At The Threshold of Time

5.

'I believe it was starvation. If fed adequately, she shall recover in about a week.'

'Make sure she doesn't leave the Mahal Guruji.'

footsteps shuffled and a door creaked shut.

Shivali opened her eyes and looked around. She seemed to be on a cot in the corner of a room with bare brick-coloured walls and a high roof. Except for the faded carpet covering the floor, a dewan opposite hers and a low stool beside her, the room had nothing that would leave an impression on its resident.

Shivali dragged her throbbing self up and against the wall. A window on the adjacent wall was seemingly shut with wooden planks, but wind passed through the gaps anyway and made her feel simultaneously hot and cold. Her skin burned as she withdrew into herself, resisting the urge to throw up.

She heard hurried, purposeful footsteps pass by her room. Men and women spoke in a grim and determined tone as they rushed to and fro. 

Noticing a bronze jar on the stool, she pulled it closer and poured some water into one of the tiny bronze glasses stacked up on it. She gulped the water in one go and immediately spit it out onto the carpet. Rubbing her neck she shoved the glass back onto the stool. Every breath rubbed like sandpaper against her throat.

As she clutched at her bedsheet, gulping painfully, the door opened again. A man walked in a white dhoti and white angavastram*, his greying hair tied carelessly in a low bun that fell over his shoulders. His wrinkled face grimaced when he stepped on the wet carpet.

'I see you are awake,' he declared in a surprisingly firm voice and handed her a steaming glass.

'I added ginger to help with nausea,' he provided.

Shivali held the hot glass delicately and gave it a sniff. It did smell like ginger, but she did not drink. The man walked back to the dewan beside the door, this time avoiding the dark wet patch on the carpet.

'You shall be provided with liquid intake hourly before moving on to solid food. I presume you have been starving?'

Shivali nodded slowly, eyeing sceptically both him and the glass in her hand.

'Devi Kanaka shall be your aid. She shall freshen you up.'

'Did you bring me here?' she asked. She was now taking deep breaths, letting the steam of the water reach her brain and calm it.

'His Majesty found you unconscious in the city,' the man said and leaned forward. 'Are you an acquaintance of his? Why did he bring you to the Mahal?'

'So wait, I'm in the fortress right now?' She almost spilled the water.

'Do drink it. Yes, you have been here since yesterday. This is the Royal Hospital. Oh!' He then exclaimed and laughed, smacking his head. 'I never introduced myself. I am Krishnadasa, the in charge around here.'

'Am I being held captive here?' 

The man Krishnadasa looked surprised. 'His Majesty has asked for you to be tended to properly.'

'Yeah, and to make sure I don't leave.'

Krishnadasa blinked.

'I heard it,' she pushed.

'That was not his majesty.'

Before further questions could be asked, a quick knock on the door disturbed them, and a woman entered, carefully holding a pot of steaming water with a cloth.

'Ah Vaidyaji you're here,' she smiled, placing it down on the carpet. 'You are being asked for by that general with the amputated leg. He is putting on quite a show.'