by Krishna Saki
“Deal?”, I was anxious. My heart was pounding out of fear. She struck a ghastly look at me. “I’m not a person to betray. I can sign a contract if you can’t trust.”, I thought I coaxed her.
“That was where they entered. They tore my life.”, she said dreamily, making me knot my eyebrows. She was possibly talking about the cavern. “It was a festive day at Poulomi Nivasa Puri. My son was born, the first heir to the throne after me! That day, I was the most happiest man.”
Man? But, she’s a girl….. Why does she call herself a man? She had honey coloured iris and a thick black hair. She reminded me of my daughter.
“That day, my smile wouldn’t fade.”, she continued. “I wanted the plebeians to know an heir to the Throne was born. Like his father, will grow up to be a just King. He shall protect his people, ensure their security and promote peace and prosperity in the land. Banners of his birth were made and posted in all crevices of the land. I had publicised the heir’s birth heavily, even ants in my land must have known. Everyone were happy. Bards sang, priests blessed and my people frolicked. The land’s allies were invited. We were to host feasts for five consecutive days.
We hosted the Royalty of Tribhuvan, our thickest ally, first. They were offered a majestic welcome. A shower of flowers greeted them. I washed their feet and ensured they rested well after the strenuous travel, before they could relished night’s feast….. But, that night, it all went wrong, shattering my dreams and expectations.
‘Let’s March together dear friend’, said the King of Tribhuvan, being the amicable person he always was, when I went to his chamber to invite him for the night’s feast. I accepted the proposition. As we walked through the gallery that connected his chamber to the banquet hall, we discussed matters of politics and security. It all started when he initiated that conversation.
‘Dear friend, you have all your forts open today and I noticed you have reduced the security in your land. Don’t you think this could prove an advantage to the foes?’
‘I don’t think so’, I quipped. ‘They know the land’s allies are on their way. None can have such mettle. Moreover, I have more allies than foes. I’m not expecting any surprises’, I smiled assuring the King. ‘Even if such circumstances arise, the military chief, Subaahu, has equipped my soldiers well. They are remarkably skilled in the art of warfare. We are safe, dear friend.’ I was not displaying over confidence, when I said that, but, a King had to speak thus, when it concerned matters of security. A King made more foes than friends. His land had more spies of his allies than of his foes. Allies were at an advantage to establish spy networks, even as it looked an amicable gesture, it was, in actual, a pry for an opportunity.
‘But, I see your soldiers consuming alcohol.’, he warned.
‘Ah! It’s their chance for a banter. I understand your concern, dear friend! Trust me, they will handle…...’
‘Behold! Your Highness! The Motherland has been attacked!’, screamed a guard sprinting towards me.
‘Who’s invasion is it?’, I demanded. Before he could utter a word, the King of Tribhuvan had plunged his sword through him. I was appalled Before I recouped, the King wielded his sword to slice me into two, but, my strong reflexes made me dodge. I unsheathed my sword immediately.
‘The Queens, they must be in the hall. Lead them to the inner chamber. Ensure the children and the heir is safe’, I commanded a maid, who had screamed her life out of her. She scurried away, obeying me.
It was a trying combat. The walls of the gallery echoed of metal clashing each other. Both of us were good wielders of the sword. Our feet were more skilled than that of a dancer’s. We were both brawny. It was difficult for either of us to quash the other. We had only inflicted innocuous cuts on each other. The blades struck each other with such force that sparks emitted out of them. We gritted our teeth, knitted our brows, scowled and cussed as we fought. We stopped momentarily, panting heavily. We were bathed in sweat and blood from cuts. Then he charged at me bellowing a war cry. His eyes were wide, ruddy and ghastly. Again, my arm came to my defence. The sword it held, thwarted his attempt to cut me apart, but, the thrust of his sword was so hard, it broke my sword and cut into my left shoulder deeply. It bled profusely. I had to nurse it. But, I couldn’t, I would lose time and the combat. That was no ordinary cut, it could infect me. The royal surgeons could extract muscles out of the shoulder to inhibit the infection. I might have to get my left arm amputated if the infection would spread.
