Abhaya, page 6
Anuvinda struck her across the face, making the other two cringe. Mitra gasped and took a step back, seeking the support of the pillar behind her.
“Yuvaraja!” Vikrama shouted. The prince of Avanti turned on his heel and left in a huff. Abhaya rushed to Mitra and threw her arms around her.
I’ll pay him back for this! Mitra’s cheek stung, but she did not allow herself to show the pain.
“It did not have to come to this, Bhagini,” Vikrama broke the silence, wringing his hands in embarrassment. But he couldn’t hide the admiration in his eyes.
“Never mind, Bhrata. I could not let a dear friend and a sister pay the price of being our guest. My family is much more than Anuvinda’s pride and whim.”
The trio made their way towards their respective quarters, Vikrama trying to console Abhaya who was at a complete loss for words.
Even as they reached the guest quarters that housed them at Avanti for the festival, she maintained her silence. Vikrama knew her silence stemmed not from shock or fear but sheer disdain over the incident. A thousand questions remained in her eyes but refused to be voiced by her lips.
Vikrama drew her close. “Do you think I would let anything happen to you?”
Abhaya shook her head. “I know you would have won, Bhrata.”
“What bothers my sister then? Forget what happened there, Abhaya. We shall not visit this city in the near future, even to worship Mahakala.”
“That is not going to stop him from doing horrible things. I ... I feel disgusted thinking about him.”
“I shall not let him come anywhere near you. Trust me, Abhaya.”
“Bhrata,” Abhaya blurted out. “We can tell father and leave this place immediately. But Mitra, she has no one. She needs my help.”
“How will you help her?” Vikrama smiled at her. Right from her childhood, Abhaya tended to picture herself in place of the hero of every story she had ever been told.
“We can help her marry a good man and escape this hell. I think I know who she would like to marry. I shall...”
“Enough!” Vikrama exclaimed. “It is not our place to make such decisions.”
In his heart, he feared Abhaya was capable of doing something audacious. A single thoughtless action could unleash hell in the region. Thank Mahakala a wedding is still a couple of years away!
Chapter Seven
Kamarupa–Two Years after the Shakta Conclave
The number of pilgrims visiting the shrine of Kamarupa had increased steadily. The prasad at the evening prayers was regularly falling short. Demand for the mystic medicine that could cure all diseases had increased, so much so that it was getting scarce, the demand for it far outstripping the rate at which the alchemists of the Shakta order were able to prepare it from the limited available resources. Bhauma looked at the lone pilgrim who was creating a scene at the shortage of the “medicine”. With prosperity come new problems, he smiled to himself. He rose from the seat which served as his public throne.
“What ails you, Bhrata?” he asked the pilgrim who was being restrained by the guards from advancing to where Bhauma stood in front of the temple.
“You, the lords of temple towns. Why would the likes of you or those high and mighty priests be bothered about what ails people like me? How would you even understand what we go through?” the pilgrim retorted.
Bhauma waved the guard away. He put his hand on the pilgrim’s shoulder. “We are indeed unfortunate to hear this, Bhrata. But pray tell me, what I can do so that you don’t leave the shrine of the Supreme Mother with a broken heart?”
“All I seek is a remedy for my illness. Look at my leg. It is paralysed!”
Bhauma looked at the skies and sighed. “Why do your children have to go through this, Devi Kamaksha?”
Suddenly, the crowds behind him cleared. Bhauma smiled. “Mahadevi.” He bowed low.
“Bhauma,” Dhatri acknowledged. The vast crowds of pilgrims held back by the guards reminded her of the day she had entered Kamarupa. The place had indeed become popular in the last couple of years and the reason, according to Bhauma, was Dhatri herself.
“What is the problem?”
“This unfortunate man cannot walk by himself. He came all the way here with sheer devotion towards the Goddess. Have mercy on him, Mahayogini.”
Dhatri closed her eyes for a long moment. When they opened, her gaze rested on the pilgrim. Her forehead wrinkled with concentration. Bhauma smiled. The years of practising Shakta ways had only enhanced her beauty.
