‘Allow me to inform you how your brother continues to be a thorn in my side, although I am certain that you know.’
‘My brother, sire? Many moons have passed since I received word from Shakuni. How does he? Is he ruling Gandhar well?’
‘He is ruling Gandhar a bit too well for my liking, my lady,’ said Bhishma, and his voice seemed to regain its equanimity. ‘He has been busy this last month rousing people against the kingdom of Hastinapur. Word is that he has been raising an army on the sly.’
Gandhari clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘My lord, I pray for your forgiveness on my brother’s behalf. I know not where he has mustered the courage to stand up to your strength.’
‘Do not pretend with me, Lady Gandhari. I have not come here for your empty words of contrition. I have come to command you – as the regent of Hastinapur – to tell your brother to call back the rebel force which has taken over the gold mines.’
‘No regent of Hastinapur,’ said Gandhari, ‘has the prowess to command the queen, Lord Bhishma.’
‘Then it is as your uncle that I must direct you.’
‘If that is so, Uncle Bhishma, I shall send a missive to Shakuni. But remember that I am no longer the queen of Gandhar. He is the High King, and he shall be within his rights to ignore all my pleas.’
‘Not if you order him as his sister, my lady. Not if you order him as the former queen of Gandhar, as the daughter-in-law of the house of Kuru.’
Gandhari clapped her hands, and to the waiting women who entered, she said, ‘Bring for Lord Bhishma a plate of fruits.’ After the maid left, she turned to Bhishma and said, ‘I sense that you still stand, Lord Bhishma. I plead with you to sit down and listen to my words with a calm mind. Have you not often said that anger is the enemy of the soul?’
‘I have not come here to be taught correct behaviour by a queen who plots against the kingdom she rules.’
Gandhari kept her voice level. ‘Then let me not do so. I shall tell you, then, why sending a message to Shakuni will reflect poorly on Hastinapur, and how it will only inflame his desire to take back the mines.’
She heard Bhishma’s breath quicken, but he did not say anything. The sound of the waiting woman’s steps came to her ears, but Bhishma stopped her at the door. ‘We do not need any fruits,’ he said. ‘Take them back.’
‘Taking my plea to my brother will only embolden him, my lord,’ said Gandhari, after they were alone again. ‘He will think you have no other means but to resort to a woman’s entreaty. He will have it read on Gandhar’s streets to further prove to his men that you could be vanquished. Think, too, of the effect that will have on the morale of your soldiers.’
She waited for a reply. The regent’s breathing had stilled somewhat. ‘You do not reply,’ she said, ‘which means that perhaps you agree with me. If you think a letter from me will help the cause of Hastinapur, my lord, I shall do it with no hesitation whatsoever. Indeed, I am the queen of the land. I shall protect it with my very life, if it came to it. I may have once been the queen of Gandhar, but my loyalties now lie with the house of Kuru.’
‘I do not believe you.’
‘That is my misfortune, to be certain,’ she said. ‘But the question now is not about your belief in me, but what Hastinapur must do to crush the revolt that threatens to arise in Gandhar. If you permit me, I think your presence there would do much to restore peace to the land.’
Bhishma ornaments clinked together violently and he said, ‘I do not need your permission, my lady, to ride out and crush this rebellion. I had come in the hope I would not be required to raise a weapon on your brother.’
Gandhari swallowed, and a salty lump appeared in her throat. Yes, she thought, Bhishma the terrible, Bhishma the wise, Bhishma the hater of battle and violence, who preferred to invade cities with cunning. Bhishma the deceitful. Bhishma the cheat.
‘Sometimes, my lord, war is the quickest way to peace.’
‘I shall take that as your final answer, then.’
‘It is. I think the good of Hastinapur lies in Shakuni facing the might of Bhishma’s arrows, not the plaintive pleas of Gandhari. Do not fret about the matters of Hastinapur, for Lord Dhritarashtra and I shall take care of them. In any case, Pandu has sent word back that he is to return in a fortnight.’
After a moment of charged, heavy silence, Bhishma said, ‘Very well. I shall ride out with my horsemen. But, Lady Gandhari, I wish you to know one thing that you keep forgetting.’
