The Rise of Hastinapur (44 page)

‘Quite,’ said Kubera. ‘But our army will bring with them jars of water, and I suggest that your army drinks it too. The wise ones on the mountain have said for hundreds of years that it clears the mind of the drinker, and we all know how vital a clear mind is to winning a battle.’

‘But must we fight, Kubera, my lord?’ asked Gandhari, pretending not to see Shakuni’s face darken. ‘We have recovered from Hastinapur’s theft, and now we can stop giving them their tribute without fear of being attacked. I have found myself wondering, then, what purpose would fighting a war serve, besides killing some men in both cities.’

Kubera smiled at her without showing his teeth. He tucked his bag closer to him. ‘With the use of Gandhar’s gold, Hastinapur has taken great strides toward becoming the foremost kingdom of North Country, leaving Gandhar behind.’ He set his eyes upon Shakuni. ‘I know the prince is not pleased with Gandhar being displaced with such deceit.’ Shakuni fumed, his eyes burning red. Even the two other men, Chyavatana and Adbudha, stoic men at most times, twisted their lips in anger. Kubera turned to her, still smiling. ‘Do you not share the anger that these men feel in their hearts, my lady?’

‘I do, sire,’ she said cautiously, thinking for a fleeting moment of Bhishma’s letter. She had invited him to Gandhar for the feast of midsummer. Would that not be a better, more peaceful way forward now and forget the past? After all, Gandhar still had her mines. It would take them almost twenty years to get past Hastinapur. ‘I do,’ she said again, nodding. ‘But a battle at this time would peg us back more than it will push us forward, will it not?’

‘Not if we win!’ said Shakuni. ‘It will plunge Hastinapur into the dark ages, and I shall see to it that they never awaken.’ He was sitting up in his seat, and his fingers were twisting venomously over his scabbard. ‘With Kubera’s help we shall defeat those daylight robbers, and I shall slit that brigand Bhishma’s throat with my sword.’

Gandhari took no notice of him. She said to Kubera, ‘Do you really think that a battle is necessary at this time, sir?’

‘Battle is never necessary, my lady, Queen,’ said Kubera. ‘It is a matter of honour, of pride. Can you look at the man who has plundered your gold in his face and smile upon him? Will you invite him to your midsummer feast and make peace with him? Will you perhaps marry into his home and have children that will rule his land?’

Shakuni got to his feet and drew his sword. In a fierce whisper, he said, ‘Never!’

‘My lady?’

Gandhari thought for a second of Bhishma’s warning, that the Meru people wanted no more than to start a fight between two kingdoms and stoke the fire from afar. But here was a man who had given her city food and clothes for seven moons without taking anything in return. Now he has named his price. She could not – should not – say no.

‘Prosperity was your birthright, my queen, as it was the birthright of every man, woman and child in Gandhar. You have in your kingdom the biggest mine of gold in North Country. If that does not make you prosperous, what would?’ Kubera lowered his voice, and it sounded like soothing notes on a flute. ‘He snatched that away from you, my lady. Today, if Gandhar has had to take the help of Meru, if she is in a position where her future is uncertain, it is he who is responsible.’

Gandhari nodded, uncertainly.

‘If you will, Your Majesty, put Bhishma in your place and think what he would do. Do you think he would sit with his courtiers and debate the merits of battle? He, who once fought with the kings of North Country at a bride-choosing to which he was not invited? He likes to speak of noble thoughts, my lady, but look at his hands and you shall see they are red with dried blood.’

Gandhari thought of the dust-covered miners slinking away to their homes at the end of a long day. Most of them had wives, children, mothers, families. Most of them did not wish to work in a mine. Until last year they were milkmen, weavers, potters and farmers. Now they allowed themselves to be covered in dust and soot, for whose sake? For hers; because she had asked them to. And who made her do that to her people?

Her father had said that a woman made a good queen in matters of the state, but in matters of warfare, a man trumped her because she would allow herself to be persuaded that violence was not necessary. Would she willingly put so many of her soldiers’ lives in danger just to recover some gold? Gandhari’s answer to that would always be no, but Shakuni’s would always be yes.

I am holding this throne for my father, she told herself, and for my brother. So I ought to do now as they would do.

‘Let us begin preparations,’ she said.

She waited at the window for the menservants to finish setting her bed, and when they bowed to her and left the room, she walked to the very edge and sat on it, with her hand placed upon the violet satin sheet. The breeze had become cold, and the moon had already disappeared for the night. Shakuni would sleep well tonight, she thought. What he had wanted for years was finally happening, and Gandhar looked like she was going to win after all. If she were Bhishma, she would be worried indeed.

Why, then, did she have this heaviness in her chest? Her tunic disengaged from her hair and fell in front of her eyes. With one hand she caught it and pulled, grimacing as some strands came loose and fell to the bed. After Hastinapur had been defeated and their gold retrieved, Bhishma would no longer wish to have her marry into the royal house. She was in her twentieth year; maidens of her age all over the country were having their fourth and fifth children. At twenty-four, getting with child would be dangerous to the life of the mother, which meant she had four years to have a child or two.

No more than one or two, father,
she whispered into the air.
Not the hundred sons you saw in my future, but it is better than nothing
.

