he could hear her anklets.
But when he looked again, she had vanished. No wonder his brother chided him—he had a poet’s heart. But girls did not fall in love with poets or writers, except in the stories they made up. The thought depressed him. He was being stupid to fall in love with a girl who did not even know that he existed. She looked so confident, like a lioness. Mahadeva was never confident. His knees went weak and his throat dried up even when his father asked him to recite the mantras in the temple once in a while. People praised him whenever he finished, but he knew they were just being polite to the prince of Mahishmathi.
Truth be told, he never felt like a prince. Princes in the stories he read and heard were brave men. They confronted danger and were victorious. They slayed rakshasas and demons, and saved beautiful princesses. He could never imagine doing any of those things. Mahadeva knew he was not brave. He could wield the sword and his master said he was even quick with it, but what he lacked was the will to inflict injury. He was scared of blood too. Though not many knew his secret, he was afraid his father did.
He sighed as he walked past the fountain towards the gate. No girl with any sense would find it worthwhile to love him. Even if he managed to win her heart, his mother would never agree to let him marry an ordinary girl. There was no point in even thinking about that girl—he was never going to see her again. And yet, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He drifted towards the southern gate of the fort and was walking out of it when he was stopped by the soldiers stationed there. They had instructions from Skandadasa not to allow him outside the fort without his security guards. Mahadeva resented the curbs on his freedom, but did not say anything. His way was to work around a problem, not confront it. He loved to sit by the river and dream. No restriction was going to stop him from what he wanted to do.
He knew what he had to do. In his countless wanderings since he was a little boy in the sprawling palace complex, he had discovered many things. There were corners where no one came, stairs that went nowhere or wound back and forth in endless circles, secret pathways and tunnels built to confound enemies. He knew a way out to the river. He had discovered it accidentally.
Many years ago, he had wandered near Parameswara’s office and had slipped and fallen into an abandoned well. There was hardly any water but his fall had been cushioned by the soft sand in the bottom. He had shouted and screamed but there was no one who could’ve heard him. He had tried to climb up and stepped on a loose stone that had led to a trapdoor falling open in the well. Curious, he had entered it and found himself in a secret tunnel. He had been scared to go further, but decided that he must return later. He had somehow scrambled his way out of the well that day.
Later, he had started exploring the tunnel alone which, he discovered, was actually an elaborate labyrinth. Most times, he ended up in a dead end and had to walk back, but it was like a puzzle that challenged his intelligence. He loved to solve puzzles, and, finally, he had managed to find a way out which, to his delight, led to the riverbank. Since then, Mahadeva had spent many yamams staring at the river, composing poetry in his mind. Sometimes, the old ferry man, Bhairava, would keep him company. They talked about everything under the sun. Bhairava never treated him like a prince and Mahadeva liked him more for it.
Today, he decided to use the same path. He skirted around Parameswara’s office. The old man had left for the day. He reached the well and started climbing down.
When he came out of the tunnel by the river, he felt like a free bird. The song he had heard wafting out of his father’s Antapura burst through his lips. A short distance away the granite mandapa was bathed in moonlight. He started walking towards it, enjoying the coolness of the river breeze on his face. River Mahishmathi was to his left, flowing ink blue. Shards of moonlight glistened on the crest of waves. Frogs croaked from the bushes and from afar. From across the river, the faint rhythms of village drums could be heard.
Far away, Mount Gauriparvat rested in a quilt of mist. The faint roar of the Patalaganga falls could be heard. It was a beautiful place where he had spent many evenings, swimming in the placid pools formed between the rocks. He closed his eyes and imagined he was there, floating in the pool, with the waterfall roaring a few feet away. It was so serene and soothing. A moist breeze caressed his body. He floated like a leaf, carried by the current. He twisted his body and started swimming with powerful strokes. He was all alone in this beautiful world.