‘Yes, my lord?’
‘Dhritarashtra will never become the High King of Hastinapur. I want to reassure you of that.’
Gandhari inclined her head. Although she felt like spitting out the words, she reined them in and let them fall slowly out of her mouth, one after the other. ‘Whatever is best for the future of Hastinapur, my lord.’
‘So be it.’ Bhishma turned around and stalked out of the room.
To the retreating sound of his steps, Gandhari said, ‘May you return victorious from Gandhar, Lord Bhishma.’
CHAPTER SIX
G
andhari felt Pritha’s clay-smeared fingers with her own and nodded in approval. In the last fortnight that Pritha had been coming to Gandhari’s chambers to learn clay moulding, the girl’s hands had become firmer, surer. Gone was the uncertain, fumbling touch Gandhari had felt with her fingers that morning at the stables. Gandhari had often believed that a sure hand was a sign of a sure mind. If a man groped and slipped with his fingers, he did so with his mind as well.
The shapes Pritha had been building were still far from life-like, she knew, but that would come with practice. ‘I think you have done well,’ she said.
‘I must thank you for all you have done for me, sister,’ said Pritha. The girl spoke less like a child now and more like a maiden. Fourteen days of working on one’s own mind, with one’s own hands, had such power.
‘It is you who have done it all, Pritha,’ said Gandhari. ‘Today may be the last I shall see of you for a while, for Pandu is arriving tomorrow, is he not?’
‘Yes, sister. But I shall continue to come to your chambers. I have grown to like our time together – even when we do not mould clay.’
‘I like to speak with you too, dear. Now, I trust you remember what I have taught you these last fourteen days.’
‘Yes, sister.’
‘You are not to think of Madri as a friend of yours. No two wives of one man can ever be true friends. They may be bent by circumstance to treat each other civilly, but there can never be warmth between them.’
‘I understand.’
‘That may be true for wives of half-brothers too, mind,’ said Gandhari, smiling. ‘But Lord Dhritarashtra and I are not ambitious, you know that.’
‘Yes, sister. Of course.’
‘Even when Pandu returns on the morrow, Dhritarashtra will seat him on the throne with much pleasure, I dare say. And I, of course, shall have no qualms about calling you “Your Highness”. ’
Pritha turned her hands in Gandhari’s and squeezed her palms. ‘How can you say such a thing, sister. You can call me Pritha for as long as we both live. And I shall call you “sister”.’
‘As long as you wish, dear.’
Word had come from Gandhar that the city had raised defence structures around the walls, and that Shakuni’s band of rebels were staving off Hastinapur’s advances for now. Bhishma had reached the outpost a week before, and he was now waiting for the city to starve itself of supplies. Soon after Pandu returned from his campaign, the message had said, he should send three more cavalry units, five archer units and two units of catapults to Gandhar as soon as he could.
This meant that Gandhari had more time than she had thought she would. Her hand inadvertently went to her bulging stomach. Her garments had just begun to tighten around the arms and thighs, and her waistline had swollen just a little bit. She reminded herself this could be because of all the things Shubrasi was feeding her.
‘You have grown healthier in the last
month, sister,’ Pritha was saying. ‘Your cheeks have become fuller. You smile with the light of the sun.’
‘You should not get me used to such flattery, Pritha,’ said Gandhari, in mock admonishment. ‘Once you become queen I shall grow thirsty for it, and you will be much too busy to look at me.’
‘I know not why you say this, sister. I shall be forever in your debt for all that you do for me.’
‘You say that now, but once one sits on the throne, one finds there is no time at all for other people, for the little things in life.’ At once she made her face serious, and turned with purpose toward Pritha. ‘But these are all just words, my dear. Pandu returns to Hastinapur tomorrow. It is your duty to ensure that he remains in your arms for as long as you can keep him.’
‘But sister, what if he is wanted for battle in Gandhar?’
‘Lord Bhishma has not called for him. But if he chooses to go, it is your charms that will keep him here. I shall do my bit too, of course. It is high time that Hastinapur gets an heir, and he must be your child.’
