‘Or,’ he drawled, a smile in his voice, ‘we can make it what it should be—a temple where every citizen, man, woman and child comes, to imagine and create his version of Aum.’
The temple reminded him of the monastery, and he rode through the tender saplings of the copper pods one cold evening, astonished to see a colourful tree peeping amongst the burnt ruins. ‘Shami! We meet again,’ he exclaimed, throwing his arms around its trunk. A warm sigh tickled his cheek and he looked around quickly.
‘Surprised?’ A monk in ochre robes looked back at him, his expression one of deep interest. ‘The roots of the first Shami that you met, ah, such a long time ago, travelled all the way here, to grow out into this magnificent tree.’
Struck by the sweetness of the voice, he asked, ‘Who are you?’
The monk raised his eyebrows, ‘Do you remember the story of King Yajatha?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Ah, well, I am the abbott-who-got-away. But I never left. I have been here for centuries, watching the events unfold as I knew they would.’
He told Dharaa about the strange meeting and she immediately said, ‘Sire, Rrum must be installed there. It is the place most worthy of it and people can go there, look at it and get some peace of mind.’
And so Rrum was placed on the only standing pillar, its rainbow fire flickering night and day, drawing crowds to it by the hundreds. They lost their fear of the monastery, turning it into a picnic spot under the winter sun, the bright flowers of the Shami helping them forget their nightmares.
The season changed again and the palace was finally complete.
‘The coronation will be on the fifteenth day of spring,’ Saahas announced, studying the calendar, ‘when Sundernagari is decked out in flowers.’
‘At last,’ Dharaa and Tota exclaimed together, their faces lighting up. ‘All of Aum has been waiting for this day!’
‘Come, let me show you something,’ and he led them into the spacious hall, as yet starkly bare except for the throne on the dais. It was a simple wooden seat, its arms carved into the heads of the peacock, their tails fanning out behind the chair. ‘Prem sculpted it,’ he said with pride. ‘What do you think? Fit for a queen?’
Queen! ‘Yes, I was as shocked as you,’ Destiny nods.
‘Are you thinking of marriage, sire?’ Dharaa and Tota looked at him stunned.
He laughed, ‘Marriage is not for the likes of me. This throne is for you, Dharaa.’
‘In the pin-drop silence, I was certain they could hear my heartbeats,’ Destiny smiles wryly. ‘You see, I had always planned for Saahas to be king. The Saade Saati, the trials, the tribulations, I had gone to so much trouble to create obstacles for him. Just so he would become the king Aum deserved. So, I couldn’t bear it anymore and joined the story.’
‘Sire, you are joking,’ Dharaa’s face had turned unnaturally pale.
He shook his head, ‘I have performed my duty of reclaiming the kingdom, but the wheel has not turned full circle. The circle will be complete only when Aum returns and only you can bring it back, Dharaa. Your mother’s heart and warrior spirit, your selflessness and sacrifice, these are all exceptional qualities rarely found in one person. Never once has the thought of revenge crossed your mind, so firmly have you held on to one ideal, the ideal of Aum. You, Dharaa, are the true queen of the people.’
Destiny tiptoed in, whispering in Tota’s ear. He frowned. ‘But, sire—’ then his gaze caught Saahas’s brightness and his brow cleared. ‘Little sister, sire is right. The people adore you. You are both mother and daughter to us. You are the essence of the kingdom that is yet to be.’
‘Besides,’ Saahas added, ‘Agraj’s khanda was fashioned for the monarch of Aum and you wield it just like an empress.’
The countdown to the fifteenth day began and Sundernagari went into transports of hectic activity. It was a time for cleaning, for decorating, for endless discussions and celebrations. Destiny ran helter-skelter, upsetting carts and curdling milk but all her efforts were met with cheerful laughter. She even tried to change the weather, but spring refused to budge, blossoming even more radiantly. Frustrated and exhausted, she slunk into a corner, biting her nails to the quick.
Swept up on a current of joy, the people cheered loudly when Saahas placed the pagdi on Dharaa’s shining head, the seven emeralds sparkling once again in a triangle.
‘I take the name Yashodhara,’ she declared, and delirious shouts of ‘Hail Queen Yashodhara’ resounded in the throne room, every person jubilant. No, not everyone. Destiny hid behind a curtain, weeping furious tears into it.
Removing Vasuket’s signet ring from around his neck, Saahas smiled at the assembly. ‘This ring was bestowed upon me by our beloved king. I believe now that I was only its keeper. In presenting it to the new queen, I know I fulfil his every wish. My work is done here, my fellow citizens and the life of adventure once again beckons me.’ Anguished gasps and protests interrupted him, but his firm gaze soon hushed the hall. ‘Now your duty begins, to rebuild this kingdom and usher in Aum. But remember, first awaken Aum in your hearts, only then will you perceive it outside as well.’
