‘That is so. The Haihayas killed his father, and his mother struck herself twenty-one times in grief. So Parashurama took an oath to kill all Kshatriyas in the world twenty-one times.’
Amba asked, ‘But each time he killed the clan, how did they replenish themselves again?’
‘The blood of the Kshatriyas runs down the line of the women, my lady. If the sage wanted to wipe out all Kshatriyas from the planet, he should have killed the women.’
Amba’s dislike for this sage grew sharper. ‘But I suppose some vow or the other stopped him from doing so?’
‘Yes, my lady. Raising a hand on a woman is a grave sin.’
She wanted to ask if sending her away on horseback to fend for herself was not, and even as she considered the question, anger welled up inside her. But what was the use? Jarutha was just a nobleman, no more than a slave that could fight.
The hermitage was a clutch of five huts surrounding a well and two banyan trees. As they made their way to the clearing in the middle, Amba noticed there were no mythical animals about. She saw a group of squirrels gorging themselves on a heap of nuts by the well, and two or three crows hopping over discarded plantain leaves dotted with grains of cooked rice. She heard the occasional screeching of monkeys and the call of a nightingale, but that was it. No golden deer or a talking tortoise was to be seen.
The central hut was built of mud and it had a large, sturdy teak front door with a latch fashioned out of metal wire. Jasmine and chrysanthemum garlands hung from one corner of the doorway to the other in an inverted arch. At each end of the doorstep sat half a coconut, spotted with vermillion and turmeric. Somewhere near its middle, the word ‘Aum’ had been written in white chalk.
Amba opened her mouth to say something, but Jarutha turned back and gestured at her to remain silent.Once she got off her horse, he pointed towards the door and nodded. Leaning on its side was an axe, with a dark wooden handle so large that it appeared as thick as the frame of the door. Both its heads were of the same size, and the silver blades gleamed in the morning light. For a moment Amba thought she saw them dripping with blood, but when she shook her head and looked again, they were stainless.
The presence of the axe meant, of course, that Sage Parashurama was in the hut.
Parashurama took a pinch of brown powder from his palm, placed it on the tip of each of his nostrils, and took a deep breath. Then he squeezed the tip of his nose, shook his head, and closed his eyes. He was seated cross-legged on the porch of his hut, with his staff underneath his right elbow. He addressed Jarutha first.
‘Your king is doing well, Jarutha. The rain gods have not been unkind to Panchala this year.’
‘By your grace,’ said Jarutha, bowing.
‘Ah!’ Parashurama waved him away. ‘I never prayed for your kind, and I never will. If I ever think of Kshatriyas in my prayers, Lord knows I only ask for their destruction. What did you bring for us from Panchala?’
‘I beg your pardon, Sage. We have not yet harvested our crops. My master pledged you a tenth share of the kingdom’s corn.’
‘Tenth share!’ said Parashurama. ‘What shall I do with so much corn, Jarutha? If you could get us some sesame seeds to plant in our garden, and some peanuts for our squirrels and monkeys, we shall be more than grateful. Did you know that Shurasena only grows paddy?’
‘That is true, my lord. They have the biggest stretch of land along the Great River among all the Kingdoms. They have to make use of it to grow paddy.’
‘I sent Bhargava last week to Shurasena to get some nuts and pulses, and they said they did not have enough to give away. They offered us elephants loaded with sacks of rice, but what shall I do with them?’
‘Your grace,’ said Jarutha.
Parashurama took another sniff of the substance in his hand. As he inhaled it fully, his nose and head shivered with what Amba could only call ecstasy, and his eyes, when they reopened, looked at peace with the world.
He looked at her, and the brow again creased with a frown. ‘I do not care for your like either, princess. Oh, how much simpler life would be if the world was populated just by Brahmins?’ He looked up at the sky and said, as though he were speaking to someone, ‘Lord, give me strength.’ He picked up the tiny painted container by his side and fingered the contents. He applied it to the edges of his nose, inhaled again, and reopened his eyes, peaceful and happy.
