Dear Readers,
Thank you for being a part of this journey!
Also, any new readers, please go through 'Elements of Fire' the amazing story, this work is a continuation of.
https://www.wattpad.com/story/205998187-elements-of-fire
Underneath the benevolent shroud of the velvety night sky, silence reigned over the palace gardens of Anga. The quietude of the night was broken only by the distant murmur of nature's nocturne and the soft strains of music coming from within the Grand Entertainment Hall of the Palace of Anga. The notes, delicate as the wings of a cuckoo and as melodious as the bulbul's song, floated on the air, carrying a transient harmony that dissipated in the stillness of the night.
Inside, the King of Anga was immersed in the climax of the Saangitika Katha, acutely aware of the warmth emanating from his queen beside him.
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Beats of the tabla resonated like battle drums portraying the chaos of clashing armies. Lyrical verses painted a vivid picture of Vikram's bravery in war and Nalinika's anxious wait.
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The music softened, transitioning into a mellower tune—a victorious albeit wounded warrior emerged from the battlefield. The beloved met in an embrace filled with joy and tears.
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The music crescendoed one final time. Gradually, the tempo ebbed away. The serene tunes of the tanpura reclaimed the spotlight, echoing the tranquil return to normalcy.
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As the echoes of the final notes reverberated within the splendid halls, Karna issued a stream of directives to the diligent attendants and maids, articulating the intricate nuances required for the preparation of Draupadi's chamber. The mesmerising performances continued seamlessly, as planned by Angrani, while his instructions were being meticulously executed in her quarters. The Guhyavaani expert was commanded to infuse melodies conducive to relaxation and tranquillity.
Upon the entry of the Shayita Palika into the halls, the King of Anga signalled for the conclusion of the concert, beckoning an aide to facilitate the customary bestowal of gifts upon the performers and attendants. Once they were dismissed and only the royal entourage of the queen and the chief performer remained, he lifted Panchali with effortless grace, his embrace as gentle as the cradling of the finest silk. In an elegant display of care, he gently placed her within the Palanquin. Sensing her stirring, his hand instinctively moved to tenderly rest upon her forehead, imparting a calming warmth that lulled her back to sleep.
These carefully crafted elongated Palkis, specially designed to accommodate a reclined position, served a dual purpose: allowing individuals to rest during overnight journeys or extended voyages, and transporting those incapacitated due to unconsciousness or illness. The particular Shayita Palika carrying Panchali was made of a gold metallic body, embellished with intricate designs tracing its periphery. Plush red cushioning enveloped the reclining passenger, while ornate motifs depicting majestic tigers and stately elephants adorned the edges, imparting an additional layer of grandeur to the already exquisite structure.
Though presently uncovered, the palanquin could be fitted with an opulent canopy, ideal for prolonged trips, ensuring the occupant's comfort and security during travel. Karna had commissioned the creation of this elegant conveyance following Draupadi's arrival in Anga. During their travel from Hastinapur, they had primarily relied on a carriage, which he had personally modified from his chariot. Their short stay in his ancestral home had, however, underscored for him the imperative need for his palace to incorporate amenities suitable for a woman and worthy of a queen.
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Venturing forth, ahead of the retinue, having dismissed his attendants and the Royal Guard, he meandered through the peaceful garden. Resembling characters in Jhijhian, the traditional dance of Anga, silhouettes wove through the moonlit foliage, casting vivid tales on the spectral canvas of petals, leaves and grass. The breeze, singing a melancholy raga, carried whispered secrets heard by the attentive solitude of the night.
As the entourage traversed the King's wing en route to the Queen's quarters, his gaze lingered upon the room that had transformed into his new personal meeting space. Located adjacent to his own chambers, it stood as the grandest hall within the palace. In times past, this room had served as the permanent guest chamber for the Yuvraj of Hastinapur. Designed with meticulous care, it was always prepared for the highly infrequent but much anticipated visits of the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess. In recent years, the visits had dwindled to almost nothing. The couple, fully immersed in managing the intricacies of governance and overseeing the affairs of a burgeoning dynasty, found little time or inclination to travel for leisurely reunions. If a journey was to be undertaken, it was far more prudent to allocate time to cultivate and strengthen alliances.
