8

He set out early the next day on his secret mission, the driver his sole companion. The unadorned yet stately carriage quickly left Sundernagari, pulled by four sturdy horses. A light breeze carried a potpourri of essences from the forests flanking the highway. But Chakrawaru was oblivious to sight or smell, preoccupied with thoughts of the woman he was rushing to meet. Manmaani.

She had been curvaceous and coarsely pretty when Chakrawaru, tutor to the princes, had first met her. Newly married to his only friend Tinai, a grain and spice merchant, Manmaani had soon revealed her talent for sniffing out business opportunities, inducing her easy-going husband to speak to the tutor for contracts at the palace.

Chakrawaru shilly-shallied for a long time, and when Tinai pressed him for an answer he replied in a hesitant voice, ‘I think you set great store by my tutorship to the prince, nevertheless I will put a word in the queen’s ear. Indeed, you can be assured of that, but . . .’ and here he opened his palms in an eloquent gesture of uncertainty, ‘Her Majesty is quite happy with the quality of supplies to the royal kitchen. The merchant has been in service since the time the older prince was born.’

When Tinai reported this conversation to his impatient wife, Manmaani asked, ‘Did he say anything else? Tell me everything, even if it is trivial.’ Tinai recollected that his friend had rubbed his palms together quite vigorously, remarking that the weather had turned unexpectedly cold.

‘The tutor wants his commission,’ Manmaani declared and the matter was settled soon after, the terms fixed to Chakrawaru’s liking.

It didn’t take the tutor much time to convince the queen that the offerings from the royal kitchen were not fit for the King of Aum. He mentioned he had met a merchant who could supply grains that shone like pearls, spices that, with just a pinch, could perfume all of Sundernagari, and butter that was whiter than the fluffy seed of the cottonwood trees. Her Majesty immediately ordered the chef to organize a banquet using provisions supplied by this unknown tradesman. The feast was a success, the guests rapturously praising every fragrant morsel. King Vasuket heaped compliments on the chef, ‘You have outdone yourself tonight! Tell me, what is it that inspired you to cook so extraordinarily well?’

The chef flushed with pride. ‘The ingredients, they spoke to me, Your Majesty. The colour, the texture, the shape and smell, they told me what to do. I simply followed their command. They were my inspiration, Your Majesty.’

The following day, Tinai was appointed chief supplier to the royal kitchen. In a few years, the two friends grew tremendously rich and Manmaani quite fat. Chakrawaru salted away his share of the profits, for he led a spartan lifestyle. But Manmaani wanted more, more of everything. More clothes, more jewels, more houses. ‘And then the king and queen will take notice of me and invite me to the palace,’ she whispered, her eyes fixed on the tall palace gates. ‘That will establish me as one of the nobility.’

The plan was astonishingly simple. Mix supplies of fine quality with those that were cheap and inferior. ‘Nobody at the palace will notice the difference, I promise you,’ she told the men. ‘While we continue to charge the storekeeper the same price as before, our costs will dramatically decrease.’ Tinai shot his wife an admiring glance and when Chakrawaru calculated the figures, he quickly agreed.

Her scheme worked well for three months, and then one day Meghabhuti came to dine with the king.

Even though Aum did not have enemies, Meghabhuti was aware that times could change with one snap of Destiny’s fingers. On its western border, a high stone wall shielded the kingdom from the jungles of Shandav that were infested with tigers. The southern side maintained a large garrison, for it had the widest and clearest access to Aum. The eastern side, bordering the kingdom of Swarus, had an army outpost too, but an insignificant one.

‘I am not worried about the east,’ Meghabhuti told Vasuket. ‘As long as we don’t break the peace treaty, Swarus will never use its magical weapons against us. It is the north entrance that worries me.’

The approach from the north was through a narrow dirt track bounded by wilderness on either side, making it difficult for a large enemy force to launch a sudden attack. ‘But the gate is nothing more than a barn door, Your Majesty. A herd of mad cows can bring it down. Besides, traders, immigrants and visitors, all favour this entrance. A cunning foe, mixing with the crowd, could easily surprise us.’

Vasuket listened to his general with one ear, preoccupied as he was with his plate of food. The meal looked as appetizing as always, its presentation flawless. But the first mouthful had disappointed him.