Dhatri’s gaze grew intense. The crowds waited with bated breath. They saw the man moan and groan. On Bhauma’s signal, the guards let him free and he stumbled on his unsteady legs before falling onto the ground.
“Arise,” Bhauma said. “Arise, taking the name of the Supreme Goddess.”
“Amba!!”
“Louder and stronger!” Bhauma shouted.
The man tried again. His groans grew louder.
The mahadevi continued to stand like a statue. She broke her silence and spoke a single command in a clear, loud voice. “Walk!” The word echoed in between the walls of the inner fortress of Kamarupa. None in the crowd dared to bat an eyelid.
The man let out a cry. The crowds gasped as he took a few stumbling steps forward, his confidence increasing with each step until he finally straightened himself and walked. A cheer erupted. He hurried towards the stairs atop which Dhatri stood and fell to the ground.
“Amba! Your compassion is truly the supreme! You never fail your worshippers!” He sobbed out in ecstasy. The cheering by the crowd got louder. They chorused spontaneous slogans in Dhatri’s honour.
Dhatri sighed and reached out to Bhauma who hurried to her side. She stared at the pilgrim who had now risen to his feet, still bowing low, tears streaming from his eyes. She felt Bhauma tug at her arm. The guards surrounded them, clearing the way to their residence. The cheers echoed in Dhatri’s ears long after they had left the hall.
“How did it happen?” she asked when Bhauma came to her that night.
“You are the mahadevi and you ask me?”
“I really don’t know.”
“Your will is backed by the Goddess Kamaksha herself,” Bhauma responded, opening his arms.
“Why didn’t the miracle happen when I wanted the blind child to see last month?”
“Which blind child?”
“Don’t you remember the boy who … Prabho!” Dhatri gasped with pleasure as he gripped her waist.
“Devi, you shall not call me that.”
Dhatri smiled. “Bhauma, tell me—is all this true? Did the man walk only because of my word?”
“Because of the word of Goddess Kamaksha,” Bhauma interjected. “Even after so many years of practice, do you doubt Her, Mahadevi?”
She shook her head. “Not Her. It is myself I doubt, Bhauma.”
“Doubting yourself is doubting Her.” He held her for a long moment. “Dhatri.” The way he said her name made her sigh with pleasure. Bhauma dropped to his knees.
“Do you have to do this every night?”
“Will you, the personification of Shakti, grace your worshipper with the union of your spirit?”
“I am sick of this!” Dhatri exclaimed, backing away.
“As you wish.” Bhauma stayed on his knees for a couple of moments, then rose and made for the door.
“Wait, Bhauma! I did not refuse you! I want a break from this routine ritual. I want you to desire me as a lover, not a worshipper.”
Bhauma turned back. His eyes narrowed and Dhatri saw him clench his fists as he shook his head. “This is not role-playing, Dhatri. It is a practice, a saadhana. One needs to be true to it.”
“I think this is as cruel as the rituals of the plains folk are. There is no value to what the woman desires! There are times where I am tired of being the Goddess, Bhauma! I want your love, not your worship.”
She lay down on her bed and turned away. Bhauma looked at her for a long moment, then turned and left the room, his fists still clenched.
Dhatri couldn’t keep her tears back. She slammed her fist into the wet pillow. Finally, the tears subsided. Her eyes were swollen and tired but sleep would not come. She tossed from side to side. The lamp glowed as the night grew older and slowly she felt her sorrow grow into a rage. After another hour, she heard footsteps and lay still, facing the wall. She did not turn even when Bhauma’s hand clutched her shoulder.
This time, he turned her around with greater force, prevailing over her initial struggle. Dhatri glared at him as she still lay on her back. He came close enough for their lips to touch. She closed her eyes tilting her head backwards but her lips stayed yearning as he slowly rose back. Bhauma saw her lips quiver and her eyes narrow as she pushed him away and attempted to turn. But his hands stayed over hers.
