She sighed.
‘Aye, I know what it is that you are thinking,’ said Shubrasi. ‘You miss Gandhar, do you not?’
‘I miss the old Gandhar, Shubrasi,’ said Gandhari. ‘It does not exist any more, does it?’
‘I hear that Prince Shakuni is plotting his revenge as we speak, princess.’
‘Indeed? Who did you hear that from?’
‘My grandson says that the whole city of Gandhar is abuzz with this rumour. The prince is gathering his forces, they say, and they first plan to take back the mines from the soldiers stationed there by Bhishma. Once we stop bleeding gold, my princess, everything else ought to take care of itself. Do you not agree?’
For a moment her spirit soared at the hope generated by Shubrasi’s words. But these were the words of a haggard old woman, whose grandson had yet to grow a line of moustache under his nose. What would he know of the goings-on in the castle? Even if Shakuni was plotting something, he would not be so foolish as to let word of it leak down to the travellers and traders. Whatever Shubrasi’s young grandson knew about this matter, Gandhari thought, the many spies of Hastinapur living in Gandhar today would know as well, and so would Bhishma.
Whenever she thought of Shakuni, she saw him not as the sprightly youth whom she had ridden horses with along miles and miles of the desert surrounding the kingdom, but as the shadowy figure she had seen slinking away to his chambers on that last day of the battle with Hastinapur, after they had received word that their army had been routed.
Defeated. Limping. Furious.
‘The prince did not like you coming here, he did not,’ said Shubrasi. ‘He has always said you turned your back on Gandhar when she needed you the most.’
‘Gandhar is finished, Shubrasi,’ said Gandhari, even though her throat caught when she said those words. ‘It does not help any of us to cling to old memories.’ She turned her face away from the window and looked at where she thought Shubrasi was sitting, across the table. ‘They are like dust from the mines. They linger for a moment, but the wind will blow them away.’
‘You speak in riddles, Your Highness. Ever since we arrived here your speech has become more and more – what is the word? Confusing? No, that is not it.’
Gandhari smiled. ‘You have tended to me as a babe, Shubrasi. Now you cannot bear to see me grow up.’
‘If this is growing up,’ said Shubrasi, with a mild chuckle, ‘I would that you forever remained a babe, princess.’
Gandhari leaned back in her chair. ‘How nice a fantasy that is, eh, Shubrasi? Think of it! Nothing to bother us, just you and I, telling each other stories, you singing to me songs of the mountain people, and Shakuni bounding in, with a wooden horse in one hand and a blunt sword in another.’
‘Aye, where did those years go?’
‘Truly. Where did they go? And how I wish they would come back.’ She felt a pinch deep in her eyes and two teary smudges blotted the satin band. She coughed back the grief, cleared her throat. ‘Either way, I did not call you here to speak of past moments.’
‘Aye, princess, you can speak to me of whatever you wish.’
‘I am with child, Shubrasi.’
Gandhari heard the old woman croak with delight. Her rough hands rubbed her cheeks. ‘What good tidings the autumnal full moon brings, princess!’ Her voice lowered. ‘You are certain, are you not?’
Gandhari nodded. ‘I have not bled for two full moons.’
‘Ah! That is indeed good news. Prince Shakuni will be glad to know you have made him an uncle.’
Lifting her hands to her cheeks to cover the maid’s hands, Gandhari said, ‘We must tread with caution, dear Shubrasi. Let it not be known to anyone at court yet that I am with child.’
‘I do not understand, my lady.’
‘This is an important child for Hastinapur.’ Gandhari felt impatience come over her. Why did no one else see the world for what it was, even though it was she with the blindfold? ‘Pritha and Madri have not yet fallen pregnant, so this child will be the foremost child of the Kuru house.’
‘And he shall have a claim to the throne.’ At last, the maid seemed to have understood.
‘If it is a boy, yes.’
‘I do think he shall be a boy, princess. The best, most valorous of them all!’
‘Bhishma will do all he can to prevent me from having this child,’ said Gandhari. ‘He cannot know of this until my belly begins to show.’
