The Crown of Seven Stars

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The Crown of Seven Stars Page 19

by Gitanjali Murari


  Manmaani had coughed up the sputum into her throat and spat it at him, splattering his face. He lifted a hand to strike her and she screamed, a blood-curdling scream that went on and on, the raw, violent hatred terrifying him.

  ‘Mother, any moment now people will be here,’ he knelt beside her, striving to keep his voice calm. ‘You must listen to me. We both want the same things. We can do this together, mother. We don’t have to always be at war with each other. If only you could see how similar we really are. I am truly your son.’

  She stopped screaming then, staring at him with unseeing eyes, black streaks of kohl running down to her chin. When he put an arm around her, she let him, burying her head in his shoulder. Shunen exhaled slowly. He was back in the palace, now the one and only prince of the realm. This time he would patiently wait for his turn on the throne.

  Let the trumpet blow

  Let the flute play

  Aham is aglow

  Why? you may say

  Because I am crowned today

  The Queen of Aham is at last crowned today

  Hussuri blinked, slipping two fingers under a crown of twigs tight around her forehead. Yet she was loath to remove it. Murky sunlight beat down on her, the leafless trees like so many gnarled, misshapen beasts. She blinked again, turning around slowly.

  ‘Ashwath,’ she blubbered, ‘where are you?’

  ‘Are you lost, Hussuri?’ A voice called out to her from behind a tree.

  ‘Yes,’ she whimpered, beginning to walk towards it, ‘where are you, Ashwath?’

  ‘Here,’ the voice replied, and a figure detached itself from the shadows. Hussuri stopped abruptly, her brow wrinkling in an effort to jog her hazy memory. Something about the face troubled her.

  ‘The eyes,’ she mumbled to herself, squinting at the hooded gaze, the expression spreading a wintry chill over her. She gave an odd start, her thin arms flailing and spun on her heel.

  Like a panicked animal, she blundered headlong, the screams dying in her parched throat. Shunen ran after her but slowly, gesturing to a group of lurking shadows to follow with caution. ‘I want to catch my brother,’ he told them, ‘unawares, unprepared.’

  They trailed her at a safe distance, her tattered clothes flapping around her. All of a sudden, she leaped behind a crumbling wall and flocks of drongos cackled into the air like dirty rags.

  ‘What is this?’ they stopped short, frightened.

  ‘Is it the monastery?’

  ‘It must be,’ answered another, beginning to back away.

  ‘If we don’t leave now, we are dead men.’

  ‘Stay,’ Shunen ordered. ‘If Ashwath and Hussuri have been hiding here all these years, it can’t be accursed. A foolish myth, that is all there is to it.’

  ‘We are not going inside,’ they told him and he closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  ‘All right,’ he waved his hand. ‘You search the outside and remember, my brother could be armed.’

  Striding purposefully forward, he almost bumped into the wooden statue. It blended so easily into the backdrop of coarse debris that when he noticed it, it took him aback. He looked at it, the peculiar pattern on the sword attracting his attention.

  ‘The devil,’ he hissed, going pale with shock. ‘Big brother, what in damnation have you been up to? I must tell mother at once.’

  Stepping carefully over rubble, he called out to Hussuri, cajoling her to come out, when a cold shadow, cloud-like, fell over him. Shunen jumped, biting off a scream, and quickly retreated.

  ‘Hussuri,’ he raised his voice, ‘Hussuri, tell Ashwath that mother is coming for him. He will be punished for worshipping a false god, for planning a revolt against the Goddess of Aham.’

  Hussuri cringed, pressing her lips tightly to keep herself from screaming, her hands over her ears. The noise from outside, of wood dragging against the rough ground, terrified her. A warm breath of air tickled her cheek and she glanced up uncertainly. The solitary tree, with its light blue leaves and pink and purple flowers, beckoned her. She went to it, huddling within its colourful foliage. It seemed to comfort her for she dozed off and woke up startled when Ashwath put his arms around her.

  ‘Mother is coming to take my crown,’ she sniffled, beginning to tremble again.

  ‘No, no, darling, you are mistaken. Come, see for yourself,’ he coaxed, rubbing her back. ‘There’s nobody here but us.’

  ‘Baba,’ Prem ran in, his face ashen. ‘Somebody has been here. They have taken the statue.’