Destiny straightened her back, the light of battle returning to her eye.
The Saptarishi streaked through the night sky, and Saahas raced after them, his heart singing joyously. ‘This is what I love best,’ he patted his horse, ‘a journey with no end. You, me, the stars, together on a new adventure.’ He rode out through the north gate, but soon pulled up his horse. Beside the road, sat a woman weeping inconsolably.
‘Madam, can I be assistance to you?’ She lifted her head. In the clear moonlight, he discerned a face so beautiful and so fraught with distress that his heart contracted with pity.
‘Yes, you can,’ she whispered rising to her feet and in one swift movement was beside him, her hand holding his wrist in a vice-like grip. ‘You cannot leave me, Saahas,’ she hissed, the tears drying up in a trice. ‘I am your Destiny.’
He looked into that determined face, a soft laugh escaping his lips. ‘I have touched the infinite. Now nothing can contain me.’
She drew a sharp breath, her eyes widening in sudden comprehension and her hand fell away.
He urged his horse into a gallop and she watched him disappear into the night, the thunder of hooves coming back to her faintly. And as she turned away, she caught a glimmer in the far distance, the lightning flash of a steel sword shining bright. Destiny smiled.
Acknowledgements
It all began years ago with my older sister Minu. She would put me, a tiny tot, to sleep with a bedtime story every night. Whatever she read was converted into a rousing tale, be it her lessons or an Enid Blyton. As I grew older and began to read, Minu’s stories continued, evolving into complex Shakespearean dramas and biographies of literary figures, all part of her Literature course.
By the time I graduated, I had read a vast number of books and heard an even greater number of stories. Soon after, at the suggestion of my oldest sister Anju, I joined the AJK Mass Communication Research Centre, Jamia Milia Islamia in Delhi. Here, I met my senior, Shohini Ghosh, the Sajjad Zaheer Professor at AJK MCRC, who, having read my answer sheet for the entrance exam, declared I should write. Not once, but several times in the following years. Thank you a million times, Sho!
I did begin to scribble, not infrequently, but it remained just that for years, resulting in many half-baked plots and several unfinished stories.
Ten years ago, in the midst of a hectic career in television, a strong desire overwhelmed me. Ideas teemed in my head, unwilling to die down, begging to be written out, the characters demanding they be fleshed out. Perhaps the fantastic concoction of plots and sub-plots imbibed over decades had triggered new thoughts, lighting up my imagination like a million fireworks. And so I began to write.
The Crown of Seven Stars was an idea that I had jotted down one bright morning several years ago and when Minu read the one-page note, she told me to develop it at once.
From first draft to published book, it has had many a helping hand, many generous supports, some that go as far back to the start of my writing journey. This brief note is a small attempt at expressing my deep gratitude to all.
My parents for their constant encouragement and belief, unfazed by my decision to swap a steady career for an uncertain one.
My sisters who not only read the first drafts but gave me candid feedback.
My brothers-in-law, Vikram and Deepak, for patiently reading through the first chapters and giving me a refreshingly different perspective.
Seema for a resounding endorsement and Ratee for her constant cheering.
Marisa, Minu’s friend, who read the initial chapters minutely, giving me the first ever editorial feedback. She was also the first to suggest the manuscript should be shared with publishers.
Vinnu who set the ball rolling in the right direction!
Roshini, my fabulous editor at Penguin. Her sharp insights pulled me back from the smaller details to the larger picture, allowing me to view the entire story arc from many different angles, pointing out the strengths that I had seemingly lost track of! I cannot thank her enough for her belief in the book and her painstaking help in turning it into a tautly written tale.
Smit for her conviction in the story and her kind introduction to Roshini.
Trisha for her patience and precise copy edits.
Rujuta for an evocative and attractive cover design.
Srisha, more a sister than a friend, for always taking time out from her crazy doctor’s schedule to read my stories.
Simren, Vandana, Kavita, Renuka, Payal, Vineeta, Sumati, Michael with whom I shared many short stories and who read each with unfailing enthusiasm.
All the writers who I have read so far, for inspiring me with their creativity, their imaginations, their words.
And finally, Swami Vivekananda. I met him at a very young age, introduced as I was to him by my father. His life affirming philosophy forms the foundation for this tale, a philosophy that assures us of that Freedom which is our birth right and inheritance.
THE BEGINNING
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EBURY PRESS
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Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
This collection published 2020
Copyright © Gitanjali Murari 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Rujuta Thakurdesai
This digital edition published in 2020.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05771-8
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The Crown of Seven Stars Page 24