That’s when he saw her standing on a rock, with the waterfall cascading behind her. That girl…What was she doing here? She stood like a marble statue, her hair flying in the breeze, and her arms held high and wide. Had she seen him? He could not breathe. Heat rose to his cheeks. She opened her eyes and turned towards him. He sucked in his breath. She was so beautiful. She stepped down into the water. It is too cold, he wanted to warn her, but no words would come out of his mouth. He stood watching, thankful that water covered everything under his waist. Her wet clothes clung to her curves. She ducked into the water and Mahadeva’s heart pounded in his ribcage.
She was swimming towards him. He stood without moving, tense that if she came nearer, she may discover the effect she was having on him. He was ashamed and excited at the same time. She rose from the water, her hair wet and dripping. His gaze travelled towards a rivulet of water that ran down her breasts. He had forgotten to breathe. She smiled at him. Moonlight lined the curve of her lips. He gulped, as he saw water snake its way down and rest on her navel.
‘By what name shall I call you?’ his voice trembled.
Mahadeva was shocked out of his fantasy by a loud shriek. He almost fell into the water. At some distance was a palanquin resting on the ground, and two women shouting at each other. A fat woman had spread her arms wide and seemed to be blocking a tall woman’s way. Mahadeva debated whether to run inside the fort or call for help. He did not want to get involved in anyone else’s fight. He was about to run towards the fort when the fat woman moved to reveal the person she had been shielding—that girl!
He ran towards them. He saw a man emerging from the palanquin but quickly duck back inside. The man looked familiar, but Mahadeva could not place him. And why was he inside a palanquin? The man did not appear old or enfeebled. Nor did he appear rich. In fact, in that quick glance, the man appeared to be a slave. But how could a slave travel in a palanquin? He dismissed the possibility and walked towards the scene.
The palanquin bearers tried to stop him as he approached. The tall woman grabbed the fat one and dragged her down to the ground. Then she lunged at the girl. The girl swiftly moved away and the tall woman landed on her face.
‘What…wh…what is happ
ening here?’ Mahadeva demanded, doing his best to sound authoritative.
‘Mind your own business,’ the tall woman said as she scrambled up from the ground. Mahadeva was perplexed. Her voice sounded like that of a man’s. The bearers shoved him back.
‘Your Highness, Prince Mahadeva, help me,’ the fat woman cried. The bearers who were pushing and shoving him stopped in their tracks. They looked at each other, confused and scared. The first man to recover fell on his knees, and with his head bowed, mumbled, ‘Apologies, Your Highness. We did not know.’ His companions followed him with readiness. The fat woman also bowed down.
Someone cursed from inside the palanquin. The voice sounded familiar. Mahadeva walked towards the palanquin when the tall woman ran towards him. Keki! He was scared she was going to knock him down and he braced for a punch on his face. Instead, the woman fell on all fours and grabbed his feet.
‘Mercy, Your Highness, mercy,’ she cried.
Mahadeva gathered his courage and, in his best stern voice, asked, ‘What brings you here, Keki? And why were you fighting with an old woman?’
‘They owe me money, Your Highness. Her husband does. He comes to my place and gambles.’
Mahadeva did not know what to make of this. He knew gambling was banned in Mahishmathi, but it happened everywhere, even inside the palace between guards or sometimes between ministers.
‘You are not supposed to gamble,’ he managed to say.
‘Oh, in the gamble of life, I have drawn the card of pleasure, Your Highness,’ Keki smiled.
In the business of pleasure! He was embarrassed. He saw the girl staring at him and beads of sweat started forming on his forehead.
‘I manage Kalika’s Pushyachakra inn. And we do entertain princes. In fact, that is going to be our next big thing. We are specialising in the art of entertaining princes. If you care to come with me, I can show you a different world.’
‘I. No…no…’ Mahadeva stuttered. He coughed to hide his embarrassment. He desperately wondered how to effectively deal with her.
The Rise of Sivagami : Book 1 of Baahubali - Before the Beginning Page 9