This had been going on for the past few weeks. The queen had reproached the chef, who threw a tantrum at the storekeeper who, in turn, gently questioned Tinai. Widening his eyes in horror, Tinai swore that the ingredients were of the same fine quality as before, that if a finger had to be pointed, it should be at the chef.

‘What do you have in mind, Megha?’ Vasuket chewed morosely.

‘Hills of iron, Your Majesty, on either side of the north gate.’

‘Iron?’ Vasuket’s shout of surprise was magnified by a piece of rubble that cracked his molar. The queen, arriving just then, saw her spouse fling the offending plate to the floor, and rushed to his side, her gold anklets singing sweetly. Clutching his jaw with one hand, Vasuket roared, ‘I shall send the rogue to the gallows! How dare he serve stones to the King of Aum!’

‘This is exactly why I am here, my lord,’ the queen exclaimed, turning to smile ruefully at Meghabhuti. ‘Forgive me, general, not only for this intrusion but also for the insipid meal you have been served.’

‘Insipid indeed!’ the king snorted. ‘My queen, the chef is trying to kill me.’

‘He has begged to be relieved of his duties, my lord.’

‘Good! Because if he hadn’t, I would have relieved him of his head.’

‘But it really isn’t his fault. He is the best cook in the kingdom, and he told me today that he would rather die than serve us another indifferent meal.’

Vasuket raised an eyebrow, ‘My sentiments exactly!’

‘Now, now, my lord,’ the queen remonstrated, ‘the problem is with the supplies. They have been steadily deteriorating in quality, and the merchant, I hear, refuses to mend his ways. Such behaviour does not befit a citizen of Aum, my lord.’

‘Don’t worry, Your Majesty,’ Meghabhuti rose to his feet, ‘we’ll make an example of the fellow.’

And Tinai was arrested immediately and thrown into prison.

Manmaani rushed to Chakrawaru, entreating him to help. But when the tutor refused to lift a finger, she threw back her plump shoulders, her eyes spitting fire, ‘I’ll move heaven and earth to have you locked up too. You will share the cell with my husband, and all of Aum will know that you were an equal partner in the business.’

‘What, what proof do you have? I haven’t put my signature on anything,’ Chakrawaru blustered, clearly unnerved. Manmaani smiled a smile so menacing that it chilled him to the bones. Hastening to assure her he would get Tinai out of prison, he placed his one and only condition before her, that the merchant and his family leave Sundernagari forever. Manmaani agreed and he grabbed the opportunity to have her sign an affidavit, confirming the family’s perennial debt to him. This he sealed and put away, certain there would come a time when she would need to be reminded of what was owed him.

Chakrawaru entered a small town, redolent with the strong, sweet smell of rosewood. When he stopped a passer-by for directions to Manmaani’s house, the man glanced curiously at his fine carriage.

‘Are you sure you wish to go there, sir? That neighbourhood is . . . dark, unseemly . . .’ he trailed off.

As the carriage proceeded, the greenery began to vanish and the sky above turned murky, the sun preferring to stay behind with the rosewood trees. Mangy stray dogs growled at the horses, not one merry soul calling out a greeting. Chakrawaru was taken aback. ‘What is it that creates this dismal climate?’

All of a sudden, the horses neighed in alarm, rearing up on their hind legs, and jolted, he fell in a heap on the carriage floor. ‘What is the matter, chaalak?’ he yelled at his driver. A hand appeared at the window. Unlocking the latch from the inside, it yanked the door open. A burly figure filled Chakrawaru’s terrified vision. The dim light obscured the features, but it was unable to quell the dangerous gleam in the eyes.

‘Hand over your valuables, mister,’ the stranger growled and Chakrawaru froze, a whimper escaping his lips. Laughing, the robber rifled through his victim’s pockets and found a silk pouch full of gold coins. An excited voice called out, ‘These are fine horses, bhaiyya. Let us keep the carriage too. Mother and I could use it for long drives.’

‘And who will drive the carriage?’ snapped the robber. ‘We’ll just take the horses.’

Chakrawaru was aghast, ‘What! Please, how am I to travel with no money and horses? Have some mercy, young man.’

‘You are fortunate I haven’t slit your throat. Isn’t that merciful enough?’ There was an unmistakable glint of a curved blade in the robber’s hand. He said over his shoulder, ‘Nandan, get the chaalak to remove the horses from their traces.’

Nandan. Chakrawaru frowned. Where had he heard the name before? Manmaani’s youngest and most adored son. ‘Wait a minute,’ he shrieked, stumbling out of the carriage.