  Ashwath paled, ‘Our hide-out is discovered. Let us leave at once. We’ll go to the north gate, to the hills of iron. It’s a dreary, hard place but I’m sure we won’t be discovered there.’

  They hurried to the highway, mingling with the large crowds pressing in the opposite direction. The lean, grubby faces were tense with excitement. ‘When Mother Goddess calls, her children come,’ the people screamed. ‘Hail Mother Goddess, victory to thee!’

  ‘What is going on, bhai?’ Prem accosted a straggler. ‘Why are you all heading towards the main square?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? The Mother Goddess is coming out of mourning today. It has been found that her traitor son, Ashwath, has been invoking the dead general.’ The man darted a suspicious look at them, ‘Where are you off to? Aren’t you loyal to the goddess?’

  ‘Of course, we are,’ Prem answered with a disarming smile.

  ‘Don’t be late then,’ the man nodded, hurrying off after the others.

  ‘I want to know what they will do with the statue,’ Ashwath said and they joined the perspiring multitudes, shuffling slowly through the streets of Andheri. The excitement became palpable as they neared the main square, the people jostling for a better look, the stench of sweating bodies thick in the narrow alley. Climbing on to tree stumps, a few young men peered into the square, yelling their observations for the benefit of those unable to see.

  ‘The living Goddess is here!’

  ‘She is talking now. Shut up, you all.’

  ‘Citizens,’ Manmaani’s thrilling voice swept over the crowd. ‘My children,’ and instantly hysterical shouts of ‘Mother Goddess’ erupted, thudding through every breast. Standing far at the back, Ashwath got a clear view over everyone’s head and an old familiar rage began to pulse within him. Dragging the statue by a rope around its neck, two men hauled it towards the glass case that held the khanda. On the other side of the square, Manmaani stood in the royal carriage, striking a dramatic pose. Shunen stood beside her, his newly shaven head glistening in the heat.

  The black and grey snakeskin dress hung on Manmaani, her body shrunken and suddenly old. She had scratched her hair into a tight coil and in her sallow, sagging face, her eyes appeared strangely bulbous, the black pupils guttering in the puffy skin.

  ‘Evil never concedes defeat,’ she pointed an accusing finger at the statue. ‘Even from his grave he has reached out to snatch, not one, but two of my sons.’ She paused, her fists clenching. ‘Yes, he killed Prince Nandan.’ A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. ‘He breathes death wherever he goes and he crept into the palace, breathing into my beautiful boy’s mouth, killing him in his sleep. But that wasn’t enough for him, so he claimed my other son too.’

  Manmaani’s gaze swept over her mesmerized audience. ‘Ashwath wants a new god for Aham. He wants to replace your living goddess with this devil whose statue he worships.’ The mob bayed deep in its throat, twitching uncontrollably. ‘The time has come, my children,’ she yelled, raising her arms, ‘to crush this evil, to send the dead back to the grave.’

  ‘Yes,’ howled the crowds, eager to smash the statue.

  ‘My son,’ she cried and Shunen stepped out of the carriage, forcing his pitiless mouth into a thin smile.

  ‘The Goddess of Aham has been merciful,’ Manmaani’s voice throbbed with emotion. ‘She has restored my remaining son to me. And now he will fight this devil, forever ridding us of it.’

  Shunen’s hooded eyes sl
id to the statue. ‘Burn it, hack it, bury it and after that, my dear citizens, we must get rid of another traitor, my own brother.’

  ‘Kill, kill, kill,’ they muttered, surging forward. Several hands grazed past the case, rocking it, reaching for the statue. The khanda shivered, the dulled blade rattling the glass, and the crowds paused, startled.

  ‘The general’s sword is angry,’ the mob yelped, retreating, and quickly disintegrated into ordinary, frightened people. ‘It will cut off our heads and rip out our guts.’

  ‘Cowards!’ Shunen’s voice lashed them. ‘There is no magic in that blade. All the magic and power lies in the Mother Goddess. Do you wish to incur her wrath?’ Seeing them hesitate, he flung a lit torch at the statue. The dry wood crackled and hissed, catching fire within moments, a tall, orange flame shooting to the sky.

  ‘I can’t watch anymore. I feel sick,’ Ashwath turned away. ‘Mother has damaged the people, changing them, blighting their lives as she blighted ours. I wish there was a way to stop her.’