He tried to jab his sword, I dodged again. It missed by inches. It didn’t mean I lost the combat if I lost my sword. I used objects around, platters, salvers, earthenware, cushioned chair….. they didn’t seem to help. His sword slashed them all. He had cornered me. But, I wouldn’t budge. I held the sword he had tried to force against my neck with my right hand. He clenched his teeth, his arm exerted all the force it could muster. My hand didn’t let it inch a bit. Then it occurred to him…. My wound…. Fresh…. Vulnerable. He plunged his left nail through it, making me wince in pain. I loosened my grip on his sword. He dug deeper into my wound. I screamed. It made him guffaw.
“I thought I’d kill you now, by thrusting my sword. But, I think, I know a better way”, he said. Then he hit my head hard from the hilt of his sword. I was numb, slowly, I experienced a blackout. I felt myself slip down.
My face felt wet. I blinked open my eyes when a jar of ice cold water hit my face. I was gasping for breath. My wrists felt the rope that tethered them. I was in the chamber of the Queen.
“All well, dear friend?”, mocked the King of Tribhuvan. “A surprise awaits you!” He guffawed making way.
The chamber was skirted by the army of Tribhuvan. A cavern stuck open on a wall facing me. They had caved their way in. I wondered how they knew the wall was designed for exigent escapes? Blood strewn on the walls and floor told tales of a ghastly war. The Royal maids lied, lifeless, on the floor, in a pool of blood. They had fought a brave war, I could tell by the wounds and gashes inflicted on them. A handful of soldiers of the army of Tribhuvan had succumbed to fatal wounds and eventually died. The chamber, that was supposed to witness the love of a mother, the heir’s play and his pranks, was witness instead, to bloodshed. The safest place for an infant, a mother’s abode, had morphed into a battlefield. Yet, the Queen and the heir, I guess, regrettably, could not slip away into a safe haven.
Two of the soldiers pointed swords at the Queen, tethered in a corner, by her mirror. She was perspiring, perhaps, she had wielding the sword to protect the heir. The heir wailed in the arms of one of the soldiers, who must’ve had grabbed him from her arms. I was guilty, but, I couldn’t express shame, not in the presence of my foes. Then, I saw him approach us, gallantly, with a smirk revelling on his face, the Army Chief of Poulomi Nivasa Puri, Subaahu.
‘You Wretch!’, I growled between clenched teeth.
‘Forgive me, Your Majesty! I had this all planned. I had planned to be the next King…. But, the birth of the heir marred my dreams. I thought I’d kill him…. I’d bribed maids to poison him, before he was even born. But, they tricked me. I knew, the King you called your thickest ally, was your foe in disguise. He was prying for the Kingdom’s wealth. I bargained, he helps me become King, three fourth of the land’s tax will be gifted to him, every month. I needed his army, he need my help, or he would never know the east wall of this chamber was a planned escape route for exigencies. Check Mate!’, he expounded his ploy. He unsheathed his sword and held it’s trenchant edge against my neck. His eyes glossed a mix of viciousness and merriment. He revelled at the thought of decapitating me.
As I waited for the end, I noticed, his vicious eyes that were desperate to see my head roll off my torso, a second ago, were agape with pain. I could hear the familiar sound of sword tearing muscle. Subaahu’s sword slipped, without completing its mission. Before he could fall, he had to kneel down before me. It made me smirk.
‘Fool!’, said the King of Tribhuvan, glancing at Subaahu with contempt, from the corn
er of his eyes. ‘Kill the heir!’, he commanded the soldier. The Queen wrestled, I screamed and cussed my foe, but to our dismay, the soldier ran the sword through the body of the heir, strewing his blood over his crib. There was a minute’s silence as we witnessed the soldier drop the infant down. The Queen howled, I remained mum, with my mouth agape, still trying to digest the atrocity.
‘Kill the Queen!’, I could hear him command faintly. Tears drained down my eyes, as I saw another soldier plunging his sword through the Queen’s bosom. She leaned on the mirror, then, slid down on the floor, pallid. I was vexed and muddled. I felt like I could turn into a lunatic. My world had crumbled in a few hours. I wanted to howl and mourn, but I couldn’t find my voice. That minute, I didn’t want to avenge their death, I just wanted them back. For a minute, I wished I was not a King. My family would have been safe.
