Prince of Dharma (122 page)

They rounded a curve in the corridor, passing the portrait of the newly crowned young Maharaja Dasaratha that Sumitra had noticed the previous time she came this way. That had been last night, when her quest for the true culprit had led her to the daiimaa’s chambers. Until then she had never visited this part of the palace before: maharanis didn’t go to the residences of daiimaas; daiimaas were summoned to maharanis’ chambers. 

Sumitra was an exception in that she frequently visited her son’s wet-nurse in her own residence. She and Sakuntala-daiimaa shared a relationship that was as warm and friendly as the one she had with Maharani Kausalya, and like most Kosalans she regarded the caste divisions as what they actually were–an economic system for more efficient organisation of labour rather than rigid class divisions. She wondered if Kaikeyi ever visited her daiimaa’s quarters; she doubted it very much. Not only was Kaikeyi not the kind to befriend any other women–a restriction that didn’t seem to apply to men, though–but had the Second Queen been coming here, Sumitra felt sure that Manthara’s game would have been exposed a long time ago. Whatever Kaikeyi’s faults–and her notoriety as a man’s woman rather than a woman’s was only one of a long list–treachery and treason were not among them. Manthara’s long-lasting deception and betrayal had to have been outside the purview of Maharani Kaikeyi. 

Which begged the other question: What hold, if any, did Manthara exert over the Second Queen? How much of Kaikeyi’s own sourness of disposition and bitterness of worldview stemmed from her wet-nurse’s dark asura leanings? Like most daiimaas, Manthara had been Kaikeyi’s own wet-nurse before performing the same role for young Bharat, and daiimaas could wield a great deal of influence over their wards, even greater than the mothers of those children at times. In the case of the other rajkumars, this wasn’t so, mainly because of Kausalya and Sumitra’s close bonds with their sons. But Kaikeyi was notorious for her unmotherly ways and attitudes. Sumitra shuddered to think of little infant Bharat growing up in the care of a woman who secretly worshipped the lord of asuras and sacrificed Brahmin infants to that dark ungod. Later, when they had dealt with Manthara, they would have to look into the damage Manthara’s secret evil side might have wrought on Kaikeyi’s mind and Bharat’s growth. 

Right now, it was time to face the witch herself. 

Captain Drishti Kumar spoke quickly to the four guards beside him. They strode forward in single file, with no pretence of being quiet or discreet. This was the heart of the royal palace. It was the enemy that would have to skulk around and hide if it chose to do so; they would march through its corridors like the proud ang-rakshaks they were, fearless and eager to give up their lives for their duty. 

Sumitra and Kausalya waited with bated breath as the four soldiers marched around the curve of the corridor and disappeared from sight. After a moment or two, their fading footsteps stopped sharply. Sumitra knew they must have reached the doorway of the daiimaa’s residence. After another moment, the marching footsteps resumed, this time growing louder and closer. 

Two of the four guards reappeared and saluted their captain. They spoke to him briefly. 

Captain Kumar turned and addressed the First Queen. ‘Maharani, the guards posted outside the daiimaa’s threshold say nothing worthy of alarm has transpired. They say the daiimaa is still cloistered within her apartment and has asked several times to be permitted to leave to visit her mistress Maharani Kaikeyi’s chambers. What do you wish to do next?’ 

‘I would like to go in and meet Manthara now,’ Kausalya said. She glanced at Sumitra. ‘Are you ready?’ 

‘Yes,’ Sumitra said. 

The captain nodded. 

‘Follow me then, maharanis. And whatever happens, do not break out of the protection of the guards.’ 

Sumitra remembered the terrifying hours she had spent imprisoned in that stinking secret yagna chamber and shivered. She thought silently, Not for a million gold rupees! If the guards weren’t there, she would never have gone back into the daiimaa’s chambers. 

As it was, she was very nervous at going back without Guru Vashishta. She hoped and prayed that soldiers and weapons would be sufficient to restrain the witch. Please, devi, you helped me escape that evil woman’s clutches. Now help me expose and arrest her. From Kausalya’s long thoughtful silences and dubious expressions during her explanation, Sumitra knew that the First Queen regarded this as a test of Sumitra’s sanity itself. Not just the safety of the royal family and Ayodhya itself, but the Third Queen’s reputation too was at stake here. If by some asura trick, Manthara managed to deceive everyone again, Sumitra herself would be regarded as the villain of the piece. She was risking everything on this jaunt. And yet she had no choice. 

