Abhaya, page 20
Subhadra gave her a long look. “Abhaya, can you be honest about what he means to you?”
“Like you don’t know!”
“Don’t dodge the question, Abhaya. You shall find the answer to what you mean to him if you can be honest with yourself about what he means to you.”
His is the first name that comes to my mind during every crisis. He is the one I think of in every moment of joy. Dare I say what he means to me? If I do, will I have the courage to find out what I mean to him?
“Subhadra…”
“You hate to be his burden, Abhaya. I know you hate being anyone’s burden, for that matter. But you did reach out to him when you needed him and you feel you have a right to the crises that he faces too. Don’t you?”
“He is just heartless!”
“Stop being so predictable! At least be different from the rest of his wives!”
“By Mahakala, stop throwing his wives in my face!” Abhaya slammed her fist on the handrest of her seat.
“I fail to find a difference,” Subhadra said, quietly.
“Do I look like someone who shows up with a suicide letter because she is helpless against this world and needs refuge at his feet?”
“No, you just look like someone helpless against herself.”
Abhaya met her eye. Then she smiled. “Alright, I will admit he is skilled in—for lack of a better expression—lingering in one’s heart.”
Subhadra rose to her feet. “Abhaya, as a woman, I urge you. Break every constraint that holds you back. Face the truth. Embrace it without any baggage of assumptions to burden you. That truth, free of preconceptions, will define your path ahead. Claim it, Sakhi. Claim what is rightfully yours.”
Abhaya watched her leave, then turned her attention back to the dagger.
What could this signify? The other dagger Krishna had given her had been lost in her fight with the crocodiles at Anagha. This dagger seemed more than a casual gift. She stretched out on the wide seat, drawing aimless lines on its wooden frame with the tip of the dagger.
What does he mean to me?
You love him.
The voice inside could not have been clearer. It was not this she was worried about but the possible consequences of admitting it. In her present state as a dependent of Indraprastha, such an admission would only make her look more helpless. As much as she appreciated the respect and honour with which Subhadra’s family had treated her, Abhaya knew that her status here was not more than that of a supplicant.
Claim what is rightfully yours, Subhadra had said.
What is rightfully mine? She turned to her side, continuing to etch with the dagger.
The city that was mine is now just a dilapidated ruin. My citizens are unwilling to return. My father is no more. My brother has not returned. What is left that is mine? Who is mine?
If you love him, acknowledge all that is his as yours.
Abhaya shook her head. That doesn’t make sense. How can his city become mine? How can his people be mine?
Which is his city? Who are his people? What is his?
From what she knew about Krishna, Abhaya knew this question had many answers.
The highway robbers he absorbed into mainstream life and reformed—were they his people? The village of cowherds that he left to save it from a tyrant—didn’t he love it and its people? The city that he convinced his tribe to abandon—was it not his? The city that he helped build on unknown shores in a strange land, was it his? The other kingdoms including Anagha that he stood by, were they his?
Abhaya let the dagger drop from her fingers.
You belong to none of these, Krishna. But you take charge of everything around you, including my life, as though it belongs to you. You claimed my crises as your own. What is rightfully yours, Krishna, and what is rightfully mine?
Why did you have to leave so suddenly, Krishna? Why aren’t you here when I want to talk to you?
She drifted into a fitful sleep in which various voices debated in her mind. Some voices died, some prevailed. She did not resist them. She let the clash of opinions continue in her mind. But she was undisturbed by them now. Every voice, she realised, was her own, though she heard it from the mouths of Subhadra, her father and her brother, Katyayana, Vajrabahu and everyone she had known and met. With them came strange images of people she had neither seen nor heard of. But their voices, too, were a mere image of what she felt herself. She made her peace with the voices, with the strangers who did not seem unfamiliar. As she drifted into a nap, only one thought remained.
I shall claim what is mine.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Abhaya awoke, refreshed. It was close to midday. Her eyes fell upon the dagger and she smiled, picking it up and tucking it into her inner garments.