The soldiers were ordered to release me, I think. I fell down on all my fours. I bellowed in agony at my loss. Slowly, it occurred to me, it wasn’t my loss, but the loss of my Motherland. I had to avenge the loss of my Motherland, I had to avenge their murder. I hunted for a sword amidst the jeers the soldiers threw at me.
‘How meek!’, said one. ‘He’s crawling around like an animal!’, laughed another. ‘Must be thinking of his son!’, mocked yet another. I laid my hand on a sword. Invigorated, I sprung up, roaring like a lion. A few of their soldiers shuddered, but, the others charged at me. They were too many, yet, I fought until end asphyxiated me. I was in combat with five soldiers. When I attacked one, I had to defend myself from four. My feet spun, my waist helped me dodge, but my left arm wasn’t of much help. I couldn’t defend myself from attacks from the left. One of the soldiers, charging from the left plunged his sword through my chest. I inhaled deeply through my mouth, wheezing. I knew I would succumb to the rent.
I dropped on the floor, trying hard to breathe.There was no pain. As I lay on the ground exhaling my last breath, a seer, in clothes that hung loose on his body appeared before me.
‘You will not muster enough mettle to avenge. You will scheme for years and you will fail every time. You will not live in peace.’, he said, baffling me. He disappeared immediately and I exhaled my last breath as the King of Poulomi Nivasa Puri. But, I was determined, I would avenge.
For an year, I haunted the Queen’s chamber. They tried to renovate it, persistently, but, I did not let them. I would tear down the construction every time they worked. Finally, they decided to close the entrance of the cavern. They plumbed a strong boulder against it and sealed the door of the chamber, deeming it unsafe. But, that couldn’t confine me. Only a crevice in the door was enough to leave the chamber and pursue the Royals of Tribhuvan all day.
One night, after seven long months, I was pulled into an enclosure by a mysterious suction. There were bones and muscles around me. I heard the wailing of child. I cried like the heir had wailed sometime ago. I was born to the King and Queen of Tribhuvan. How fortunate must I have been! I would have a plethora of opportunities to avenge. I would not be a suspect. But, they said, I was premature, I knew I was ripe enough to avenge. Royal nurses and doctors surrounded me for a week, examining me for all the anomalies they knew of. They couldn’t find one. Finally, they declared I was healthy, to the joy of my parents.
I grew into a toddler preferring to stay indoors. I would sprint around, my mother would tail behind me until we would stop before the Queen’s chamber. I would play at the threshold of the sealed chamber for hours until mother would berate me for trespassing her rules. As a child, I found knives attractive. I would steel them from the kitchen when mother was asleep and furtively walk to her chamber to stab her. But, every time, I stopped with the knife in my hand, raised in the air, precariously. Mother would wake up, alarmed, slowly secure the knife from me and punish the maids in the kitchen for being negligent.
When I was around ten, I found that muddy water could be slippery. I would engage in playing with clay and water for hours. Once I perfected making it, I poured it over the staircase of the palace when it was time for mother to stroll in the garden. But, the ploy failed hopelessly. A maid accidentally stepped on it, consequently, she slipped and rolled down the stairway. The Royal doctors declared her dead. Another day, I witnessed my father rehearsing a sword duel session with the minister. I pestered him to teach me. In every practice session, I tried to injure him lethally, but I was always unsuccessful.
On my twelfth birthday, I had to address the plebeians. It was an opportunity to sought for. The ploy was to instigate them against their King and Queen and thus, unleash their wrath. But, when I faced the people, I felt a surge of fear through me. I was being hailed by them, but, I had a vision of the people of Poulomi Nivasa Puri, condemning me. I backed off from the event. I never rescheduled to meet my people. I had orphaned them. It was my negligence that bereaved them of their heir.
It is my fifteenth birthday today. I have the perfect instruments to accomplish my purpose. But, I had the perfect instruments then as well, for fifteen years. Is there anything more trenchant than a royal knife or sword? The maid did slip that day over the clay and she died too, why did my ploy not hurt the intended? Can there be anything more deleterious than an inflamed mob? I have tried, schemed, executed and failed. Either I aborted the ploy or the people dead were not my targets. I have marred countless innocent lives, the maids, the soldiers, the servants and now students! I’ve been killing my own people or making them my pawns. Every time I missed, I felt a wave of relief. Every time I failed, I heard myself contemplate…. They annihilated my people then. Must I annihilate my people now? They murdered my family then. Must I murder my family now? They bereaved my Motherland of her heir. Must I bereave my Motherland of her heir now? That was my Motherland then. This is my Motherland now.