‘But, princess, if you tell your husband, he shall protect you from all – even Bhishma.’
Gandhari considered this, letting go of Shubrasi’s hands which dropped off her face. Her own hands came together in a clasp. Perhaps Shubrasi was right; if she could tell Dhritarashtra about her fears, he would see to it that Bhishma came nowhere near his child.
But Dhritarashtra himself relied on Bhishma for protection. He who had no means to ensure his own safekeeping could do nothing to shield her and her child, although he may have the best of intentions. Yes, he could have guards at the palace, he could surround her with midwives who would fuss after her, but they would all belong to Bhishma as well. They would all follow his commands as willingly as they would follow Dhritarashtra’s.
Was it not safer, then, to keep this between her and Shubrasi? Bhishma would not be foolish enough to move against the child after her stomach had swollen; the common folk would become suspicious if a woman lost her child after the fifth month had passed. As it was, the people of Hastinapur seemed to have a soft spot in their hearts for Dhritarashtra. That would only strengthen. In the absence of Pandu, their suspicions would come to rest on Bhishma.
Gandhari tightened her lips. ‘No,’ she said. ‘We shall not speak of this to anyone. Until the fifth month comes, Shubrasi, and until my garments stretch about my waist, I shall feel much safer keeping my child to myself.’
‘If that is your wish, princess.’
‘My mind shall rest much easier, though, if you could arrange for Brother Shakuni to drag Bhishma away from Hastinapur for a while.’
A small moment of silence, then: ‘I know not how the prince could do that.’
‘You spoke of Shakuni gathering a rebel force in Gandhar,’ said Gandhari. ‘Pandu has taken much of the Kuru army eastward. I think if perhaps in the next fifteen days, Shakuni could ready his band of rebels and mount an attack on the mines in a bid to wrest them back …’
‘That would entice Bhishma to ride to Gandhar.’
‘Just so.’
‘I shall have a word with the merchants that my son trades with,’ said Shubrasi. ‘I shall see if they can carry a message for Prince Shakuni.’
‘The messenger ought to be a trusted one.’
‘Of course, my lady.’
Gandhari removed the biggest ring from her finger and handed it over to the maid. ‘Carry this as my seal. Shakuni will recognize it.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
As the ring fell from her hand into Shubrasi’s, Gandhari felt a tired pain creep up her arms. She sighed wearily and wondered, for a moment, what a fine model she would make for the reigning queen of a Great Kingdom. But her hand was being forced. Ever since she had come face to face with Bhishma on that hot afternoon in Gandhar, he had made her discover darker depths to her soul. He had soaked her heart in poison, wetting it one velvet drop at a time. They called him just and wise and pure. Why did they not see his malice, his spite, his cruelty?
‘I shall take your leave now, princess.’
Gandhari sat still until she heard Shubrasi shut the door of the chamber behind her. Then she proceeded to remove her bangles, one by one. No matter if all of North Country was blind to this man’s wiles. No matter if they all turned on her in the future and asked her how she could stoop so low. No matter what Dhritarashtra would think. He would forgive her later, when their son was crowned king. He would understand later, when Bhishma bowed to their command.
That thought – of Bhishma bowing to her and calling her ‘Your Majesty’ – made her smile. Her
hand came to rest on her stomach and she let her fingers circle it, grazing the smooth silk fabric of her upper garment. ‘You will make me proud, will you not?’ she whispered. ‘You see to it that Gandhar regains its lost glory, and that Hastinapur will crumble to dust.’
She thought her stomach crooned back to her. But when she pressed her hand harder against her skin, all she heard was a brooding quiet.
CHAPTER FOUR
W
ith one hand, Gandhari combed the mane of the horse, and with the other she fed him a handful of oats. After the animal had licked her palm clean, she reached around and scratched him behind the ear. This soothed him a little. The restless snorting she had heard from him all morning gave way to more easy breaths. She held her mouth close to his face and whispered a few words of Sanskrit that she had heard stable boys in Gandhar say to their beasts.