The excited voices of maids from the direction of Subhadra’s chambers caught her attention. The clouds covered the sun and the room went dim. A hand on her shoulder startled Abhaya.
The woman had a face that practically glowed. Abhaya did not remember seeing her before but guessed from her finery that she belonged to the Pandava family. She had not met all the wives of the Pandavas and, except for Empress Draupadi, she did not remember the faces and names of the others. She felt compelled to rise to her feet.
“Subhadra has gone into labour,” the woman told her. Her smile seemed strangely familiar.
Abhaya rose to go to Subhadra but the woman held her hand. “The labour room is not for unmarried girls like you.”
“Why not? How is Subhadra?”
“Fine, by the grace of Gauri.”
“Is she in pain?”
“It is her first time,” the woman responded.
“I’d like to be with her.” Abhaya tried to leave only to be stopped by the woman’s iron grip.
“Do us a favour, Dhaarmaseni,” she said, couching a command in a request with the grace of royalty. “Could you ride towards Vrindavan and offer our prayers at the temple of Katyayani? By the grace of the Goddess Katyayani, may celebrations welcome you on your return.”
Abhaya found herself nodding mutely. The woman exited. Abhaya collected her sword and got ready for the ride. She could not help wondering who the woman was who had that irresistible authority to ask her to ride down to Vrindavan. It was not as if she would have refused such a request. Still, there had been something almost overpowering about this stranger.
“Who was that woman who came in just now?” she asked the female guard who stood at the other end of the corridor.
“Who, Devi?”
“The one who came up to my room now,” Abhaya frowned at the guard’s absent-mindedness.
“Forgive me, I came here only a moment ago. And every important woman of the royal household is in Devi Subhadra’s room now.”
Abhaya shrugged and walked down the corridor, wondering what had made her give in so meekly to the woman. The courtyard by now was crowded with many more members of the family and she had no inclination to be amongst them. The clouds parted, revealing the bright day, and a ride along the banks of Yamuna, she thought, was rather tempting. Perhaps she would meet Sunanda, the friendly gopika, at Vrindavan.
The breeze wafting in from the Yamuna was pleasant on Abhaya’s limbs. The horse that the stable boy had prepared for her did not need much goading and the ride was easy. She was glad she had refused an escort—it was liberating to ride alone on this bright spring day.
Just what I needed.
She kept the horse at a brisk canter along the path strewn with spring blossoms. Two hours later, she reached the village of Vrindavan. Though the women who were filling their pitchers at the river did not recognise her, they could guess that a visitor from that direction could only come from the imperial city of Indraprastha. When they found she was a friend of Queen Subhadra’s, they were warmly welcoming. As more people gathered, Abhaya dismounted from the horse and politely accepted their offer of buttermilk. Then she asked for directions to the temple of Katyayani.
Sunanda pushed through the crowds and greeted her enthusiastically.
“I’ll take you,” she offered. The streets of Vrindavan looked festive; every home, regardless of size, was brightly painted and covered with wall art and doorways were adorned with strings of colourful blossoms. The gopika called out to her friends in the cowsheds behind and introduced Abhaya and more freshly churned buttermilk was forced upon her.
“The priest is away!” Sunanda exclaimed, seeing the closed gates of the Katyayani temple. “I shall send the children to look out for him. You can wait at my house.” She tugged at Abhaya’s hand. “This is a small village. It does not take much time to find people,” she added reassuringly.
“Mine was a small city too. Everyone knew each other, like the people in this village,” Abhaya said with a tinge of nostalgia. Sunanda nodded sympathetically; she had heard of what had happened at Anagha. They arrived at a cottage. Abhaya tethered her horse under the shade of a tree and settled on a stone bench along with the milkmaid.
“Would you sing for me?” She smiled as Sunanda blushed.
“My daughter is a better singer. Let me call her. She will sing to you while you have the midday meal.”