  ‘There is a way, baba,’ Prem looked on at the burning statue, his gaze unperturbed and unshaken. ‘The same Saahas who saved you, will save them too. The winds of change are coming, and nothing can stop them.’

  Long after the square had emptied of people, one solitary figure remained, timidly gazing at the charred remains of the statue. ‘My mind tells me this is a bad sign,’ Ashish whispered, ‘but my heart says you are on your way back. Or am I a fool to keep hoping?’ His lips trembled and a tear dashed down his cheek. ‘I have waited for you, my lord, all these years, so patiently. Was it all for nothing?’ A flicker in the corner of his eye made him turn towards the glass case. The khanda quivered weakly, as if wishing to speak, to reassure. Ashish drew close, looking at it with sudden comprehension. ‘You have been waiting too.’ He touched the glass, his face soft. ‘He is returning and you always knew it.’

  36

  Nirmohi chuckled to herself, hearing the laughter and shouts resonating in the mountains. Strolling leisurely out of her cave into the bright sunshine, she perched on her favourite rock. ‘Oh, the wonder of the way you have changed, Yamathig,’ she murmured on a laugh, patting the rock fondly. All around her, the once stony and austere mountains were lush with wilderness, luxuriant and abundant, bursting from every crack and seam. Clear water streams gushed wherever Yamathig had generously widened the crevices, and wild life teemed, arriving as if by magic.

  ‘You’ve been tamed, lad,’ she teased. ‘These girls got their way with you.’ Her gaze flew to a sprightly figure atop a rock shelf, the swollen belly unmistakable. ‘Anytime now and the baby will be here. It’ll be nice to hear you echo with the lusty yells of a tot.’ The mountains agreed, a quiver of excitement rippling through them. ‘Careful,’ she scolded, ‘we don’t want Dharaa tumbling down and hurting the child.’ Yamathig quietened instantly. Shading her eyes, she observed Tota help Riju construct the birthing hut. ‘It seems like only yesterday when they came here, even though it has been a few years.’

  She had been exercising Saahas’s magnificent steed one afternoon when the horse had slipped, sending a shower of small rocks tumbling down. Hearing a sharp cry from below, she had sent a few of the brigade to investigate. The men had returned soon, bringing with them Riju and Dharaa and a band of warrior women.

  ‘They know sire, Your Highness, they met him,’ the brigade cried, delighted to introduce the young couple. ‘He helped them escape Aham.’

  ‘We were hoping to find him here,’ Riju sighed, forlorn.

  Nirmohi smiled her welcome, ‘His friends and allies have started to find each other. I would say it is a good omen.’ Everyone brightened immediately, bursting with questions but she held up a hand. ‘You are all gathering here for a reason,’ she said, her gaze penetrating. ‘To prepare for the time which is sure to come.’

  ‘The feminine intrusion wasn’t to your liking,’ Nirmohi’s voice was full of amusement. ‘You the bachelor, the ascetic, so cold and aloof,’ she mocked Yamathig. ‘You made it quite difficult for the girls, growing taller and more rugged each day, more inaccessible. So proud and stern, then what changed you?’

  It had been the happy giggles, the soft touch, the light voices raised in song. Yamathig had tried ignoring them, but one day, Dharaa and the girls, climbing the mountain face, had sung its praise, describing the glorious mist clinging to the purple-brown rocks. Yamathig had sighed, and unable to resist the rush of joy, softened like wet clay, submitting to the women like an adoring puppy. Soon after had appeared the first sign of greenery, a blade of grass peeping with some difficulty from amongst the hard-edged stones. Yamathig had sniffed it, curiously pawed it and lost its heart. Rolling away the tough boulders, it had made way for the plants to sprout.

  ‘Aranya, that’s her name,’ Nirmohi said. ‘She springs up wherever she hears the sound of happy women, drawing strength from their laughter to pierce even adamantine walls. And when the girls leave, she will follow them, leaving a thick mantle of green in her wake, the only sign they were ever here.’ Watching the men and women cavort in the high cliffs, she smiled. ‘We will miss them, won’t we?’ The mountains grunted a dismal sigh, shifting imperceptibly as if to close all exits.