Typically, guest chambers in royal palaces are positioned at a distance from the main quarters, adhering to the rules of propriety for reasons of seclusion and security. However, this particular arrangement of adjacent quarters worked for them, bearing a distinctive resemblance to their unique but close connection. The guest palace of Anga, situated a little farther within the expansive grounds, rarely witnessed activity during Karna's reign, with notable exceptions occurring only when many of Duryodhan's brothers accompanied him during his visits. Otherwise, the Kaurav brothers used to lodge in the neighbouring apartments to the King's Bed room and Yuvraj's Guest room, which, only four moons ago, were transformed into the grand gallery and an expanded antechamber of his quarters—now holding little significance for Karna.
Under his precise instructions, the process of the conversion of the King's chambers and preparation of the queen's apartments had commenced in tandem with the initiation of their journey back to Anga. To ensure the thorough completion of the task, he had deliberately extended the journey, transforming the travel that could have been completed within a fortnight into an extended sojourn spanning the duration of twenty sunsets.
No external renovation is capable of truly masking the eternal void within. Memories occasionally threaten to transport him to a different realm, where he sees not what is but the faded glimpses of what once was. There are times, fleeting but frequent, when this palace, where he has weathered many stormy monsoons, appears jarringly unfamiliar. During these moments, his hopes rest solely on the potential of what could be.
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The royal escort gracefully entered Draupadi's wing, and his watchful eyes observed as the shayita palika was deftly lifted by its carriers, carefully ascending to the upper storey. The idea of navigating through the expanse of the palace grounds while carrying her had seemed markedly inappropriate. Not only was there a palpable risk of igniting rumors, but there was also the matter that he lacked her explicit consent for such an intimate gesture. Moreover, her esteemed regal status, with its inherent dignity, did not permit her to be transported in such a casual manner.
The queen's palanquin, exuding regal grace, glided into the sanctum of the bedroom. Meanwhile, in the adjoining chamber—a secluded haven exclusively reserved for the queen's confidential meetings and serene contemplation—the King of Anga gracefully settled onto a settee within the dimly lit space. Attentively, he absorbed hushed reports from informers, strategically placed within the queen's retinue, detailing her activities. At a distance, a mattress had been arranged for the secret sound expert, presently playing a sarangi to weave delicate, melodic strains into the air, reminiscent of twilight ripples on the sacred Ganges. This casting of soothing sounds induced a serenity that danced on the precipice of slumber while also shrouding spoken words in confidentiality.
In the bed chambers, the maids were following the instructions of their king in attending to the queen's every need with a tender touch, like the gentle caress of moonlight on still waters. Nestled within the cradle of soft bedding and supportive pillows, she rested in the gentle arms of darkness, where only the most essential light dared to cast its feeble glow. With hands moving with artful precision, they traded her embroidered jade saree for one of soft cotton. Adorning her with light-weight jewellery, the maids administered a soothing foot massage, aiming to provide her with utmost comfort. The room was suffused with the subtle fragrances of burning agarbatti infused with the aroma of Khus, a fragrant grass, dispersing calming scents throughout the space and creating an atmosphere of tranquillity.
After completing their tasks, they emerged to apprise the king, who sat in solitude, his regal countenance immersed in the serene tunes of the calming sarangi. Dismissing them and the chief performer with a subtle wave, he ventured into the bedroom where his queen rested in the realm of dreams. As he seated himself beside the bed, his hawk-like eyes, undeterred by the dimness of night, discerned a tattered feather dipped in ink resting on the bedspread. With utmost delicacy, he removed the torn quill, mindful not to disturb her peaceful repose. Perhaps it was his proximity or the cessation of music, or his actions, but she was roused from slumber. As her eyes fluttered open, a momentarily disoriented gaze beheld the ethereal form of her husband amidst the subdued surroundings.