‘I know who you are,’ he told her. ‘You are the princess of Kasi who got married into the royal family of Hastinapur.’
‘I did not, your grace,’ said Amba, inclining her head. ‘I got sent away to Saubala where King Salva rules.’
‘Is that by the foothills of the Western Mountains, where River Saraswati is said to flow?’
‘Indeed, my lord.’
‘I have not been there in a long time. The last time I passed by, the mountains were not as high as they are now, and the land beyond them was greener than it now is.’ His mouth twisted, and his face turned grim. ‘I see hard times ahead for the kingdoms in the far west. River Saraswati will dry up completely in the years to come, and the land will crack and be covered with sand.’
Amba said, ‘What do you see in my future, your grace?’
Irritation spread on Parashurama’s face. ‘Do you mistake me for an astrologer on the streets of Hastinapur, Princess? I do not tell people’s futures, because I do not see them. No one can see the future, not even the people on the Meru that we call gods.’
‘But you just saw the future of the Western Kingdoms.’
‘One can predict the futures of kingdoms with certainty, girl, because one knows the factors that will come to pass. But the fortune of a single person has too many things entwined with it. It cannot be foretold.’
‘But your grace,’ said Amba, joining her hands and falling to her knees, ‘King Drupad said you will be able to help me.’
‘Help, I can offer, yes,’ said Parashurama, raising his hand to bless her. At once his voice became kind. ‘I sense in you a great anger, my girl, and I see in you my own self when I was your age. Even now, my anger triumphs over me too often for my liking.’
Amba bent her head. ‘That is so, my lord. I feel my anger is so strong that it can burn me alive.’
‘Then you know what you must do, child. You must conquer your anger first. For that you must first conquer your vanity.’
‘My vanity?’
Parashurama turned to Jarutha and said, ‘Tell me, Jarutha. Tell me this maiden’s tale, and we shall see what we can do to assuage her fury.’
Jarutha sat down at the sage’s feet, by Amba’s side, and began to narrate. Amba corrected him whenever he went wrong, and all the while Parashurama listened, now stroking his beard, now frowning.
After Jarutha had stopped, Parashurama said to Amba, ‘You have suffered in the hands of men, have you not, my child?’
Amba bent her head and said nothing. She thought of Salva, who had seduced her, taken her, and left her to the whims of Hastinapur. She thought of her father, who first raised no murmur of protest when Bhishma abducted her and her sisters, then spinelessly attended the wedding to bless his daughters, and then made his displeasure felt at her for choosing her own path. She thought of Vichitraveerya, who failed in sowing in her his seed in spite of one whole year of amour. And last of all she thought of Bhishma himself, the lynchpin, the one man who was the sole reason for everything that her life had become today. And over all these thoughts Mother Satyavati’s voice spoke again and again: ‘You do not understand the ways of men, my dear.’
Tears flowed down her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ said Parashurama with a sigh, ‘that is the lot of women in our world.’
Jarutha said, ‘It seems to me, your grace, that lady Amba here was particularly wronged by Bhishma, who abducted her and then failed to provide her the home she deserves.’
Parashurama nodded. ‘Not just Devavrata. All the men in your life, my child,’ he said, turning to her. ‘All of them seemed to have wrong
ed you in one way or another. Do you not fear, then, that I may fail you? For after all, I am a man too.’
Amba said, ‘No, your grace. You are said to be a learned man. You have studied the scriptures, you have taught the Vedas to the gods that live on the Ice Mountains. You are said to have trained Bhishma in the art of war when he was a young lad. You are the only man in North Country that I know of, my lord, who can stand up to Bhishma with a hope of winning.’
‘I am certain,’ said Parashurama. ‘I am certain of that. But I wonder if that is the right path for you to choose.’
‘I shall walk any path you direct me to, your grace.’