  Nirmohi stiffened, a sharp line appearing between her brows, her grey-green eyes darkening to black. ‘I am sensing something, Yamathig. Something unexpected. Saahas may not return. No, surely I am mistaken. But still, what if . . .?’ She stopped, shaking her head, the silver hair tousling around her youthful face. ‘This anxiety is so unlike me.’ She frowned again. ‘It is too strong, this feeling. I should go back to my cave and meditate.’

  ‘And that is when I snapped awake,’ Destiny smiles ruefully. ‘I knew Nirmohi could not be wrong and my watch showed that the Saade Saati would end in twelve months. Saahas had to begin the return journey. There was so much to be done. So,’ she sighs, ‘I picked up the dice once more and shaking my wrist, threw it down.’

  ‘Ninety-nine, hundred, hundred and one. A hundred and one shining knots,’ he exclaimed, looking at the tangled, luminous web tight around his heart. ‘So beautiful, and yet . . . sad.’ He marvelled at the blood-red throbbing gem glowing through the criss-cross of knots, his heart beating to the continuous chant of ‘Aham’. One knot in particular drew his attention. Untying itself languidly, it curled away from the heart, streaking a straight, brilliant path towards his head. Saahas followed, bounding after it and soon grasped its shiny tail.

  Pulled along effortlessly, an unexpected delight washed over him and like a child, he began to exult in the ride. The string blazed on, lighting up the stars and planets, the entire universe within him. Laughing aloud, Saahas bounced over one sun and the next, shouting ‘I am, I am’. Suddenly, the string dissolved, leaving him adrift on a vibrant, live current. The pulsating stream expanded around him, inside him, buoying him, tickling him. Surrendering to it, he began to frolic, like a fish released from a bowl into a translucent ocean.

  ‘Freedom,’ he sang and a loud twang, such as the snapping of strings, resounded in his ears. The knots around his heart had broken and fallen apart, and freed from the incarceration, his heart blossomed, a big, ruby-red lotus. Its gently waving petals gathered him, pulling him within. The lotus closed, ‘Aham’ swallowed into silence, and as he gazed in wonder at the pure brightness inside the flower, bliss, the kind he had never known, suffused him. It was even more heady than the joy he had known moments ago.

  A clear dewdrop emerged from this brightness and sailed towards him, kissing him lightly on the mouth. It tasted sweet and as it slipped down his throat, Saahas burst into a million dewdrops, becoming one with the light. The lotus bloomed again, this time in pure white splendour. One echo, unlike any other, a sound and yet not one, reverberated from its depths. ‘Aum, Aum, Aum.’ ‘It is I,’ the light of Aum declared. ‘The soul of your soul, the life of your life. It is I indeed, the purest, the truest, the infinite, the boundless Self of Aham. Everything and everywhere is I, the One wi
thout a second.’

  ‘Aum,’ he intoned aloud, his eyes opening bright.

  ‘You have touched the infinite,’ Tathakim observed with interest, ‘and become fearless.’

  ‘Indeed yes, master,’ he laughed quietly, his entire being sparkling with an ethereal light. ‘I feel as if in one gulp I have swallowed the entire universe, so vast and limitless do I feel as if time and space have no meaning.’

  ‘Sire,’ choked a familiar voice and Saahas rose quickly to embrace Bhuma.

  ‘You have become so frail! What is this? Why do you weep? Look, I am well. In fact, I’ve never been better.’

  ‘He has served you devotedly these past years,’ Tathakim said with a smile. ‘Grooming you, feeding you, watching over you.’

  ‘Did you say years, master? The body certainly feels stiff and this stomach,’ Saahas patted his midriff, ‘growls with a terrible hunger.’

  Tathakim’s mouth twitched. ‘I am not surprised! Two years is a long time.’

  ‘Two years—’ Saahas broke off, the fragrance of food assailing his nostrils. His mouth watered.

  ‘Sire,’ Bhuma wiggled his shoulders. ‘A royal feast has been prepared for you, a celebration!’

  ‘And we have a guest too,’ Tathakim added with a twinkle, moving aside. ‘A queen you are well-acquainted with.’

  ‘Mausi!’ Saahas hastened to touch Nirmohi’s feet. ‘What brings you here?’

  Patting his head, she laughed her pleasant, throaty chuckle, ‘I will tell you later. First, let us eat.’

 

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