The Rise of Hastinapur (41 page)

G
andhari did not feel part of the festivities. All around her, even in the palace, was frenzied activity; her maids washed the walls and the floor with soapy water four times a day. The granite idol of Brahma that stood in the far corner of the chamber had been cleaned with a tiny brush, and now one of her chamberlains was decking the four heads with vermillion and turmeric. She dared not look out of the window, for she knew that even now, just minutes before sunset, she would find heat waves scurry up the flat surfaces of the rocks.

Her eyesight had deteriorated in the last few months. She extended her arms and tried to look at her fingernails. All she saw were white oval blobs. She could make out the cuticle from the nail, but she could not tell if they were dirty or clean. Only when she folded her arms back did they come into view. She was now past her eighteenth year, and in two more Shakuni’s kingmaking time would arrive. No king had come to ask for her hand, which was strange indeed, because Gandhar had the mines. Even if they had, she could not leave Shakuni alone on the throne; he would be picked apart by Bhishma and the other vultures.

It did sometimes prick her that maidens much younger than her in the palace went about carrying bellies as big as they. Shikha, one of her waiting-women who cleaned and replaced the candles every day, had begun to retire to her room a bit too often, complaining of headache or a swimming stomach. She had been in the palace for nine of her fourteen years, and just the previous year she had been given in marriage to the gardener’s son. Until she got with child, Shikha had been a tiny slip of a girl, hardly ever speaking and always keeping her chin pressed against her chest. But now she had a light about her face, and Gandhari had once or twice heard her singing to herself in the corridor after the sun had gone down and the candles had all been put out. Shikha laughed more, carried her head higher, and stopped to caress her belly once every few minutes.Gandhari’s father had often said that her suitors would come on horses from far and wide, that she would choose the most valiant prince of them all and have a hundred sons with him. He had said that on her sixteenth birthday the town of Gandhar would celebrate her groom-choosing; it would have been three years ago, had it all gone as they had once thought it would. Now was a different time in a different world, it seemed to Gandhari; not necessarily bad, she thought, reflecting upon her pale yellow fingernails and brown knuckles, but different. Even after all this, after Shakuni ascends the throne, perhaps her valiant prince would come on horseback.

She smiled at her own thoughts running away from her. Even now, somewhere deep within, hope of marriage and sons flickered. That was why Bhishma’s offer, shocking as it was, had been faintly alluring. Women were made that way, to create and nurture life, whereas men seemed to wish to erect a structure merely to have the choice of razing it to the ground. She thought again of Shikha, who must be lying in her bed now, on her side, combing her hair with the fingers of one hand and murmuring a hymn or a ballad to herself. That was the image that shall endure till the very end of man, she thought, the image of a woman fulfilling life’s very purpose: that of creating life.

The feast of midsummer was five nights away, and through the open window she heard sounds of people laughing and plying their tools – the thump of spades against rocks, the snip of shears, the squeak of the water-carrier’s balance. Generally she would be in gay spirits at this time of the year, but today her soul refused to warm. The people of Gandhar did not know of the storm clouds gathering in the horizon. They were like her, not able to see beyond only a short distance, ignorant of even the possibility that bad times may be lurking ahead.

The attendant at the door knocked softly, and when she called out to him to enter, he came in holding a candle in front of him. Bowing, he said, ‘There is a man who wishes to see you, my lady.’

‘At this hour? Command him to return tomorrow, and I shall see him in open court.’

The boy hesitated. ‘He has said that if you knew of the purpose of his visit, you shall call him in even at the midnight hour.’

Gandhari sat up, piqued. ‘Did he tell you why he wishes to see me?’

‘He has not, my lady, but he has sent with me this gold coin that he wishes you to see.’

She waved him into the room and took the coin from him. She bent toward the lamp and held it up close to her eyes so that she could see the engraving on it. It had none. Both the surfaces of the coin were smooth and cool as polished granite, and the edges of the circle had been rounded. She turned it over in her hand to see if she could make out any marking whatsoever. She weighed it in her palm to reconfirm what she had known the moment she had held it – that it was gold.

‘Summon him in,’ she said, ‘and call two of my guards to stand by me while I receive him.’

‘As you wish, Your Highness.’

The first thing that Gandhari saw was the yellow gleam of light in which the man’s hair seemed to glow. But it was only there a minute, and it could have been a trick of the lamps, for as soon as he stepped in and bowed to her, his hair appeared the darkest shade of black. The skin on his face was as smooth as the discus he had sent her through her attendant, and on each of his bare shoulder blades, she saw two perfect solid white circles. The gold coin he wore around his neck, hanging against his hairless dark chest, was identical to the one in her hand. He wore silver bracelets around his wrists.

He was dressed in the manner of a trader, in loose silks and gem-studded shoes, but he had none of the furtive bearing of one. He looked at her without emotion, as though he had been carved in stone; only his eyes – reddish brown pupils, long black lashes – distinguished him from the idol of the Creator in the corner.

As the man walked closer to her, she realized that his towering height had added to the illusion that his build was slight. In reality his shoulders were broad, and his torso tapered sharply down to his waist and hips. His arms had the smooth, graceful fluidity of a river.