All in all, Hastinapur’s horses were better behaved. She had been with this horse no more than a few minutes, and already he had become used to her touch. They were better bred too, going by the taut young muscles she could feel under the thick coat of glossy hair. She stepped away toward the saddle, sliding a hand along his neck, and when her side brushed against the stirrups, she raised one foot to test it.
It seemed sturdy enough.
They made saddles in Hastinapur out of softer leather than she had been used to in Gandhar. Warriors from the plains spent longer on their steeds than did people from the mountains; her own training as a young princess had focused on wrestling, slashing and knifing. Riding had come much later, as an afterthought, almost a full year after she had grown into maidenhood.
She slid her left foot into the stirrups and heaved herself over the horse.
The animal panicked and grunted in protest, but Gandhari secured a firm grip of the reins. She turned her right foot around and dug her heels into the flanks with just enough force to still him.
To her right, she heard another horse come up to them. Her riding companion took one of the reins from her and began to bark instructions to the horse. He broke into a walk, and Gandhari felt her body weave forward and backward.
‘We shall not gallop today, Uddalaka,’ she said. ‘Just a slow walk around the range, please.’
‘As you wish, Lady Gandhari.’
The soil in Hastinapur was softer, too, than the rocky terrain of Gandhar, so riding was more of a pleasure here. Ever since she had arrived, she had not let a week pass without paying the stables a visit and testing out the running power of any new breeds that may have arrived. The previous summer had been a pleasant one, although she had heard that much of the corn fields that lay on the inward plains had been lost to the sun. Bhishma had visited all the affected farmers and given them a bag of gold each. A canal would be built by next summer, he said, from the Great River toward the middle of the city.
Even in the harshest summers Hastinapur managed to keep her granaries full. Drought – that constant friend in Gandhar – was an unknown word here.
The morning breeze, even during the summer, had been cool, but now Gandhari felt a chill cling to her cheeks. Her hair – which she tied into a single plait on riding days – flew into the air. The stables and the riding tracks were situated to the north of the city, which meant that the wind that came running over the rivers hit them full in the face, and she thought she could hear the corn fields rustle in the distance.
‘How does your son, Uddalaka?’ she said. ‘Is he showing any interest in horses yet, or is he still immersed in his Sanskrit books?’
‘Still recites poetry in his sleep, my lady,’ said Uddalaka. ‘I tell him every morning, before I come here, that it is no job for a horse trainer’s son and that he is no priest. But he refuses to listen.’
‘Well, he is all of nine years old. Boys grow slowly into men, you should know that. Mark my words, by the time he turns fifteen, he shall be here, in your place!’
Uddalaka chuckled. ‘I pray that your words come true, Lady Gandhari.’
‘Indeed. We have enough priests in Hastinapur already. He should know that no maiden in the city will give him a second look if all he does is recite poems for the gods. Now, if you could persuade him to write some poems for a girl that he fancies …’
‘He is much too young, my lady, to make eyes at maidens.’
‘In that one respect, Uddalaka,’ said Gandhari, leaning toward him a little, ‘boys grow up faster than you think.’
The rhythmic clopping of the horseshoes on the muddy earth put her mind at ease. Some days she liked to gallop along the tracks on her own, relying on her ears and scent to keep her from breaking away and crashing into the fence. Also, the horses knew their way around the range, so she did not have to untie her blindfold.
‘No rains this year yet, Uddalaka.’
‘None, my lady. The farmers are beginning to get fidgety.’
‘Once the canal is built from the river, the farms will have all the water they need.’
‘They say diverting the river will make the Eastern Kingdoms unhappy, Lady Gandhari. I have heard rumours that Mathura has sent word to Lord Bhishma warning against such an act.’
Gandhari turned her head toward Uddalaka. ‘Who sits on the throne at Mathura?’
‘King Kamsa, my lady. Not a man to quarrel with, they say. He is said to have imprisoned his own father and sister so that he can have the kingdom all to himself.’
‘I am certain that the king of Mathura is not strong enough to send messages of warning to the regent of Hastinapur.’
Uddalaka said, ‘That is so, my lady, but Mathura has recently entered an alliance of marriage with Magadha, and King Jarasandha is much stronger. They say his horses are swifter than the wind and his footmen wear helmets of gold.’
