35

Manmaani was dreaming a peculiar dream, of running barefoot through a snow-filled landscape, frozen to the bone. A large, ominous shadow kept reaching out for her. It gripped her at last, its chilled breath blowing on her face with insistent whispers, ‘Mother, mother.’

She shivered, her eyes fluttering open, focusing slowly in the semi-darkness. A window pane banged and a curtain flapped in the hot air. She groaned, turning on her side and saw a dark figure looming over her, watching her with curious intensity.

In the light of the guttering lamps, the glint of hooded eyes was unmistakable, and she started, jack-knifing into a sitting position.

‘Shunen! How did you get in here?’ She looked around wildly for her staff when the couch caught her eye.

‘Who is that?’ her hand trembled violently as she pointed to the inert figure on the couch.

‘It is a gift for you, mother,’ he hissed, lowering his head towards her as if getting ready to strike.

She scrambled back, cringing away from him, ‘You have changed so much,’ she croaked, glancing at his untidy hair and beard.

‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘Thanks to you I have become a ghost. Now I come and go wherever my fancy takes me. Nobody is able to stop me.’

Manmaani shuddered. Ever since Shunen had made his escape, she had sensed his creeping presence in the palace, watching her from the shadows. Many a time she had ordered a thorough search but not a clue had turned up. Nandan had laughed at her fears, telling her she was turning senile.

‘The people will hunt him down and bring him to you,’ he had said. ‘Where can he run?’

Yet, here he was, more menacing than ever. ‘Mother,’ he shook her not very gently and she started. ‘Go take a look at your gift. I took so much trouble for it.’

Dread consumed her and she dragged her feet to the couch. Shunen gave her a little push.

‘It took me months to find your stash of venoms,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘You are really quite clever, concealing the pouch in your petticoat.’ Manmaani turned to look at him, eyes wide with horror.

Shunen rubbed his hands, nodding his satisfaction. ‘I found the right poison and slipped most of it into a bottle of madira. There was no fuss or suffering, just a simple going away. See how the poison has mottled his skin a pale, bluish-green, like the snake from which the poison was extracted.’

Nandan didn’t look lifeless. He looked sunk in a deep, dreamless slumber. Manmaani didn’t make a sound, sinking gracefully to her knees. She laid a gentle hand on her boy’s forehead, smoothing back a stubborn curl. It came away in her hand, brittle to the touch. Staring at the lock of hair, she went completely still and for such an interminable length of time that Shunen tapped her with a tentative finger.

‘Mother,’ he said, and a tremor ran through her frame. She looked up at him, slowly, and he took an involuntary step back, her white face with the black, smudgy eyes frightening him. It was as if the life force had been snuffed out of her, transforming her from a forceful, scheming adversary to an ordinary woman, a pathetic mother who had lost her only child.

‘Yes, you never took to me, your second born,’ he said bitterly. ‘I am neither big and strong like Ashwath nor captivating like Nandan. There were times when I caught you watching me, as if you doubted I had been born of your womb. I have always been . . . what is the word you used for me once?’ he snapped his fingers, trying to recall it. ‘. . . colourless. I remember you saying it described me best, and so I used it to my advantage, staying in the background, working out my plans. But you never noticed, mother, you failed to appreciate my intelligence,’ he bounded forward, jabbing a finger at Nandan, ‘obsessed as you have been with him. Everything you have done, killing my babies, for him. I could have killed you too, but I wanted to see your—’ he gasped.

Manmaani had coughed up the sputum into her throat and spat it at him, splattering his face. He lifted a hand to strike her and she screamed, a blood-curdling scream that went on and on, the raw, violent hatred terrifying him.

‘Mother, any moment now people will be here,’ he knelt beside her, striving to keep his voice calm. ‘You must listen to me. We both want the same things. We can do this together, mother. We don’t have to always be at war with each other. If only you could see how similar we really are. I am truly your son.’

She stopped screaming then, staring at him with unseeing eyes, black streaks of kohl running down to her chin. When he put an arm around her, she let him, burying her head in his shoulder. Shunen exhaled slowly. He was back in the palace, now the one and only prince of the realm. This time he would patiently wait for his turn on the throne.