That day, fifteen years ago, when I was born to the King and Queen of Tribhuvan as their daughter, as the princess of Tribhuvan, as the heir of Tribhuvan, I had signed in for peace, and I had no intention to do so.’
I had settled on the floor, looking at her in awe. She had culminated her story. As I still gazed, she faded, merging into the shade of the wall. I looked around for her, she was not to be seen. The place was dusty and bedecked with cobwebs. The walls had lost their colours of Royalty.
A minute ago, this place looked better. By the way, what am I doing here? I thought. I had a mission at hand. I had to avenge my daughter’s murder. I stood up, dusted my trousers, picked my bag pack and inched towards the table where she had placed the instruments coated with poison. It was covered with layers of dust. It was heavy. I dusted the lid and dropped it in my bag. Shouldering my bag, I set myself towards the door of the chamber that must have been forced open aeons ago.
Possessed
It must be a mirror, I thought as I rubbed a dusty surface, that reflected a bearded man with eyes, inset, and a pointed nose. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. It had made me confident, determined and emboldened in the past. When I’d find myself in turmoil, I wouldn’t look for people to share my mess with, I would go to the mirror. Who could solve a problem better than the person suffering it? Who could solve it better than it’s creator himself? I had created my own troubles. Had I not divorced my wife for her infidelity, I could have saved my daughter. She had told me she had erred and beseeched me to forgive and forget. But, I’d never learnt to forgive. Although, it was different with my daughter. I found her mistakes cute. I thought she would tailor them to impress me. They say her death was her mistake. But, I don’t believe that. I know her death was not her mistake, it was ours. The truth hit me hard. I was beginning to sulk over my actions. But, then, I thought……
It could have been my mistake partly, still, I believe, her mother has to shoulder a better share of the blame. Had she been loyal to our marriage, Shriya would have been with me. I wouldn’t have been here. Why am I still here? I have to get out of this place first.
I peered at the mirror, as if expecting it to tell me my way out. I had rubbed it clean
. It sounded reasonable, after the day’s eerie and mysterious events, to expect it to show me my way out. I was looking for an exit when it caught my attention. At first, I didn’t reckon it was a mirror. I thought there was fog and someone was approaching me. I’d waved to the man, I thought he’d waved back. I sprinted, happy, I’d got company, this time, a chirpy someone. Only when I was inches away, I comprehended it was a mirror. It had used up an entire wall in the gallery, dusty, yet, not gory like the one in the Queen’s chamber. They must’ve plumbed it to make an illusion, so the gallery appeared spacious. But, why would that be necessary in a palace?
‘Sniff!’, I heard someone. A woman’s face gradually manifested in the mirror next to my reflection. Her eyes were ruddy and pathetic. Subtle wrinkles underlined her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled. I stared at her reflection, not attempting to talk this time.
“Last year, when I passed by the mirror, I was draped in a white saree, bedecked with elegant jewellery. Confidence gleamed in my eyes.”, she said in a hypnotic voice. She had brown iris, set in doe shaped eyes. I looked through them. The mirror was suddenly clean. Why am I not in the mirror, I thought. But, I saw her, the ruddy eyed, scrawny lady, sporting a white blouse and a turquoise skirt with intricate embroidery in white. The gallery was well lit, painted in cream and ornate with paintings.
She stood facing the mirror, breathing hard, looking at herself, ruefully. “I was a bride, eager to shoulder my responsibilities of a homemaker. A seer, besmeared with ash, in loose robes, stood next to me, out of the blue. He told me, I wouldn’t live the life I foresaw. I ignored his words.”, continued the inanimate hypnotising voice of the woman. “I was married for an year to the man, I thought would love me. Everyday I would cook for him, wait at the dining table, and fall asleep waiting for him. I would dream of him coming home, tired, but awaiting to taste the assorted dishes I would have cooked for him and commend my culinary skills. Not once did I live that dream. Yet, I was never disappointed. I thrived in the confidence, that one day I could be the ideal wife I had heard of.