Pritha let out a long sigh. ‘I know not why the gods have not blessed us with children yet, sister. Lord Pandu has come to my bed every night in that first month, and he has gone to Madri’s too, I know, before he marched out on his campaign.’
Gandhari did not speak for a moment. She inclined her head and frowned. ‘You will forgive me for saying this, Pritha.’ She raised the girl’s hand to her lips and planted a kiss on it. ‘But I have heard certain rumours.’
‘Rumours of what, sister?’
‘I have heard it said that Pandu, perhaps, is not capable of siring a child. When a king has two queens, and when neither of them gets with child after two full moons, tongues begin to wag.’
‘Oh,’ said Pritha. ‘Oh! That thought had never occurred to me.’
‘As it should not!’ said Gandhari. ‘Oh, I feel so terrible about putting that notion into your head. You must pretend I have not said it, my dear. You must think that Pandu is as fertile as any other man in Hastinapur.’
‘But what if he is not, sister?’
‘Well,’ said Gandhari, ‘all is not lost if he is sterile. The Kuru line has been kept alive before by queens bearing the children of other men. But we must first make sure that Pandu cannot bear children. Only if we are certain of it can we think of alternatives.’
‘How do you suggest we do that?’
Gandhari again did not speak for a few moments. At length, she said, ‘Men, my dear, are built differently from women. We can focus our minds on different things at once, be it moulding a figure of clay, painting, governing the state, riding a horse, managing the kitchen, and making love to our husbands. But men – they have minds that can dwell upon but a single matter at a time. Present them with distractions and they become puzzled, like a lost pig in a fair.’
Pritha laughed at that, and Gandhari noticed that the sound of the girl’s giggling had changed. She had had a clumsy, loud laugh, but now the sound was mellower, more musical, more deliberate to the attentive ear. Pandu would like how Pritha had transformed in his absence.
‘So if you wish to become a mother, you must free your husband’s mind of all other distractions. Perhaps when he was just crowned king, he had to think of many things: the throne, the people of Hastinapur, the upcoming campaign. Now, too, if you are not careful, his mind could wander – indeed, a High King’s mind is forever wandering.’
Pritha said, ‘How does one keep a king’s mind from wandering, sister?’
Gandhari got to her feet, tucked her hands behind her back, and walked to the window. Then she turned and walked back to where Pritha was sitting.
‘I have been thinking about this a lot, my dear, for Hastinapur’s good is what we all want. I have raised this with King Dhritarashtra as well, and he is in agreement.’ Gandhari licked her lips, and extended a hand toward Pritha, who took it and clasped it with hers. ‘We think some time away from Hastinapur will benefit King Pandu and his queens.’
‘Away from Hastinapur, sister? After all this time?’
‘You misunderstand me,’ said Gandhari. ‘This time, you, Madri and Pandu will go away on your own to the woods, accompanied by a retinue of servants and a few soldiers. Let us free you from the bustling court of Hastinapur for a while. Let us allow you to spend time with one another, quietly and peacefully, away from the court and campaigns, in the company of trees and animals.’
‘That … that does sound nice,’ said Pritha. ‘Perhaps … perhaps we ought to send word to Lord Bhishma and ask for his permission.’
Gandhari smiled. ‘If you ask Lord Bhishma for permission, Pritha, let me assure you that he shall call Pandu to Gandhar.’
‘Oh!’
‘And Lord Bhishma is immersed in fighting. He shall not have time to peruse such small matters of the court. After all, if you and Pandu wish for this, the regent of Hastinapur has no power to overrule his king’s wishes.’
‘I … I see.’ Hesitation returned to Pritha’s fingers. They began to fumble again. ‘But Lord Bhishma is not just the champion of the throne. He is our uncle. He wishes us well, and he has served Hastinapur for so many years.’
Gandhari pursed her lips and decided to change tack. ‘No doubt,’ she said. ‘If Lord Bhishma were here, of course we would do nothing without his blessings. But unfortunately, he is not here today, and he is too far away to give us advice. In such instances, do you not think that Pandu has the liberty as king to make his own decisions?’
‘I … I think he does,’ said Pritha, but her fingers kept slipping.