For a fleeting moment, bewilderment lingered in her eyes before the familiar setting registered in her consciousness.
"Panchali, my queen, you fell asleep during the performance, and so, you were escorted here in your new favourite Palkia," he remarked, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He knew of her desire to embark on its inaugural journey during daylight, but exigencies often necessitate impromptu decisions.
With a flourish of regal finesse, he extended to her an ornate gold tumbler brimming with a specially concocted Ayurvedic herbal tea infused with the restorative essences of ashwagandha, brahmi, and chamomile, to assuage her disquieted nerves. Her hesitancy persisted, and he observed it with a knowing glint in his eyes. It wasn't shyness, a rarity in the fiery queen; rather, it appeared to stem from the perplexity of awakening under unforeseen circumstances, compounded by the apprehension that a choice was being subtly imposed upon her. He saw a cloud of confusion thicken in her eyes for an unnatural weariness continued to befuddle her further. A tangible mantle of vulnerability enshrouded her, accentuating the fragility that lingered between them in that moment.
With a soft laugh, he poured some of the herbal tea into his own mouth, savoring it with a deliberate relish. "Tastes good," he assured her, the playfulness in his tone seeking to dispel any lingering trepidation.
A gentle flush rose to her dusky cheeks in response, an acknowledgment of both his teasing and her own momentary reluctance. Bashfully, she acquiesced, accepting the vessel and bringing it to her lips. To decline now would risk a perceived slight, for beneath the playful assurance of the tea's palatability was also the demonstration of trust and his approval, as he had sipped the beverage himself.
In a voice resonant with reassurance, he continued to speak in soothing tones, elucidating the events that unfolded after her inadvertent slumber. His intention was to allay any concerns she might harbour about the night ahead and dispel any lingering doubts regarding what had transpired.
"Sleep, my fiery queen," he cajoled, as she lay down again, bowing to an overwhelming urge to doze that she could no longer control. His words were a gentle lullaby, his voice tender and low, meant for her ears alone.
Leaning in closer, his presence exuded an aura of serene gentleness. With a tender caress, he brushed away stray tendrils of her hair, his touch as delicate as the softest sigh. Each of his soothing murmurs enveloped her, every whispered word carrying an undertone of fragile promises and tender endearments, enfolding her in a blanket of solace, which brought forth a subtle, yet heartening smile upon her lips.
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Navigating through the corridors of the queen's quarters, he found himself enchanted by Panchali's meticulous embellishments—a testament to a woman's touch, both distinctive and thoughtful. Her careful additions had not only transformed the once-neglected decor, which had languished, especially during the recent years he had spent alone in Anga, into spaces of heightened aesthetics and comfort throughout the entire palace. The women's wing, in particular, stood as a class apart—a true testimony to her rich taste.
Lush plants, strategically placed, breathed vitality into corners. Delicately arranged flower-filled vases, exuded fragrances of the changing seasons. Soft cushions, carefully chosen and arranged, provided inviting respites on settees scattered throughout the quarters. Artwork seemed to be telling a story on the walls. Old heirlooms from the Angan Palace found a new home in her wing, seamlessly blending the past with the present. Luxurious rugs were not just underfoot but now carefully coordinated to complement the colour scheme of each room. The decor was a marked departure from what he had observed in the Palace of the former Samrat during the ill-fated Rajsyu Yagna. Then again, he had no reason to visit the antahpura back then. However, it is improbable that his wife would harbour any inclination to revisit the memories of her tenure there.
