33

Ashish glanced at Shunen. The king stood beside the bed, closely watching the doctor examine the lifeless Lalitara, unmoved by the sight of blood-soaked sheets. He had dismissed all the maids-in-waiting as soon as he had heard of her deteriorating condition, keeping only the steward. ‘This baby had better be saved, Ashish,’ he had said, shooting black looks at the queen as they had waited for the doctor. ‘I need an heir.’

The old vaid straightened. ‘Would you be able to tell me, Your Majesty, if the queen complained of a chill?’

Shunen looked towards Ashish. ‘Yes, she did,’ the steward nodded, ‘nothing seemed to warm her and then suddenly . . .’ Ashish stopped, gazing at the dead, white face, his heart welling with pity. Lalitara looked peaceful, her young features emptied of fear.

‘She started bleeding,’ the vaid finished for him. ‘How long after that did you notice she wasn’t breathing anymore?’

Ashish swallowed. ‘Soon after, I think. She gasped once and was gone.’

‘She lost me two babies,’ Shunen bit out. ‘I should never have married her! Weakling!’

‘Your Majesty,’ the vaid rinsed his hands vigorously in a silver basin, taking his time to reply, ‘it is not a weak constitution that killed her . . . it was poison—snake poison.’

‘Are you certain?’ Shunen’s voice was soft.

‘Your Majesty,’ the vaid’s face flushed with indignation, ‘in the fifty years of my practice—’

Shunen waved his hand, ‘All right, all right, leave and don’t speak of this to anyone. Ashish, bring my secretary. No, wait . . .’ He began to pace, his eyes glittering with a feverish light. Beads of sweat stood out on his high forehead and his breath escaped in short, rasping pants. ‘How did she do it?’

‘Your Majesty, I don’t—’

‘Our food,’ Shunen cut in, bringing his face close to the steward’s. ‘Mine and Lalitara’s meals are prepared in a separate kitchen, by a different cook. And, because I know her so well, every dish is tasted before we are served. So how did mother poison my wife?’

Ashish turned pale, groping for words, a tremor beginning to shake his limbs. ‘I . . . I . . . have n-no idea . . . I . . . s-swear, Your Majesty.’

Shunen abruptly turned away, staring at the dead woman. ‘Mother is exceptionally resourceful,’ he murmured, a faint smile curling his thin mouth. ‘And so am I, her son,’ he shot a glance at Ashish. ‘Ah yes, good can come out of evil too. Nobody in the palace knows that Lalitara is dead, and before they do, we will surprise the murderess. Put guards outside mother’s door immediately, and tell her she is under arrest for killing my two unborn children and my wife, the queen.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Tomorrow, as Lalitara’s pyre burns, mother shall swing from the end of a rope, bringing down the curtain on the Goddess of Aham.’

Hussuri retreated rapidly behind a pillar, emerging only after Ashish had walked past. Nimble-footed, she rushed down the dim passage, her nerves jangling. Bursting into her chamber, she shrieked for Ashwath, only to be informed by a startled servant that His Highness was preoccupied with some urgent business.

‘At this late hour?’ She whirled around and ran to her husband’s private office. ‘Don’t let anyone interrupt us,’ she instructed the guards and pushed open the doors.

A solitary overhead lamp threw a yellow halo around Ashwath and a wooden tripod. Hussuri approached softly, her vacant gaze going from him to the painting on the stand. Her eyes widened. ‘Urgent business! What is so fascinating about a dead man?’

Ashwath turned around slowly and she gasped, stunned at the transformation.

The face that looked back at her stirred buried memories, of a time when they had been newly married, the crude features softening just for her. She touched them, the warm eyes, the relaxed mouth, the nostrils, no longer flared, appearing finely cut.

‘So like a gentleman,’ she murmured. He laughed, the sound joyful, boyish, searing her heart. ‘All these weeks when I have hardly seen you, you have been hiding here, with him.’ She lunged at Saahas’s portrait but Ashwath moved quickly between them.

‘He has bewitched you,’ she shrieked, her voice thin with jealousy. ‘I have to watch out for us, sneak around to find out what’s going on in this huge palace.’ Grabbing Ashwath’s collar, she shook him fiercely. ‘Lalitara is dead. The vaid told me that a large dose of snake venom killed her.’

Ashwath shrank. ‘Mother,’ he whispered, his voice full of revulsion. ‘Shunen won’t spare her, or Nandan. Then it will be just us and him, facing each other like adversaries.’

Tears spilled down Hussuri’s face. ‘Imprison him,’ she caressed his cheek, ‘then you can be king, darling, and I, queen. I want to wear a crown, so badly.’

Putting his arms around her, he shook his head. ‘The crown is at the root of all this trouble. We should have nothing to do with it. Let us go away from here, dearest, and start a new life.’

‘No,’ she screamed, pulling out the dagger from his belt and slashing Saahas’s portrait. Ashwath grabbed her wrist, twisting it until her nerveless fingers dropped the weapon. ‘Shunen will hunt us down,’ she cried, ‘the way you hunted him.’ She pointed a shaking finger at the mutilated face on the stand. ‘Do you want to see me run, hide and die a miserable death, like he did?’

A change came over him, his facial muscles sinking back into their old grooves. ‘No,’ he swallowed, ‘I won’t let Shunen touch a hair on your head. Go to your room and stay there,’ he instructed and strode out.

It was past midnight and instead of the usual hush, the palace rippled with excitement. Panicked guards rushed to and fro, barely stopping to salute him.

‘What is going on?’ he barked and a guard faltered in his stride.

‘Your Highness,’ the soldier began, taking a deep breath, ‘the queen mother and Prince Nandan, they . . . they . . .’

‘Say it!’ snapped Ashwath.

‘They have fled. The king has sent soldiers after them.’

He found Shunen seated on the pearl throne, head sunk in one hand. ‘I heard about Lalitara,’ he began, ‘I am sorry.’

Shunen raised his head, a dangerous gleam in his hooded eyes. ‘Come, come, brother, if you were really sorry, you would have commanded your forces to scour Andheri for mother and her whelp, but no,’ he snorted, ‘you stand here offering me condolences!’

‘I was told that you have already dispatched my soldiers to do the job. What is left for me to do?’

‘Get out,’ Shunen screamed, leaping to his feet, ‘and don’t show me your face again till you have captured them.’

Flushing with anger, Ashwath’s hands bunched into fists, ready to smash Shunen’s skull. Instead, he turned away, as if pulled by an unseen hand. A feeling of painful loss gnawed at him, a smiling face, cruelly slashed in half, mocking him. Groaning, he stumbled back into his office, and picked up the mutilated portrait. Desperate to make the face whole again, he held the jagged pieces of the canvas together, whispering, ‘I must be going mad. I have hated you for as long as I can remember, and do you know why? Because I secretly longed to be you, free, strong, all the while knowing in my heart that it was impossible.’

He looked away, shamefaced, ‘So I tried to shackle you, clip your soaring wings, turn you into me. But look at what you have done! Reaching out from beyond the grave, you have me at your mercy!’ Bursting into uproarious, hysterical laughter, he shook the painting in a frenzy. ‘What do you want me to do? Turn all soft and honourable? Tell me, damn you!’ The brown eyes looked back at him, silent and steady. Ashwath drew a shaky breath and clutching the painting to his chest, began to cry like an inconsolable child.