Parashurama smiled. ‘We shall see.’ He turned to Jarutha. ‘You can leave the maiden here with me. I have come to stay on Earth for at least six moons from now, so she will serve me here. Let her live the life of a priestess for some time.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Jarutha, getting up to his feet.
‘And tell Drupad that I understand his intentions very well,’ said Parashurama, his face clouding over suddenly. ‘Tell him that I do not like being manoeuvred this way, but I shall do it, this one time, for this maiden.’ The muscles of his wiry body tensed, all at once, and his lips fused together. ‘But tell him this is to be the last one – the very last.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Jarutha, retreating two steps.
‘You may go.’
After Jarutha had left, Parashurama said to Amba, ‘The life of a priestess is a tough one, my girl, but it gives you victory over the one thing men have always failed against – the self. Will you stay with me and serve me? I promise you a way out of your pain.’
Amba bent down so that her nose touched the ground, and she laid the very tips of her fingers on Parashurama’s feet. She heard the murmur of the sage’s blessing, and she felt a certain warmth enter her through her back and fill her, loosening her muscles and clearing her mind. She felt like she had come home.
SEVEN
AMBA SPEAKS
In Kasi, when I was four or five years old, we used to play a game with a wooden bow and a ball of flowers. The attendants would place the bow on top of a wheeled table, covered in drapes, and they would hide the ball underneath. Ambika, Ambalika, and I would then fight each other to push aside the table and retrieve the ball. Because I was the eldest, and because I always liked to win games of this sort, I generally emerged with the ball in hand, and my father, King Kasya, would arrive and gather me up in his arms to hug me and shower me with kisses while Ambika and Ambalika enviously looked on.
That, my father’s hug, is my oldest memory of warmth – not the kind that touches your outer self, but the kind that lights you from within. I felt the same warmth on that morning I knelt in front of High Sage Parashurama; my own father had discarded me, but it looked like I had found another.
I did not fully understand what the High Sage meant when he said the life of a priestess was tough. I did not quite comprehend what it meant to conquer the self, either. Some of the people in Panchala who now call me a witch would perhaps say that I have not yet conquered my self. They may be right. My father – that’s what I call him now – Sage Parashurama, never conquered his self, either; even today, he is given to losing his temper and admonishing his disciples for the smallest transgressions, and if a High Sage himself has not attained that state, I shall make no claims to it.
I have heard it said that happiness lies in the things that you already have, not in the things that you want. But I think not that people who say this have ever had their lives snatched away from them – not by nature or some such unseen foe – but by a living, laughing human being. If happiness indeed lies in the things that you have, what happens when so much is taken away from you that you have nothing?
My tale is a tale of despair and loss. Years from now, people writing down the tale of the Great War will make my life a mere appendage to the main event. They will look for purpose in my life, they will look for something within my character that is redeemable, they will look for those thin rays of hope every tale is said to possess, but they will not find any. And they will turn back and say this is a tale not worth telling, and they will confine it to perhaps two or three torn leaves.
But tales of despair have their place too, I think. When one is a child one may hanker after stories of heroes triumphing over villains, of good triumphing over evil, of all things coming together to end well.But as one grows, one finds in tales of despair a certain pull and solace, for these tales resemble life the most. It is only in these tales that you understand that happiness and hope are no virtues; and sorrow and despair are no vices. The universe knows of no vice and virtue. It is as it is. Only in our minds have we set up these opposite forces and declared they should forever be at war with each other.
This is perhaps the knowledge of self that High Sage Parashurama meant to teach me that morning when I knelt by his feet. He wanted me to look at my life from the outside. He wanted me to shrug at it. He wanted me to embrace it, to accept it, to admit that it was not ideal, but also to realize that nothing in the world was.
So I am no longer scarred by sorrow, or fearful of despair. They have been my companions for life, and I know they shall be with me in my final moments too. But on that bright morning when I touched the sage’s feet, I remember how my heart leapt when he said he promised me a way out of my pain.
