9

The ministers gazed in bewilderment at the giant baobab before them. They had arrived at the forest of the Gondi after a bumpy journey, only to be led to an enormous, dead tree with its bare, crooked branches clutching at the sky in vain. Suddenly, a chorus of soft feminine voices wafted across to them, carried on the heady scent of roses and jasmines. ‘Sorcery,’ the council exclaimed in alarm. Laughing, Saahas disappeared through a large opening into the baobab, and the ministers, after some encouragement from Tota, trooped after him.

Fragrant with the smell of flowers, the hollow interior extended to a great height and was lit with criss-crossing rays of yellow sunlight filtering through tiny chinks in its walls. Dozens of Gondi women stirred tender buds into wooden vats, their song fading away at the sight of the visitors.

The chubby minister clapped his hands in delight, ‘It is a perfumery.’

‘Indeed, sir, it is,’ Saahas grinned. ‘Now let me introduce you to the man who made this possible, the Gondi Chief, Bukkal.’

Shyly stepping out of the shadows, Bukkal made a deep bow, his headdress of long feathers sweeping the ground. ‘To have you amidst us, honourable ones, our privilege it is. And I not the man behind this workshop. My friend, the general, all his idea it is.’

Amused at Bukkal’s quaint speech, the ministers were nevertheless touched by his sincerity. Inhaling deeply from a vat, one of them declared, ‘This perfume, it is so fresh!’

‘Flowers of the lemon tree, sir. Would you like a bottle for your wife?’ The girl held out a little clay vial. The minister pulled out a purse, but she shook her head, lowering her gaze to the ground respectfully.

‘A small gift it is, noble sir,’ Bukkal beseeched, ‘humbly I request each of you, receive the bottles. Our gratitude and love mixed in it, may forever remind you of us.’

Observing the council eagerly make its selections, Saahas whispered in the chief’s ear, ‘With their patronage, you will be soon perfuming all of Sundernagari.’

Bukkal’s eyes shone. ‘To thank you, I have no words left inside my heart, dear friend.’

When it was time to depart, the ministers found their caravan loaded with all manner of gifts. From fresh honey to medicinal roots, it left a heady trail of flowers and spices winding out of the forest. ‘A wonderful trip indeed,’ they sighed, stopping at a roadside eatery.

The general, preferring to rub his horse down, remained outside, his manservant and aide-de-camp protesting hotly. ‘Quit whining both of you,’ he admonished. ‘If I don’t take care of my horse once in a while, I’ll forget how to do it.’

‘But why do you need to do it at all?’ they argued.

‘Well, who knows what the future holds,’ he teased. ‘Perhaps one day you may decide not to work for me.’

‘Impossible, my lord,’ Lushai looked indignant. ‘I could never leave you.’

‘Sire, please do be serious,’ implored Tota. ‘Or Lushai will sulk for the rest of the journey.’

Saahas burst out laughing and tossed the straw brush to the manservant. The ministers, hearing the cheerful banter, glanced outside, their eyes lingering over the general. ‘Now, wouldn’t he make a fine king,’ one of them murmured.

‘Ah yes,’ said the chubby minister, glancing meaningfully at his colleagues. ‘But a lot would change then. And where would that leave Chakrawaru?’

Driving through the gates of Sundernagari, Manmaani and her family hung out of their carts, their faces taut with nervous excitement. ‘Back after twenty long, dreary years,’ she whispered, her gaze riveted on the gracious houses and parks. The streets, some asleep and some alive with revelry, gleamed ivory white in the moonlight.

Fountains and graceful statues peeped amongst the foliage, and tall turrets towered above wide avenues shaded on both sides with blossoming trees. Even at that late hour, a melodious hum of voices raised in song drifted on the night air.

‘Look,’ cried Hussuri, pointing to a group of musicians by a silvery canal.

‘This is the heartbeat of Aum, this city of wealth, of power,’ breathed Manmaani.

‘Power,’ echoed Ashwath, cracking his knuckles.

‘Yes power,’ agreed Shunen, following Nandan’s stare ogling a woman with her paramour. ‘Power to whip the debauched, the shameless.’

‘And there it is,’ Manmaani clasped her hands, ‘the centre of all power.’

Rolling down an arched bridge, the carts entered a broad, cobbled street lined with triangular torches, each bearing seven lamps. And at its very end stood the palace, lit with a thousand lights, like a gigantic chandelier floating on a sea of darkness.

To Manmaani’s chagrin, the royal guards led them to the rear entrance of the palace. ‘Like servants,’ she muttered but when she saw Chakrawaru, her resentment evaporated. ‘You stayed up for us, bhaiji, how kind of you.’

The advisor didn’t smile. ‘Welcome to the royal palace,’ he greeted them with stiff politeness. ‘Allow me to escort you to your quarters.’

Their footsteps rang on the white marble of a narrow corridor that widened into an open veranda overlooking a pool. The reflection of a perfect moon rippled in the water amidst hundreds of twinkling lamps and white lotuses.

‘How very beautiful,’ Hussuri clasped her hands, ‘the perfect spot for writing poems.’

But Chakrawaru hurried them on, leading them to a large cottage across the pool. It was tasteful but not sumptuous, comfortable but not luxurious.

‘This is hardly regal,’ complained Nandan.

‘But the food is fit for a king,’ Ashwath called out from the salon, ‘and served in real silver too!’

Gesturing to Manmaani, Chakrawaru led her into another room, shutting the door behind them firmly. ‘Now for a little chat. His Majesty has understood that he cannot indulge his sorrow indefinitely and so he is throwing a big party.’ Watching the widow intently, he continued, ‘But I am of the opinion that one happy event will not melt his grief, which brings us to the reason you are here.’

She waited, rapt, her small eyes unblinking and fixed on his face.

‘You are here to provide His Majesty with some agreeable company, that is, if you are able to impress him at the party.’

She didn’t dare smile, even though she was dying to burst into gleeful giggles. Destiny had brought her back, this time handing her the dice to roll. ‘I will strive to do my best,’ she said.

Satisfied, Chakrawaru held out a small purse. ‘The party is five days from now. Here is enough money to fetch you all a set of fancy clothes. Keep them simple and elegant, and teach your sons some manners befitting the genteel.’

The purse clinked heavily in her hand. ‘You may rest easy, Chakrawaruji, we will do you proud.’

He turned to leave, and then stopped. ‘Your dress has to be a deep shade of forest green,’ he said, his voice hoarse with urgency, ‘remember, no other colour but forest green.’