What must be done must be done, she thought, setting her jaw grimly. In that instant, her resemblance to Lakshman was very striking. 

Drishti Kumar turned back to the two waiting guards and snapped off a quick order. Then he and the guards began marching forward again. 

Kausalya followed them, enclosed by the phalanx of spear-wielding rakshaks. 

Her heart skipping in her suddenly ice-cold breast, Sumitra followed. 

Manthara sat calmly on the mat, her prayer beads clutched in her right hand, chanting the mantra softly but just loud enough to be heard within a yard’s distance, rocking herself to and fro in rhythm with the recitation. She continued to ignore the two guards standing to either side, their spears pointing directly at her. 

The bead-curtain at the door shirred as someone entered. Without looking up or breaking rhythm, she knew it was Captain Drishti Kumar. He was followed by more guards, who formed a quad around her, spears pointing within the square, and then by the maharanis Kausalya and Sumitra. She knew that Sumitra’s face blanched when she saw her on the floor, but the Third Queen remained silent, her jaws grinding hard together in a manner that was strongly reminiscent of her sons. 

Manthara continued to recite her mantra with the self-absorbed air of a devotee lost in the ecstasy of prayer. After a brief consultation with the First Queen, Captain Drishti Kumar spoke in a curt but formal tone. 

‘Daiimaa, rise to your feet and greet your queens.’ 

Manthara continued to the end of the repetition of the mantra, then, as the captain was about to repeat his command in a harsher tone, raised the prayer beads to her lips, kissed them devoutly, and placed them on the book stand in front of her. 

As she struggled to raise herself off the floor, she saw that Maharani Kausalya wanted to order the captain to help her up, but decided against it. It was one of the things she had never been able to understand about Kausalya. How could the queen be so ruthless and so humane at the same time? But then that was the Arya way. To go to war against your own kith and kin, yet obey the rules of warfare scrupulously. Madness, mortal madness! 

Manthara gained her feet at last and peered up at the two queens, who were watching her as intently as a mongoose watched a cobra. She joined her hands in a respectful namaskar. ‘Namaste, Maharani Kausalya. Namaste, Maharani Sumitra. You do me great honour by visiting my humble residence. To what do I owe this privilege?’ 

Kausalya’s eyes narrowed. Evidently, nothing Manthara had done or said thus far was what she had expected. That made the First Queen suspicious. She was trying to decide if Manthara had genuinely meant her ritual response or if she was just being bitterly ironic. The latter was more her style, Manthara conceded, but she had been careful to keep the statements accentless and plain. They weren’t going to catch her out on something as trivial as tone of voice! 

‘Daiimaa,’ Kausalya said curtly, resorting to formal behaviour by the use of Manthara’s work-title rather than her name, ‘if you have anything to confess, do so now. The penalty for treason, conspiracy and attempted assassination is too harsh to commute. But if you show remorse and admit your guilt now it may bring some relief to your immortal aatma. When your judgement on Prithvi ends and you stand before that great celestial court in Swargalok, you may well be judged on the actions and words you now perform. Bear that in mind before you speak.’ 

Manthara allowed an expression of incredulity to appear on her wizened face. It was genuine, thanks to the First Queen’s own words. ‘Maharani,’ she said, hearing the surprise in her voice. ‘Treason? Conspiracy? Attempted assassination? Who has committed these crimes? If you are suggesting that I would be responsible for such heinous sins, then surely I would be judged not in Swargalok, but sent straight to Patal, the lowest level of Narak!’ 

Kausalya stepped forward. ‘So then you deny these charges? Think before you reply. Captain Drishti Kumar here bears formal witness to everything you do or say and may well be called upon to testify against you if so required.’ 

‘Deny? I cannot comprehend such allegations, my lady. How can I deny them then?’ 

Kausalya glanced at Sumitra. The Third Queen’s eyes were glowing like embers now, their soft brown pupils fiery with growing anger. ‘Sumitra? Do you want to say anything at this point?’ 