‘He does,’ said Gandhari forcefully. ‘The High Kings of Hastinapur ought to learn how to rule their kingdoms by themselves. After all, the Kuru house did exist before Bhishma, and it will continue to do so after his death.’
‘You … you are right, sister. Of course.’
‘Then we shall make the announcement in open court the morning after tomorrow, after consulting with Pandu.’
‘Yes, that seems right,’ said Pritha. ‘But sister, can I ask you a question?’
Gandhari stiffened. ‘Yes, dear?’
‘You have been wedded to Brother Dhritarashtra for as long as we have been wedded to His Majesty. And yet you have not borne him an heir.’
Gandhari smiled and patted Pritha on the cheek. ‘Foolish child. No matter how many sons I sire, it is Pandu’s sons who will have a claim to the throne. Only sons of a king can be kings, not the sons of the king’s brothers, no matter how able.’
‘I know that,’ said Pritha, and Gandhari felt as though a tiny pin had been pierced through her heart. This deception vexed her, but it was necessary. Pritha would surely hate her on the day she mounted the defence of her son’s virtues to the court of Hastinapur, with Bhishma presiding as judge. But hatred – hatred was the foundation stone of all great kingdoms. Did Bhishma not kindle hatred in her when he took Gandhar? Was he not sowing hatred in Shakuni’s heart this very moment in his bid to take back the mines? Would it be wrong if some of that hatred seeped its way into Pritha’s blood?
‘But you must want a child of your own, sister,’ said Pritha. ‘Every woman does. Could it be that Lord Dhritarashtra is also … like Pandu—’
Gandhari shook her head. ‘No. King Dhritarashtra is as virile as a lion. Perhaps it is I who is barren.’
Pritha pressed Gandhari’s hand to her cheeks and kissed it. ‘I beg your forgiveness, sister,’ she said. ‘I must learn to think before I speak.’
‘Your heart is in the right place, Pritha,’ said Gandhari, fondling the girl’s hair. ‘You carry no wicked thoughts for anyone, and that is the mark of a person at peace with oneself.’ She raised her head a little and swallowed, thinking of her own burning heart. ‘I wish that one day I too gain the tranquillity that is today yours.’
They all stood up as one when Pandu entered the great hall, at the head of his retinue of commanders. Gandhari leaned to one side so that she could hear the maid Gaurika better amid all the commotion. T
rumpets blared near the entrance. A clutch of flute players had been seated by Dhritarashtra near the base of the platform on which the thrones had been mounted, and from them emanated a unified tune that Gandhari had never heard before. The tabla and the mridangam beat out notes that accompanied the rhythmic jingling of dancers’ anklets. The air seemed to be suffused with the smell of delight, and every two seconds or so the crowd burst into a rapturous cry of welcome for their returning king.
‘His Majesty wears a white cloth tied around his shoulder,’ said the maid. ‘There is a line of vermillion on his forehead and his moustache has been trimmed at the edges. His hair appears longer than it was when he left. He is smiling at the crowd, and now he is making his way up to the platform. He looks quite majestic, if a bit weak from all the travelling.’
That last line was Gaurika’s own, Gandhari knew. She had endeavoured to train the girl in the proper manner of a guide, who would simply describe things as they appeared, without adding her own opinions to the scene. But this was not the time for petty cribbing. Even to her own eyes, had they been open, Pandu would have looked majestic. Of that Gandhari had no doubt. A mere maid would find the High King as grand as Indra himself.
‘Does he carry wounds on his body?’ she asked.
‘A few, Your Highness,’ said Gaurika. ‘But they have all faded. Only one red gash appears on his forearm, but even that seems to be on its way to healing. The king has come to the base of the platform now, Your Majesty, so perhaps you should stand up to receive his obeisance.’
Gandhari got to her feet, even as Dhritarashtra, on the big throne next to hers, did the same. Perhaps at a signal from Dhritarashtra, the sounds receded, then died down to a hush. A quiet, restless wave washed over the people thronging the hall. No one spoke or even whispered to one another, but there was still a murmur afloat in the air, much like the gurgle of the Ganga on sunless mornings.
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 21