Abhaya was about to protest about the meal when she saw two other gopikas rushing towards them. One look at their worried faces and her hand went instinctively to her sword.
“Our Viraja!” one of the women screamed as they drew nearer. “They have taken her away!” The women sprang to their feet.
“Poor girl! Who and where?”
“Those sadhus who had come to Vrindavan some days back! I saw them taking the girl by force when she was playing near the river.”
Sunanda dashed into the hut and emerged with a sickle in hand.
“Are they Shaktas?” Abhaya asked as she mounted the horse.
The women nodded vigorously.
“Where did you see them?” They pointed in the direction of the temple.
“They crossed the river. They had a horse cart waiting for them on the other side. We shouted at them to stop but they just placed her onto the cart and set off!” the second woman said.
“Our men are away grazing the cows. They will be back only by the evening. That poor motherless child!” The first milkmaid wrung her hands in dismay.
“Don’t despair like weaklings! What are we here for if we can’t protect a daughter of this village?” Sunanda thundered, hurrying in the direction in which the women had pointed.
“Wait.” Abhaya raised her hand. “This is a serious matter.”
“Of course, it is!!” Sunanda shouted. “I am not holding this sickle for nothing!”
“I mean to say, I shall follow them on the horseback. You alert your men and send word to the soldiers at Indraprastha too,” Abhaya persisted. The finality in her tone convinced the two gopikas. Abhaya turned to Sunanda. “Please, Bhagini. Rush to Indraprastha now. I know these sadhus who take away girls. I shall follow them and bring back Viraja. But we shall need the soldiers too.”
The women held back the angry gopika and Abhaya set her horse to a gallop. Anger enveloped her with the memory of what had happened to her city came rushing back. It was the Shaktas who had taken Pingala away and extracted information about the secret passage from her. They were no mendicants; they had worked for Anuvinda.
These Shaktas mean no good! I shall get to the bottom of this!
Chapter Thirty-Three
Anagha
“Is this Vikrama’s city? This graveyard?”
Shyeni exclaimed turning to Kadambari who seemed equally shocked at the sight before them. The gates of Anagha lay open and deserted. Skeletons lay strewn on the streets. The bloodstained walls seemed to wail soundlessly of what they had seen. Kadambari, who had last seen the city in times of peace and prosperity, was too stunned for words. Bats flew from the broken ceilings of abandoned houses. Vultures fed on a carcass of a larger animal. The sight sickened her heart. Rodents ran over the stone seat that had served as Dharmasena’s public throne. Kadambari rushed towards the throne, driving the animals away with her staff. The walls of the empty city added eerie echoes to every sound, making her close her ears for the moment. “This can’t be. This can’t be! By Amba, this can’t be Anagha!”
Her instincts warned of a lurking shadow and Kadambari froze for a moment before her hand went towards the scimitar that was tied to her back. A howl that seemed to come from nearby greeted her ears before the animal leapt into the air.
Kadambari’s scimitar was out of its jute scabbard, positioned to take on the wolf when Shyeni leapt from behind her and drove her dagger into the animal. Both landed on the ground. Shyeni rolled over and cut the animal’s neck, sustaining an injury on her shoulder. Another slash from Kadambari’s scimitar saw the wolf finally succumb.
“Are you alright?” Kadambari pulled Shyeni to her feet, looking around, expecting more attacks.
For someone who had taken on the predator with lighting instinct, Shyeni’s eyes betrayed fear uncharacteristic of her. She caught Kadambari’s hands. “Where is Vikrama?!” Her voice rose in distress.
Kadambari turned to calm the younger woman.
“Didn’t we follow him barely three days after he left my home?”
Shyeni nodded, her eyes widening in relief and realisation. “Whatever happened to this city took place long before he could have reached here!”
“If I remember correctly ... the older Naga settlement…” Kadambari words petered out as she tied back her grey tresses into a knot and turned towards their horses. “Let us ride out.”