‘What now?’ The robber turned, the dagger flashing once again in his hand just as his accomplice appeared. Unlike his brother’s rugged profile, the latter’s angelic features shone from under the grime and dirt. Chakrawaru pointed a trembling finger at him, ‘I would have recognized you anywhere, Nandan. I’ve bounced you on my knee. And you,’ he said to the burly one, ‘you are Ashwath. Even as a child you were as strong as a tree.’

The brothers exchanged a quick glance. Ashwath moved swiftly, pressing his dagger against Chakrawaru’s scrawny neck, ‘Who are you? The king’s spy?’

‘No, no, no,’ he cried, suppressing a wild desire to laugh. ‘I am your father’s friend, your uncle Chakra.’

It was a narrow, decrepit house in the darkest corner of the neighbourhood. Similar houses jostled each other, separated only by thin walls. Outside, piles of rubbish filled the muddy lane, pigs burying their snouts in them. Inside the house, the air, heavy with the stale smell of garlic and sewage, made Chakrawaru baulk. The baithak, a windowless parlour, was sparsely lit. Trying to scrimp on oil no doubt, he grimaced, glancing around. The furniture was old, and the threadbare carpet could not soften the hardness of the uneven stone floor pressing through his soft leather shoes.

When she walked in with the tinkle of anklets and the jangle of bangles, Chakrawaru felt a flutter of excitement and bounded forward to greet her, his voice high-pitched with emotion. ‘Bhabhi! Dare I hope you are as glad to see me as I you? It was most opportune my meeting your boys.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘How I wish dear Tinai were alive.’

Manmaani came to stand next to a lamp, its soft glow enhancing the sparkle of her kohl-lined eyes and deepening the blush in her cheeks. Chakrawaru appraised her keenly. She wore her shabby clothes well. The odhni covering her head outlined her face, its gentle gold shimmer softening her sly features and adding graceful warmth to her figure. She had lost a good deal of weight but still retained a becoming lusciousness, and despite her changed circumstances, managed to convey an illusion of tasteful style.

A tear glistened on her lashes. ‘Oh, it has been terrible, bhaiji,’ she uttered in a choked voice, ‘to watch my boys struggle every day for a few gold pieces. If only my husband hadn’t departed so soon. I miss him so much.’ A snort was quickly muffled. Nandan, lolling on a low divan, suppressed a grin. Manmaani continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘He died of a broken heart, never quite got over the betrayal. I daresay you know what I am talking about.’ She raised her eyes, looking directly at her guest.

But the advisor had come prepared for just such a welcome. He nodded and sighed, ‘You always wanted more, bhabhi, which is not a bad thing at all, but if you hadn’t pushed your luck, your boys would have been living the high life of princes, not resorting to thievery.’

‘Princes?’ Nandan sprang to his feet. ‘Mother, what is uncle talking about? I want to be a prince. That is what I am. I feel it inside of me.’

Manmaani lowered her gaze, her mouth tightening. Observing her annoyance, Chakrawaru carried on, ‘But it serves no purpose raking up the past. It will only sour the sweetness of this moment and make us lose precious time. Time that is so crucial for planning our future, a very prosperous future.’

‘I don’t like riddles,’ Ashwath came to stand beside his mother. ‘What kind of prosperity do you have in mind?’

‘I like the sound of it very much,’ declared Nandan. ‘Whatever may be uncle’s proposal, it will be better than this hellish existence.’

‘Leave the room, boys,’ Manmaani snapped. ‘Chakrawaruji and I have a lot to talk about.’ She waited for the door to shut behind them and then smiled at the advisor, ‘Now, we can talk in peace.’

‘I think I can be of assistance, mother.’

Chakrawaru glanced quickly at the one who had spoken and saw a man with a face aged beyond his years. He hadn’t noticed him enter the room. Like a snake, he thought with a faint shudder. Of average height and a muddy complexion, at first glance the man appeared rather dull. But a closer look changed the impression. His head, a trifle too large for his slim body, was tilted to one side, as if listening keenly to every sound. The long nose extended over the thin slash of a mouth, deep grooves on either side of it running down to the sharp chin. Chakrawaru’s gaze flicked to the eyes and they held his attention. Deep-set and hooded, they seemed to read his mind. The intruder bowed, ‘I am Shunen. I hope you remember me.’