That day, after lunch, the sage summoned me to his hut. He motioned me to the ground, and after I had taken my seat, said, ‘I will tell you the ways of a priestess now, my princess.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘A priestess is a woman that has given her life to the Goddess, the mother of all things that you see around you. We call her by the name of Bhagavati. She has no image, She has no form, She has no shape. But you see her everywhere you look – within you, without you. You know she is there, do you not?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘A priestess of the Goddess fasts during the first half of the day on the rising cycle of the moon, and during the second half of the day on the falling cycle. On full-moon days, she will have all three meals, and on no-moon days she will have none. This is to learn the first lesson in life: your bowl will be full on some days and empty on others. That is just how the universe is; the moon herself is not the same from one day to the next. Why should your life be so?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘A priestess of the Goddess sleeps on the floor with no pillow under her head. Three times in a day she will wash herself, but will change her clothing no more than once. She will look at all of life as her brethren, and that means she will not eat meat, nor will she kill any animal unless in self-defence.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘A priestess will look after herself at all times. She will make her own food, make arrangements for her own drinking and bathing water, and she will keep her house clean. She shall not depend on anyone else for her needs, be they related to food or water, no matter what period of her cycle she is in.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘A priestess of the Goddess shall at all times accept the gifts of nature with open arms. She will never be ashamed of her desires, because they are given to her by the Goddess; nor will she question the outcomes of her actions, because they too are given to her by the Goddess. She will train herself to always accept and never question. She will train herself to possess the wisdom to choose well, the strength to persevere in pursuit of her ambitions, and the detachment to accept the result.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘We shall begin with this,’ he then said, ‘and extend your training after a month. A priestess also studies the Mysteries, but for that you will need a good teacher.’
‘Are you not a good teacher, my lord?’
‘No, my dear, not for the Mysteries.’ He lifted both his legs onto the ledge so that he could sit cross-legged. He waved me away and instructed me to get my mind ready for the ordeal ahead. As I was about to leave to collect my things that Jar
utha had left by the well, the High Sage called out to me and said the words that I would remember all my life.
‘Remember, Amba,’ he said, ‘a priestess is slave to no man. She only answers to the Goddess.’
EIGHT
Amba woke up and tied her hair in a knot over her head, keeping it in place by means of a timber twig. She folded the mat and rested it against the corner. She picked up the broom and cleaned her room, humming to herself a chant she had heard on the lips of one of the sages the night before. Mentally she counted the days of the month so that she would not miss the fast of the Amavaasya. Four more days to go.
Picking up the leaves and fallen grains in a straw bowl she went out to the well to dump it by the fence. Squirrels and badgers would come by after sunrise and eat some of it. The rest of it would get blown away by the wind. She craned her neck to see if the baby doe had come today. She reminded herself to pluck an extra apple or two from the orchard for her, just in case she would return. Sage Parashurama had advised her against pets, but she told herself that this was not a pet, just a recurring visitor.
The last month – her first at the ashram – had not been as much a struggle for her that Parashurama (and she) had feared it would be. The first few days she had woken up with a rash on her waist and a catch in her back. Bending to sweep the floor of her little hut had hurt her thighs so much that she could not sleep at night. Without a mirror she had at first not been able to tie her hair, so she had wandered about the hermitage – to everyone’s amusement – in loose, undone locks. So what, she had thought. Did the sage not say that a priestess ought not to be concerned with vanity?
Gradually, the aches ebbed, and she taught herself to tie up her hair one morning when she went to the lake to get water. One of the sages in the hut adjoining hers had taught her how to cook, and she had begun to boil rice and vegetables to arrange for herself a decent meal. There were days when she had not adhered as religiously as she should have to the fasting rules, but ever since that day when Sage Parashurama had caught her munching away on a guava behind the hut, she had been steadfast.
The Rise of Hastinapur Page 6