Let the trumpet blow

Let the flute play

Aham is aglow

Why? you may say

Because I am crowned today

The Queen of Aham is at last crowned today

Hussuri blinked, slipping two fingers under a crown of twigs tight around her forehead. Yet she was loath to remove it. Murky sunlight beat down on her, the leafless trees like so many gnarled, misshapen beasts. She blinked again, turning around slowly.

‘Ashwath,’ she blubbered, ‘where are you?’

‘Are you lost, Hussuri?’ A voice called out to her from behind a tree.

‘Yes,’ she whimpered, beginning to walk towards it, ‘where are you, Ashwath?’

‘Here,’ the voice replied, and a figure detached itself from the shadows. Hussuri stopped abruptly, her brow wrinkling in an effort to jog her hazy memory. Something about the face troubled her.

‘The eyes,’ she mumbled to herself, squinting at the hooded gaze, the expression spreading a wintry chill over her. She gave an odd start, her thin arms flailing and spun on her heel.

Like a panicked animal, she blundered headlong, the screams dying in her parched throat. Shunen ran after her but slowly, gesturing to a group of lurking shadows to follow with caution. ‘I want to catch my brother,’ he told them, ‘unawares, unprepared.’

They trailed her at a safe distance, her tattered clothes flapping around her. All of a sudden, she leaped behind a crumbling wall and flocks of drongos cackled into the air like dirty rags.

‘What is this?’ they stopped short, frightened.

‘Is it the monastery?’

‘It must be,’ answered another, beginning to back away.

‘If we don’t leave now, we are dead men.’

‘Stay,’ Shunen ordered. ‘If Ashwath and Hussuri have been hiding here all these years, it can’t be accursed. A foolish myth, that is all there is to it.’

‘We are not going inside,’ they told him and he closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘All right,’ he waved his hand. ‘You search the outside and remember, my brother could be armed.’

Striding purposefully forward, he almost bumped into the wooden statue. It blended so easily into the backdrop of coarse debris that when he noticed it, it took him aback. He looked at it, the peculiar pattern on the sword attracting his attention.

‘The devil,’ he hissed, going pale with shock. ‘Big brother, what in damnation have you been up to? I must tell mother at once.’

Stepping carefully over rubble, he called out to Hussuri, cajoling her to come out, when a cold shadow, cloud-like, fell over him. Shunen jumped, biting off a scream, and quickly retreated.

‘Hussuri,’ he raised his voice, ‘Hussuri, tell Ashwath that mother is coming for him. He will be punished for worshipping a false god, for planning a revolt against the Goddess of Aham.’

Hussuri cringed, pressing her lips tightly to keep herself from screaming, her hands over her ears. The noise from outside, of wood dragging against the rough ground, terrified her. A warm breath of air tickled her cheek and she glanced up uncertainly. The solitary tree, with its light blue leaves and pink and purple flowers, beckoned her. She went to it, huddling within its colourful foliage. It seemed to comfort her for she dozed off and woke up startled when Ashwath put his arms around her.

‘Mother is coming to take my crown,’ she sniffled, beginning to tremble again.

‘No, no, darling, you are mistaken. Come, see for yourself,’ he coaxed, rubbing her back. ‘There’s nobody here but us.’

‘Baba,’ Prem ran in, his face ashen. ‘Somebody has been here. They have taken the statue.’

Ashwath paled, ‘Our hide-out is discovered. Let us leave at once. We’ll go to the north gate, to the hills of iron. It’s a dreary, hard place but I’m sure we won’t be discovered there.’

They hurried to the highway, mingling with the large crowds pressing in the opposite direction. The lean, grubby faces were tense with excitement. ‘When Mother Goddess calls, her children come,’ the people screamed. ‘Hail Mother Goddess, victory to thee!’

‘What is going on, bhai?’ Prem accosted a straggler. ‘Why are you all heading towards the main square?’

‘Haven’t you heard? The Mother Goddess is coming out of mourning today. It has been found that her traitor son, Ashwath, has been invoking the dead general.’ The man darted a suspicious look at them, ‘Where are you off to? Aren’t you loyal to the goddess?’

‘Of course, we are,’ Prem answered with a disarming smile.

‘Don’t be late then,’ the man nodded, hurrying off after the others.