Quickly scanning his memory, Chakrawaru found a pale boy seated on a mound of mud, lashing at a puppy with a long twig. ‘That’s for disobeying me and that’s for growling at me and that’s for . . .’ Shunen, Manmaani’s second son, born after Ashwath. The solitary boy had reminded Chakrawaru of his own younger self and yet, despite the similarity, he had held an aversion for him. It was the eyes, unforgiving and cruel.

‘It is obvious you need us, uncle, otherwise why would you visit our squalid house to make us an offer?’ Shunen’s lips barely moved. ‘But the question is, why should we help you?’

From his pocket, Chakrawaru drew out a package wrapped in red cloth. ‘Be so good as to take a look at this. It will answer your question.’

Shunen glanced through the document, an undertaking by his mother establishing their debt. Crumpling the parchment into a ball, he dropped it into an oil lamp. ‘There! That is the end of our debt to you. Now we can talk like equals.’

Chakrawaru chuckled. ‘That was merely a copy of the original document, which lies safe with me, under lock and key. And now that I have become aware of your family’s nefarious activities, I can have you all arrested. Did you say equals, Shunen? No,’ he scoffed. ‘Never!’

‘Forgive him, bhaiji,’ Manmaani pleaded, shooting Shunen a warning look, ‘he is young and foolish.’

‘Very well. Let us not waste time. This is what I propose, you live in the palace for a month as my guest and I shall pay you handsomely for it.’

Manmaani’s beady eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It will all become clear soon enough, but first you must reach Sundernagari, before the big party.’

‘But there will be expenses,’ jumped in Shunen. ‘Like buying clothes, hiring a carriage, and our financial condition is . . . well, you know where we stand.’

‘I had carried a purse for exactly this purpose,’ Chakrawaru sighed. ‘But Ashwath has already helped himself to it.’

Outside the room, Hussuri had her ear pressed to the door, her long jaw hanging slack. She hurried to Ashwath, finding him sprawled on their untidy bed. ‘We are going to Sundernagari,’ she announced. Then with one hand on her flat bosom, she drew a deep breath. ‘To attend a party, at the palace! Oh my god!’ And picking up a quill, she began to scribble on a piece of paper.

Ashwath looked incredulous. ‘I can’t believe uncle Chakra has come all this way and after all this time, to invite us to a stupid party.’

‘Hush, I am writing a poem for the king.’

A hint of a smile softened Ashwath’s craggy features, his gaze resting tenderly upon her. ‘Remember our first meeting?’

Hussuri frowned and was about to rebuke him when she saw his face. ‘We saved each other,’ she grinned.

That day, Ashwath had set out to participate in the wrestling competition held annually in Hussuri’s village.

The horse champed at the bit, eager to lengthen its pace on the empty road. ‘I am just as keen as you to get to the match and win the purse of gold,’ Ashwath cracked his knuckles. ‘Go boy go.’ The horse shot forward but almost immediately a figure appeared, arms flapping, running straight towards him. Shouting curses, he pulled hard at the reins, the horse rearing on its hind legs and unseating him. As he fell, he vaguely registered a woman, tall and gangly, standing frozen, her wide-set eyes gawking at him in surprise.

Bouncing down a slope pitted with stones and rubble, Ashwath splashed into a pool, his arms flailing. Water poured into his nostrils, into his open mouth, and he choked, ‘I can’t swim . . . help . . . I can’t—’

‘You don’t need to,’ a woman’s voice cut in, one thin arm hooking under his chin, jerking his head above water. ‘Stand up,’ she commanded, ‘the water is only knee-high.’

Shaking droplets out of his eyes, he glowered at her. ‘This is all your fault.’

She shook her head. ‘It was the wind. It snatched my poem.’ He was about to jeer at her, but the words stuck in his throat, her gaze owning him. ‘You can have this,’ she said, holding out a sheet of crumpled paper.

‘What is it?’ he looked perplexed.

‘My poem.’ The words were uttered with such childlike pride that it drew a laugh from him. ‘Read it to me,’ he said, taken aback by his own indulgence.

Two red spots bloomed high on her cheeks, a spark lighting up her vacant eyes. ‘The blue sky, up, up so high . . .’

‘But I didn’t hear a word,’ Ashwath laughed, pulling her on to his lap, ‘my thumping heart told me to marry you at once, so I could listen to your voice every day, for the rest of my life.’