Shyeni followed, her pace now fuelled with renewed hope of seeing Vikrama alive.
“We must check my old village, the Naga settlement. If Manikandhara found the city in ruins, that’s where he would have gone.”
They found the Naga village reassuringly undisturbed, though it had undergone glaring transformations, mostly due to the increased prosperity of the interim years. The people, though, did not have the usual cheer in their eyes. It was understandable, for the lives of the Nagas were tightly coupled with the activity in Anagha. Kadambari did not see familiar faces amongst the youngsters they met—most had probably been born after she had left. They collected around the two riders, some coming forward to offer clay goblets filled with water.
Kadambari mutely pointed to the serpent tattooed on her wrist. It was barely visible in the dark of the night but the young Nagas knew what it meant.
“The old chief’s sister?” they exclaimed at her introduction. The older Naga women from the nearby huts rushed out to meet the long-lost daughter.
“Our Manikandhara’s mother!” someone exclaimed.
“Where is my son?” she asked them.
They pointed towards the house of the current village chief, conspicuous at the dead end of the prominent street.
A man in his late thirties opened the door, hearing the excited chatter outside and his eyes widened as the light from the lamp he carried fell on Kadambari’s face, which had not aged much. Her body still had a youthful vigour and her distinct demeanour was one of those memories that he had retained of his long-lost aunt.
“Maatulaa! It can’t be! Is it really you? By the God of gods, Pashupati, am I dreaming?”
She recognised him as the son of her brother. “Where is Manikandhara?” she asked, brushing aside pleasantries.
“The king is dead. The princess went away with the rest of the city dwellers to...” he paused, trying to remember the name of the city Abhaya had gone to.
Kadambari’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“But, did Manikandhara come this way?” Shyeni persisted.
The man stepped out of the mud house and pointed his lamp towards the hill that stood a furlong away. In the moonlight, they saw the distant figure of Vikrama. They mounted their horses and headed in his direction. When they reached the foot of the hill, Kadambari halted.
“You go first, Garuda girl,” she said, unsmiling.
She followed Shyeni’s progress up the hill with disapproval. The girl had not bothered to respond to her gesture with even a word of gratitude and was now sprinting up the hill, yelling Vikrama’s name in a tone loud enough to wake the whole Naga settlement.
Not an ounce of subtlety in the girl, she reflected. What in the name of Amba did my boy see in her?
The thought had troubled her ever since Shyeni had barged into her residence, demanding to see Vikrama. Initially, Kadambari had been charmed at Shyeni’s innocent straightforwardness and unabashed admissions. She had agreed to go with Shyeni to Anagha, hope rising in her heart. But the journey had been a bit of a disappointment. Shyeni turned out to be an obstinate girl who questioned every single thing.
Goddess save my son!
“It is me! Shyeni, your Kalabhashini!” Shyeni shouted.
Vikrama’s eyes carried the same emptiness that she had seen the night they had parted at Gomantaka. Shyeni ran to him. When she felt the lack of strength in his grip, she threw her arms around him even tighter.
“I heard what happened to your family, Vikrama. We shall find your sister. I shall help you find her.” Shyeni’s words were more frantic than soothing. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw tears stream down his face. She tried to cup her hands around his face when he suddenly resisted and pushed her away.
“Go away, princess of the Garudas. You are better off without me. I was of no use to my family. You will not fare well with me either.”
“Why?” Shyeni exclaimed partly in anger, clutching at his arms. “I have come all this way for you. I followed your trail till your mother’s settlement. You had left by then. I did not even go back to Gomantaka to inform anyone. I just rode all the way here!” Vikrama’s jaw dropped and Shyeni saw a spark of hope rising in his eyes. Then she shook her head, seeing it surrender to the melancholy that had engulfed him.
“To raise my hopes and then dash them again?”
“How can you say that?! Aren’t you my Vikrama?” Shyeni lost her cool and punched him in the chest.
“He can’t help being a man,” Kadambari’s voice answered from behind her.