She sighed and then gave up the struggle. The lamp went out and she felt his weight upon her as she undid the knot that bound her garment around her breasts. The night was the most passionate they had shared for quite some time. Bhauma’s arms still enveloped her when the ray of the morning sun fell upon her through the latticed screen covering the window. He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him.
“What took you so long to do this?”
Bhauma sighed and rose to a sitting position, draping her garment over her. “Did you want it?”
“Of course! What makes you think I did not?”
“You resisted.”
“It was just anger.”
“You did not want it then. Technically, what I did was rape.”
“Stop being ridiculous, Bhauma!” Dhatri hissed. “I am not a weakling to let anyone touch me without my permission.”
Bhauma shook his head and got up. He started to say something but stopped himself. Dhatri frowned. He smiled. “I’m glad you think so. It is still my sin, though.”
“Your sin? And how exactly?”
“A union isn’t child’s play, Dhatri. It is a sin to force oneself upon a woman who shows even an iota of unwillingness, be it shame or even hesitation. A union is blessed only when the woman is ready. Only then can the Supreme Shakti grant the state of Shiva to a sadhaka.”
Dhatri rose, the frown not leaving her face. Bhauma watched her torso tighten as she raised her hands, gathering her hair into a bun. He felt himself getting aroused again and took a deep breath. “Bhauma … will my whole life be this way?”
“I know it is hard. Harder for those used to the life of Aryas. But, Dhatri, the Goddess made her choice when her garland fell upon you. My love for you gave way to worship. She chose you for a purpose, a purpose higher than you and me. The purpose of bringing the world to her refuge.”
“Bhauma, why would she want me to give up the joy that I have found at last after it eluded me my entire life?”
“This is beyond the burden of rituals, Dhatri. Once you see the purpose and wed yourself to it, you shall not see it giving up your joy.”
“And what will that purpose be, Bhauma? I have been hearing about your bringing the world to the refuge of the Goddess for years now. But how?”
“Start small, Dhatri. You must give others what the Goddess gave you when you needed it. Refuge. There are more women who need to be liberated from the oppressive ways of the Aryas. Six of them just came to our door seeking shelter, Dhatri. The Goddess did not choose you for no reason. Initiate them into the ways approved by the Supreme Goddess.”
Bhauma saw Dhatri’s gaze shift to the wall that had a depiction of the Supreme Goddess, which she had made herself. There was a striking likeness. The eyes of the Goddess seemed to come alive, especially in the light of the lamps during the night. For some reason, they never failed to disconcert Bhauma. He turned to leave the room.
“I shall do so, Bhauma.” Dhatri’s tone made him stop in his steps. His smile, unseen by Dhatri, conveyed something other than the nod she saw from behind. Dhatri continued, “I also want to do something else, Bhauma. If the Goddess chose me as the mahayogini, I shall strive to be deserving of that honour. In every walk of life, starting with martial arts. Teach me to fight, Bhauma.”
“As you wish, Mahadevi. Senapati Mura would be more than delighted to make himself available to you.” Without turning back, Bhauma left the room. His heart had started to beat faster and he found himself unable to meet Dhatri’s gaze.
It was less than a couple of hours later that he heard the clang of metal on metal. Through the window, he saw Mura hold Dhatri’s hand, showing her how to grip the sword. Bhauma’s nails dug into his palm. When the swords clashed again, his eyes remained fixed on the woman who seemed to be applying herself to the art like someone possessed.
This is happening faster than I thought!
Chapter Eight
Prabhasa—Five Years Later
On the western shores of Saurashtra, the turbulent waves were in incessant competition with the bustling activity of the port. The region that had once been a centre for sea trade had faced a period of lull and gloom due to the repeated raids by the pirates of Punyajana. Traders had faced dangers at every step. Those who escaped the attention of the Punyajanas often had to face highway robbers and wild animals on their way to Avanti. The new city of Anagha had, to an extent, helped the traders face the perils on the land. But the troubles on the sea had continued till a confederation of the Yadu tribes from the north came to settle on the western shores. The Yadavas, who had come in search of a new home, were trained warriors who could overcome the pirates. Thus, at last, the seas were safe again, and the last five years had seen an increase in the activity of trade through the western seas.