Gandhari felt glad for the two spearmen that flanked her on both sides, though the man appeared strong enough to take care of the guards if he so wished. Across his shoulders a white cloth bag slung carelessly, making a light jingling sound with each stride he took.

She entwined her hands in front of her and crossed her legs. The man bowed again and said, ‘Princess Gandhari, I bring you good tidings from the icy mountains in the East.’

‘I know of no king or kingdom there,’ she said, acknowledging him with a wave. ‘Which king do you serve?’

Her visitor smiled a little. She saw a flash of silvery teeth behind black lips. ‘Perhaps that is not as important as the issue that has sent me here.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But you do not make a good impression, sir, refusing to tell me of your king. What if you belong to an enemy of mine?’

‘Do you think I come hither from the court of the Kurus?’

‘I know not, and truth be told I have not seen the likes of you in all of North Country, but I must be on my guard, sir.’

He pulled his lower garment to one side to free his legs, and sat down on the seat next to hers, the same chair which Bhishma occupied the day before. Looking at this man now she saw an image of the smug prince of Hastinapur, grinning at her from behind his fingers. She bit the inside of her lips.

He nodded. ‘I know your hatred for the one they call Bhishma, for he burns with the same fire against our people, the people of the holy mountain of Meru.’

So it did exist, then, the holy mountain. All her life she had seen sages come from the north and sing praises of life on the mountain, but she had always thought they were tales of fancy, of imagination spruced up by the strange herbs that people said grew in the forests there. If this man had been a sage, she would probably have laughed in his face and sent him away, but she saw in his face a calm she had seldom seen in any other. If this man said that he was from Meru, she felt inclined to believe him.

‘I have come to see you, my lady,’ he said, ‘because it has come to my notice that both of us have a common enemy.’ His voice was thin and reedy, yet so deep that it dripped with male energy. ‘If you become friends with the people of Meru, perhaps, together, we could gain victory over Hastinapur.’

‘You have not yet told me of your name, sir’, she said, ‘nor have you told me how you know of Gandhar’s duel with Hastinapur.’

‘My name is Kubera.’ He glanced about himself. ‘I am the mine-keeper on Meru, but Indra uses me also as a tradesman, and it is in that respect that I wish to speak with you.’ He paused to pull his bag more securely around his shoulders. ‘As for how we know your story, we have followed the tale of the two kingdoms from the day of the battle of Kamyaka, my lady.’

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘so you know much.’

‘We know everything there is to know.’

‘But how shall I trust you?’ asked Gandhari, keeping her face wooden. ‘I have only met you now, and I know not why you seek my friendship when you have a mine of your own.’

‘Trust,’ he said, looking away at the window. Gandhari saw the distant fires of the mines as little yellow spots on his eyes. ‘I do not believe that you have a choice of whether to trust me or not, Your Highness. I have been to all the other kingdoms that you wished to trade with, and I have seen all that I needed to see. You have no choice but to trust me.’

Gandhari thought for a second, then said, ‘Yes, that may be so. But why do you do this? If the Meru people have all they need, why do they come to me with an offer of friendship? How do you gain from this?’

‘Hastinapur’s fall is our gain, my lady,’ said Kubera. ‘Bhishma’s dream is to unite all of North Country and mount an invasion on the Meru, the likes of which we have never seen before.’

‘Surely Meru is strong enough to defend herself?’

‘Not if all the kingdoms of North Country unite against us. We may still win, but that war will take a lot of lives, ours and those of earthmen. We cannot allow that.’

‘Then why do you not invade Hastinapur right away and take it before it takes you?’

Kubera smiled, and she realized that she had spoken like her brother Shakuni would, eager for war and destruction without diligence or thought. ‘We do not approve of war unless it is necessary. It may come to pass that Gandhar and Meru shall join forces against Hastinapur in the near future, but for that you must give us your promise of friendship.’

‘And what do I get in return for this promise of friendship?’

‘Do I have it, by your word?’

She hesitated, and for a fleeting second she wished she had accepted Bhishma’s offer of marriage and had gone away before this man of the mountains had come looking for her. But the feeling vanished just as quickly as it appeared, and her sight seemed to sharpen. As she gazed at him, she saw the lines on his arms, the spotless skin that looked like just fallen snow, only in grey, the deep red eyes and the black beady irises. He blinked once.

She looked away. Once again everything was smudges. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you have my word.’

Kubera took out his carver and slate from the bag and set it on his lap. ‘If you tell me all the items that you trade with Hastinapur, Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘I shall pass it on to our traders and they will begin delivering them to you beginning next month.’

She shook her head. ‘No, we cannot begin so soon. Bhishma’s army will destroy your route. We must hide your caravans somehow. We must…’

‘You do not need to hide anything, my lady,’ said Kubera. ‘The path from here to the mountain is laden with mist. Our traders are trained to conceal themselves well, and they have the means to thicken the mist when they need to.’

‘Indeed?’

He smiled. ‘On the Meru, we devote great portions of our lives to the study of Mysteries, my lady. This is one such, one that Bhishma himself has done much to probe.’

‘It is true, then? He did live among the Celestials.’

‘Indeed. He is the son of Ganga, our Lady of the River. His childhood was spent in Brihaspati’s hermitage, they say. Though I did not get a chance to see him when he lived up there, people still speak of him.’