The Enemy's Daughter

Chapter Fourteen

"Give me time to think. I shall give you my answer when you return," she promised. It wasn't so easy. She belonged to the Prince. He would have the head of any man who even dared to look at her. It was going to be a difficult choice.

*****

The last rays of the sun were falling obliquely through the filigreed window. Harshvardhan sat, a cup in his hands, his gaze staring unseeingly at the deep red depths of the wine in the cup. For the last couple of days, he had found himself distracted. Nothing could hold his attention. Neither affairs of the state, nor the sweet melodies of the courtesans nor the invitation to go for a hunt which had come from his childhood friend Prithviraj. He had secretly found out from Lalita about the progress that the Princess had made in regaining her health. Slowly and steadily her strength was coming back, and she had been taking a few rounds of the garden.

The train of his thoughts was broken by the hand which fell on his shoulder. He turned to see Prithviraj frowning down at him. "You haven't been yourself these last few days, my friend," Prithviraj remarked, taking a seat beside him. "What's eating you up? I have seldom seen you this morose."

Harshvardhan shrugged, then getting up walked to the window, staring out at the grounds below. "I don't understand it myself. Nothing seems to interest me. I have never felt so dissatisfied with life before."

Prithviraj gave a sardonic laugh. "My dear fellow, men would kill to have a life like yours. Has Neelanjana, that ravishing nymph, not been taking good care of you?"

Harshvardhan continued to stare out of the window. A woman was sitting on the marble bench, sewing a garland of marigolds. "I haven't been to see Neelanjana in weeks."

Prithviraj came to stand alongside him. Peering out of the casement, his glance fell on the woman seated below. "Hmm....so you are all of a sudden interested in your mortal enemy's daughter. I recall a man who swore he wouldn't even look at her, a few months back. What happened between then and now to change your mind?"

"Who told you that I had changed my mind?" Harshvardhan replied irritably. He turned his back to the window and stood scowling. "I was just breathing in the fresh air."

"And I have horns on my head," his friend taunted, a mischievous smile on his lips. "I am more observant, dear fellow than you think. You are giving a very good impression of a lovesick swain."

Harshvardhan snorted in disgust, then gulped down the rest of the wine in a single swallow. The cup came crashing down, as he turned in rage at his friend. "Get this well, you dimwit, that I have never been and never will be in love with any woman. I do not care a hoot for my wife. She is nothing to me. I hate her and everything she stands for. Now, stop your nonsense, and let us discuss that hunting trip you seemed to be so interested in. I am ready to bring down a few tigers with my arrow."

*****

The man sat sharpening his jeweled dagger on a stone. He looked around the shack and his lips curled in a sneer of disgust. Surely, he had been made for better things. For a royal life full of luxuries and revelry, silken clothes, sumptuous feasts, and that one thing which he craved with all his heart, the throne of Jaigarh. It was a cruel jest of fate that he, a prince, the king's own brother, was reduced to nothing better than an outlaw, forced to flee from one place to the other and live in ignominy.

He rose from the wooden box he had been sitting on, coming to stand beside the small makeshift window covered with a rag. He lifted a corner of the cloth with distaste. It was greasy and filthy with use and had faded from a wine red to a dirty mud color. Peering out, he could see the busy street, echoing with the clanking of the bullock carts and the shouts of the vendors. A few camels passed by with loads on their backs, but he was looking for a horse rider. After the death of Sunder Singh, he had been rendered helpless. He desperately needed help from the man who was to meet him here. Would he come? He had no answers at present. He could only hope that things would look up, or he was doomed to spend his life in exile.

*****

The deer was grazing on the patch of grass near some bushes. It was clearly oblivious to the presence of the man hiding behind a tree some distance from the grassy patch. Harshvardhan smiled and took aim. His horse was tied in a nearby grove. Prithviraj was trailing behind, unable to match his breakneck speed. By the time his friend caught up with him, he would have this fawn felled with his arrow. That would make a tasty morsel at dinner that night.

He measured the distance between them, then with a steady hand pulled on the bow. Even before the arrow could leave to meet its target, there was an ear-splitting roar and a tiger emerged from the opposite bushes. Its striped yellow body had been well camouflaged by the tall dry grass and the bushy vegetation. Harshvardhan, despite his vast experience, had failed to notice the predator. That came of being so absentminded, as he had been these days.

The bow dropped from his fingers and he grasped for his sword. Blast! It seemed to be stuck in its sheath. The beast had spotted him, as the fawn had scurried into the undergrowth. Now, it advanced on its human prey. There was no course open to him now than to face his nemesis. It sprang high in the air with another blood-curdling roar, as Harshvardhan freed his sword, but before he could drive it into the heart of the beast, its paw had struck his chest, the claws embedding in the flesh and drawing out blood. Harshvardhan felt consciousness recede, but with one last ditch effort, drove the sword into the animal's belly. With a death cry, the monstrous beast fell to the earth, and so did he, the earth becoming red with the blood of man and animal. Deafening silence reigned in the forest once again, belying the bloody scene played out moments before.