With the trade, the economy had flourished. Port cities had attracted labour and talent alike. Carpenters were always in demand to make new ships. The young citizens mastered the skill of sailing bigger boats. To a newcomer, the port city of Prabhasa presented a festive picture of a flourishing economy, trade, talent, valour and religion.
A fleet of bigger ships was anchored offshore. Some distance away from the port were ships that needed repairs and reinforcement to their structure after a long journey on the seas. Carpenters set themselves to work enthusiastically and happily, anticipating the generous pay they would receive at the end of the day’s labour. Naval architects who worked on the structural aspect sat some distance away, discussing stronger designs for the vessels. Anyone who had known these parts for long could tell the difference that the Yadava cities had made. Apart from the wealth they had created in the last couple of years, they had also fostered hope, faith and aspiration. A day did not pass without the citizens giving mental thanks to the person who had wrought this change.
Krishna Vaasudeva.
The enthusiasm of the labourers working on the ship that belonged to his family was palpable. It wasn’t every day that Krishna himself supervised their work and they all bent to their labours with added inspiration. Krishna walked around, examining the structure they were working atop a vessel. A year or two less than thirty springs, he was often mistaken to be far younger. Nothing got past him; he had a way of checking the exact places that could cause structural weaknesses. His attention was drawn to the shelter being built over the deck, wide enough for two people. Aestheticism was not compromised even as robustness remained the top priority. Krishna examined the wooden roof of the small shelter under which workmen were busy honing the surfaces. As his hand touched the wood, his intuition signalled that something was wrong. Amidst the sounds of the tools being used, his ears did not miss the sound of a crack. The roof was about to come crashing down on the two artisans working under it.
It happened just as this realisation struck him. His hands rose automatically to support the roof. But he was in one corner and the roof could collapse on the artisans beneath its other end. Exactly when he expected it to collapse at the opposite corner, he saw two additional hands support it. A momentary smile appeared on his face despite the strain when he saw the lustrous plait of hair falling over the shoulder of the woman who shared the burden. Her strained smile greeted him. Assistance poured in the next minute and the workmen rushed out of the shelter, relieving them.
Relief was writ large on her face as she stepped back, panting for breath. An unimpressed frown knit her brows. “What if I had not reached in time?” Before Krishna could respond, she added, “Well, I know you would have made it to the middle of the structure somehow and taken it upon yourself to save them, never giving a thought to the possibility that the roof might be more than a match to your muscle, Vaasudeva!”
Krishna laughed. “An unforeseen danger often is an eye-opener that makes us realise our true potential, Dhaarmaseni.” She saw the twinkle in his eyes and his usual inscrutable smile.
“And which strength of yours did this damned thing make you realise, Krishna?”
“Maybe…” Krishna winked as he continued, “...my destiny of attracting a friend in the moment of need, Abhaya. Are you hurt?” He held her arm, examining a scratch.
“How dare you try to flatter me!” Abhaya pulled her arm back. “When did you last think of this ‘friend’? Not your fault, though, when you have bride after bride keeping you busy. Why would you remember us at all?”
“That’s quite an allegation!” Krishna exclaimed in a mock-dramatic tone. “Especially coming from a ‘friend’ who never cared to grace any wedding of mine.”
“As if you don’t know why.” Abhaya’s eyes fell. “Curse the diplomatic compulsions. The twin princes of Avanti, Vinda and Anuvinda, our dear long-time ‘friends’ or, to be more accurate, overlords. They cannot abide our getting friendly with the Yadavas.”
“And why exactly did the princess of Anagha disregard those friends to meet me now?” Krishna turned away, crossing his arms across his breast in mock displeasure.
“Anger doesn’t suit you,” Abhaya commented with a giggle. She then sighed. “Don’t forget, I have a real friend too at Avanti. Princess Mitravinda. Vaasudeva, do you remember her?”