‘Only that she should have been an actress, not a daiimaa. She would have earned a fortune performing on the stage! She’s lying to save her skin.’ 

Manthara turned her distressed gaze to Sumitra. ‘Maharani? Would I lie to my own liege-queens?’ 

‘Yes, you would! You have lied. And killed, and conspired, and indulged in a hundred heinous deeds for the sake of your evil master. He’s your liege, not Dasaratha. Go on, say his name, admit it! Ravana! Say it!’ 

Kausalya’s hand caught Sumitra’s and squeezed it lightly. ‘Easy, Sumitra. Let me do the talking.’ She looked at Manthara again. ‘Daiimaa, by the authority of the maharaja himself, I am now ordering a search of your apartment. For the last time I ask you, do you wish to confess?’ 

Manthara joined her hands again, this time not in a namaskar but in an attitude of appeal. Her hands shook naturally enough of their arthritic ailing, and putting a tremble in her voice came even more easily. ‘Mistress, I beseech you, whatever this misunderstanding is, I pray to the devas that it should be cleared away at once. I do not understand what it is I am accused of. Why do you torment an old lady thus?’ 

Kausalya’s eyes flickered for a second. Got you, Manthara thought triumphantly, smiling inside if not on the surface. The words ‘old lady’ had struck home deeply, she knew. All Aryas bore great respect for the elderly, but some, like Kausalya, considered it their dharma to always treat them with respect. She admired the strength of will that made the First Queen take such strong action against an old and disabled employee of the royal family. Clearly the Third Queen had done a good job of convincing her senior queen. 

Kausalya paused, then said quietly, ‘If, by some chance, I am incorrect in my assumptions, then I shall ask your forgiveness for treating you thus. But at present, I must order Captain Drishti Kumar to conduct a full and thorough search of your apartment. Do you have anything further to say that could be of use to yourself?’ 

Manthara raised her hands skywards. ‘May Almighty Sri have mercy on my ageing aatma,’ she said shakily, knowing full well that the Mother-Creator was Kausalya’s patron deity. 

She was pleased by the touch of anguish in her voice. 

Kausalya’s voice, in contrast, sounded strained and worried as she said, ‘Captain, ask your men to search the apartment thoroughly. Spare no effort. And I would appreciate it if you would accompany me to the daiimaa’s pooja chamber. I wish to search that place personally.’ 

The captain issued orders to his men, ending with, ‘Break the place apart if you have to.’ 

Palace guards filed into the apartment in a seemingly endless flow, marching through the corridors and rooms. Manthara shook her head mournfully, muttering softly to herself in agitation. She felt Third Queen Sumitra’s eyes boring into her. 

A guard called out from the north wall of the apartment, addressing his captain. 

Drishti Kumar turned to the maharanis. ‘The pooja room, maharani. Come with me.’ 

Manthara waited a few moments as the two queens and the captain, accompanied by a double-quad of guards that seemed to be linked to the maharanis by invisible rods, left the room and entered the pooja room. She lurched after them, ignoring the guards working everywhere, tearing open mattresses, spearing pillows, smashing through the rear walls of closets and cabinets, taking their captain’s last words very seriously. 

She heard a shout of outrage from inside the pooja room. It was the Third Queen. 

As she reached the doorway of the pooja room, she heard Sumitra say, ‘It’s sorcery! Kausalya, I told you the woman’s a witch! She did this with her black art somehow. You have to believe me!’ 

Manthara entered the pooja room and looked in to see the main altar shifted carefully to one side to allow access to the rear wall. Captain Drishti Kumar, the two maharanis and their eight guards were arranged in a tableau that seemed quite hilarious to Manthara’s eyes. They were staring at the window that occupied a large part of the rear wall. The evening sky was clearly visible through it. 

The light of the setting sun filled the room indirectly, lighting everyone’s faces in a soft reddish-orange glow. 

Sumitra pointed accusingly at Manthara. ‘She did this somehow, Kausalya. She changed this whole room. I tell you, when I was here earlier, there was no window at all. Just a wall. And behind that wall was the secret yagna chamber where she’s been conducting her vile sacrifices!’