At the end of this year Shakuni would ascend to the throne, and her part in Gandhar’s tale would come to an end. She would be relegated to the maidens’ chambers, and perhaps – just perhaps – some neighbouring king would pass by and ask for her hand. It would not be the same as being queen of Hastinapur, but it, too, would be better than nothing.

A stray thought hit her, then, that she might not get married at all. It was nothing to feel shocked about; maidens in royal houses – the less beautiful, the less able ones – sometimes did not find matches, and they whiled away their lives in the chambers, out of view, caring for a child of a sister or brother. It would be sad if she grew into that life, she thought, and for a moment she thanked fate for having taken her father away before it happened.

But what did her life matter? She folded her tunic twice, wedged it under the pillow. She unclipped her hair and let it fall over her shoulders. Gandhar’s future would be secured, and if the life of one princess had to pass without marriage for that to happen, it was a small price to pay. She understood that, but somewhere deep within her a voice asked why that princess had to be her. Looking down over her shoulders, she noticed her hair was thick and long, and when she let it loose it covered her big ears and framed her face rather well – not well enough to be called beautiful, because her eyes squinted and blinked too much, but enough to be called passable, perhaps.

She asked herself if she hated Bhishma, and she did, with one part of her. But the other part, this little girl in her who wanted to marry and have sons and watch them become kings, that part of her longed for him. In her whole life, he had been the only man who spoke of marriage with her. Ever since the death of her father, the king, all that she had heard from courtiers and courtesans alike had been how she must live up to his legacy, of how she must uphold Gandhar’s honour, of how she must mould young Prince Shakuni into a worthy king …

But Bhishma had come, and on his first visit, had spoken of marriage, of making her queen. That part of her who had governed Gandhar and lost sleep over its welfare hated him, for he was a thief and a rascal. But that same thief and rascal gave her the only chance at a life which she had always dreamed about.

A knock was heard at the door, and she asked harshly, ‘Who is it?’

A tentative female voice replied. ‘It is Lord Kubera to see you, my lady.’

‘Bring him in,’ she said, getting up and setting her face in a smile. Two attendants came in, one ushering Kubera to his seat and the other going around the edge of the chamber, lighting lamps. In no time at all, the darkness was gone. She found her mood lifting when she saw his languid smile. Pushing herself off the bed, she went to her seat and stood holding it with one hand.

‘Yes, my lord,’ she said.

‘You look quite fetching this evening, my lady, if I may say it.’

She wished to smile but did not. ‘Certainly you do not go to a maiden’s chamber in the dead of the night to tell her how comely she looks. Is that the way of life up on the Meru?’

‘It is not,’ he admitted. ‘I came to see how you were faring, for I know that this battle weighs on your mind.’ When she did not reply, he said, ‘Does it not?’

‘I am a woman, sir. Taking lives does not come easy to me.’

‘Aye, that is so.’ He leaned back in his seat and gripped the arm-rests on both sides. He looked straight ahead, into the distance. ‘I have heard our Lady of the River say the same thing, that death does not come easy to women. Mother Nature has created us to give life, Kubera, she would say to me. We are the image of the Creator, and man that of the Destroyer.’

She looked at the chamberlain who still waited at the table with her head bowed. She gestured to her to leave.

‘I do not have the wisdom of the Lady of the River,’ she said, turning towards Kubera. ‘But I must do that which is good for Gandhar; that is my duty as queen.’

‘Duty is one thing, Princess Gandhari, and want is another. You have told me what your duty is, but what do you want?’

‘Do you not know, my lord?’ she said. ‘Kings and queens do not have wants of their own.’ He smiled, but she continued, ‘If you ask of Bhishma what he wants, perhaps he shall give you answers that surprise you.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But we already know what Bhishma wants, and that is why I am here, my lady, guiding you by the hand and making you fight this battle.’

‘But why, sir? Is all this killing necessary? North Country is in its longest period of peace. No blood has been shed for years now, and people like it. Kings like it!’

Kubera opened his sack, and her nose immediately woke up to the intense smell of musk.‘I have here with me oil taken from one of the trees that grow on the slopes of the Meru,’ he said, and although she wanted to ask him about the war, the image in front of her eyes grew dreamy. ‘I have been told that I must give it to you, to wear over your eyelids.’

‘My eyelids,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘This has been blessed by the Lady of the River herself. She said you could use some of her sight.’

‘Her sight.’

‘Her sight. You cannot see very well from afar, I have been told.’

‘Yes,’ said Gandhari, her eyelids growing heavy. ‘Cannot see … well … far off …’

Kubera stood up and came to her. Taking her hand in his, he placed the container of oil into her palm and closed her fingers around it. ‘You shall take this, then. Inside this little box you will see a parchment describing what you must do to make it work.’

‘I can see?’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘You can see,’ he said, ‘but not with your eyes.’

‘I can see … not with my eyes. What …’

‘You shall see soon enough,’ he said, and leaned in to blow a little current of air along her earlobe. She felt herself fall back, and his arm cradle her neck. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed. All that she could feel was the cold brass box of oil around which her fingers were wrapped. She wanted to let go but could not.

‘Will you sleep with me?’ she asked, and even in her trance, she hoped that he would say yes, that he would fill her with his fragrance.

But he said, ‘No. I shall take your leave now, Princess. I have given you that which I have come to give.’

TWELVE

G
andhari, the Queen of Gandhar, salutes Bhishma, the Champion of the Kurus, the foremost dynasty in all of North Country.