‘I want to know what they will do with the statue,’ Ashwath said and they joined the perspiring multitudes, shuffling slowly through the streets of Andheri. The excitement became palpable as they neared the main square, the people jostling for a better look, the stench of sweating bodies thick in the narrow alley. Climbing on to tree stumps, a few young men peered into the square, yelling their observations for the benefit of those unable to see.

‘The living Goddess is here!’

‘She is talking now. Shut up, you all.’

‘Citizens,’ Manmaani’s thrilling voice swept over the crowd. ‘My children,’ and instantly hysterical shouts of ‘Mother Goddess’ erupted, thudding through every breast. Standing far at the back, Ashwath got a clear view over everyone’s head and an old familiar rage began to pulse within him. Dragging the statue by a rope around its neck, two men hauled it towards the glass case that held the khanda. On the other side of the square, Manmaani stood in the royal carriage, striking a dramatic pose. Shunen stood beside her, his newly shaven head glistening in the heat.

The black and grey snakeskin dress hung on Manmaani, her body shrunken and suddenly old. She had scratched her hair into a tight coil and in her sallow, sagging face, her eyes appeared strangely bulbous, the black pupils guttering in the puffy skin.

‘Evil never concedes defeat,’ she pointed an accusing finger at the statue. ‘Even from his grave he has reached out to snatch, not one, but two of my sons.’ She paused, her fists clenching. ‘Yes, he killed Prince Nandan.’ A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. ‘He breathes death wherever he goes and he crept into the palace, breathing into my beautiful boy’s mouth, killing him in his sleep. But that wasn’t enough for him, so he claimed my other son too.’

Manmaani’s gaze swept over her mesmerized audience. ‘Ashwath wants a new god for Aham. He wants to replace your living goddess with this devil whose statue he worships.’ The mob bayed deep in its throat, twitching uncontrollably. ‘The time has come, my children,’ she yelled, raising her arms, ‘to crush this evil, to send the dead back to the grave.’

‘Yes,’ howled the crowds, eager to smash the statue.

‘My son,’ she cried and Shunen stepped out of the carriage, forcing his pitiless mouth into a thin smile.

‘The Goddess of Aham has been merciful,’ Manmaani’s voice throbbed with emotion. ‘She has restored my remaining son to me. And now he will fight this devil, forever ridding us of it.’

Shunen’s hooded eyes slid to the statue. ‘Burn it, hack it, bury it and after that, my dear citizens, we must get rid of another traitor, my own brother.’

‘Kill, kill, kill,’ they muttered, surging forward. Several hands grazed past the case, rocking it, reaching for the statue. The khanda shivered, the dulled blade rattling the glass, and the crowds paused, startled.

‘The general’s sword is angry,’ the mob yelped, retreating, and quickly disintegrated into ordinary, frightened people. ‘It will cut off our heads and rip out our guts.’

‘Cowards!’ Shunen’s voice lashed them. ‘There is no magic in that blade. All the magic and power lies in the Mother Goddess. Do you wish to incur her wrath?’ Seeing them hesitate, he flung a lit torch at the statue. The dry wood crackled and hissed, catching fire within moments, a tall, orange flame shooting to the sky.

‘I can’t watch anymore. I feel sick,’ Ashwath turned away. ‘Mother has damaged the people, changing them, blighting their lives as she blighted ours. I wish there was a way to stop her.’

‘There is a way, baba,’ Prem looked on at the burning statue, his gaze unperturbed and unshaken. ‘The same Saahas who saved you, will save them too. The winds of change are coming, and nothing can stop them.’

Long after the square had emptied of people, one solitary figure remained, timidly gazing at the charred remains of the statue. ‘My mind tells me this is a bad sign,’ Ashish whispered, ‘but my heart says you are on your way back. Or am I a fool to keep hoping?’ His lips trembled and a tear dashed down his cheek. ‘I have waited for you, my lord, all these years, so patiently. Was it all for nothing?’ A flicker in the corner of his eye made him turn towards the glass case. The khanda quivered weakly, as if wishing to speak, to reassure. Ashish drew close, looking at it with sudden comprehension. ‘You have been waiting too.’ He touched the glass, his face soft. ‘He is returning and you always knew it.’