‘A golden helmet for every soldier? Where does King Jarasandha get such riches from?’
‘I know not, Lady Gandhari, but I have heard that the eastern hills hold within their bosom a great number of diamond mines, and that Jarasandha holds a good few of them.’
Gandhari had, of course, heard of King Jarasandha before, but just from the lips of passing traders in Gandhar. No ambassador had ever come from Magadha to Gandhar in her time as queen. She did not know if Jarasandha had had any spies in Gandhar either; she had often thought that the vast expanse of woods, rock and water that separated the two kingdoms would serve as enough of a deterrent to keep Magadha from marching toward the west.
But then, she had thought the same about Hastinapur too.
‘And Lord Bhishma has called for forty-eight more horses from Kasi,’ Uddalaka was saying. ‘Rumour has it that he is planning to ride west to Gandhar.’
‘What did you say?’
‘There is an uprising among the gold miners in Gandhar, I have heard,’ said Uddalaka. ‘Courtiers say that Lord Bhishma will ride out on these new horses at the head of a cavalry unit, so that he can quell the revolt and return. And who knows how long the revolt will last, my lady.’
‘Yes, you are right.’ They had been travelling around a long curve to the left, and now with the wind on her back Gandhari could tell that they were returning to the stables. The tugging ache in her thighs surprised her; she had ridden for far longer than this at much greater speeds without pain in her body. Perhaps it had something to do with the child in her womb, she thought.
‘Until the revolt dies, we will have no gold as well,’ said Uddalaka. ‘That means the canal may not get built until next summer.’
‘Ah, do not worry, Uddalaka. Lord Bhishma will not let the farmers of Hastinapur starve.’
‘My lady, I agree with you. Our forefathers have chosen the correct place to settle, right between the two great rivers that flow throughout the year.’
‘Yes, Hastinapur’s future is secure until the great rivers die.’ Her voice had turned cold and flat, as though she were pronouncing a curse. In her mind she saw images of broken earth, dying branches of trees, and circling vultures. It brought a smile to her lips.
‘There was a
river in the west, was there not, my lady, that used to be great once but now no longer flows?’
Gandhari nodded. ‘They call it Saraswati. They say it now flows under the ground. But none of us have been able to find it.’
‘We shall pray, then, that such a fate shall not befall our Ganga.’
‘It probably will not,’ she said, not without a tinge of bitterness. ‘Ganga flows from the mountains into the eastern sea. It will flow forever, or at least far longer than the Great Kingdoms of North Country will exist.’
They rode into shade, and Gandhari sensed they had arrived back at the stables. She heard the sounds of horses chewing grains and hay. The stench of fresh dung permeated the air, but somewhere through all that foul smell, a trace of fresh jasmines was discernible.
Her mood had lifted considerably from the morning, she found, not least because she had learned that Shakuni had begun to do his bit in Gandhar. If Bhishma could be lured away from Hastinapur for a certain length of time, it would give her cause to sleep well, without fear. With Pandu also away, it would perhaps give Dhritarashtra his first true taste of being High King. And who knows? He might come to like it.
Uddalaka helped her off the horse, and after feeding the animal one more handful of oats, Gandhari dusted off her riding clothes and made her way to the gate, swinging her cane in front of her. She reached the entrance and clapped for her waiting women to bring her shawl and scarf. Now the whiff of jasmines was stronger. Then, from her left, she heard the high-pitched voice of Pritha.
‘Sister!’ she said, and Gandhari heard her steps approach. The girl took her hands in hers. ‘I did not know you could ride!’
‘They teach queens all sorts of things, my dear,’ said Gandhari, smiling. ‘Whether you have any need for them or not.’
‘Oh, I do think it is nice to be able to ride. I have been pestering Lord Pandu to teach me, but he keeps saying a princess does not need it.’
‘I am afraid he is right, dear.’
‘Oh, but I do love horses, and they look so graceful at full tilt. Just before he left on his campaign, he told the stable boys to give me lessons in riding, so I came here today for my first one.’
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 19