In these surroundings, she appeared to have stumbled upon a newfound sense of liberation, a sentiment she had candidly acknowledged on a singular occasion. He was confident that Draupadi did not find the queen's quarters in Anga, bereft of any matriarchal presence, as a source of desolation. He sighed. The situation was similar in her former marital household, for that matter. This led him to ponder—was the potential tumult within the female wing a determining factor influencing the dowager queen of Hastinapur's decision to refrain from relocating to her son's kingdom?
His thoughts went to a missive Yuvrani Bhanumati had sent in the early years of their friendship. 'Women's quarters in a palace are hotbeds of political intrigue and power struggles,' she had written, speculating on the impending transformation of her serene existence as the looming nuptials of the other Kauravs loomed large.
'There's bound to be a power struggle amongst the numerous wives coming from different royal houses. If perchance, a dominant presence emerged — a plethora of sisters from a singular house, it only compounds the complexities,' the princess of Kalinga had prophetically inscribed, envisioning the intricate workings of the household in the presence of co-wives. 'Complicating matters further is the delicate issue of power distribution among the wives of the distinct brothers,' the forlorn Yuvrani had written years ago.
Fortuitously, for the Kaurav brides, very few of the princes had ventured into the realm of second unions. This abstention was perhaps influenced by the poignant experiences of their mother or guided by a pragmatic lack of necessity for additional alliances. The sheer abundance of the Kaurav scions had conferred upon them a strategic edge in the intricate chessboard of matrimonial alliances.
Karna had been a close witness of the magnificent spectacle of the grand wedding saga that unfurled within the present generation of the illustrious Kuru lineage. The tales were as diverse as they were captivating – ranging from dramatic kidnappings from swayamwars as had happened with Duryodhan, Jalagandha, Bahvasi and Chitrakundala, to the triumphant victories in swayamwars won by Viktana, Durmukha, Chitrasena, Ugrasarva to the diplomatic accord between kingdoms resulting in unions for Vivitsu, Sunabha, Dushasan, Pramati, Raudrakarma. Then there were unions with various noble houses which happened for Balaki, Sulochan, Somakirti, Dirghlochan, Aparajit. He had also been a confidant to the princes who fell in love, some succeeded such as Mahabahu, Anuvindha, Duradhara while others like Vikarna, Mahodara and Veeryavan had faced heartbreaks.
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"Here, the venerable Maharani is showing us the way, by firmly clutching the locus of authority within her grasp." Bhanumati had sympathetically whispered to him in hushed tones.
They stood on the sidelines, watching Mata Gandhari perform the aarti during the welcoming ceremony of one the joyful brides who was happily entering the majestic precincts of Hastinapur Palace with pride, blissfully unaware or willfully ignorant of that fact that she was the latest unwitting participant in the complicated political games masterfully orchestrated by the Kurus.
"Fortunately, given that all involved hail from royal and noble houses, there is, at present, no compromise on dignity or honor, Bratha-" she spoke in a breath, only to turn aghast as her eyes met his.
"What I meant was," she quickly clarified, perhaps realizing that her earlier misspoken sentence could unintentionally affront her friend. "Glory to Mahadev! At least concubines have become a rarity in the current royal milieu, as per norms prevalent in the present times."
He had nodded blankly, by then painfully attuned to the nuances of Kshatriya pride, readily grasping the significance they placed upon the symbolic act of winning the hand and heart of a princess.
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"Yet, this palace will soon witness a frenzied scramble within the royal harem, where each woman will be vying to secure a loftier position for herself or her offspring," was another prediction from the Yuvrani of Hastinapur that proved futile.
The women's quarters did not become a narak for Bhanu. The antahpura was reconstructed, featuring symmetric palaces interspersed with beautiful gardens. Each dwelling had a distinct character, embodying the personality of the inhabitants. The buildings were artfully arranged into clusters, discerningly considering the bonds among the brothers and the inherent hierarchy within. Notably, a harmonious arrangement unfolded concerning the brides as well—daughters hailing from related and allied kingdoms found residence in close proximity, whereas those from warring dynasties were strategically separated by more than enough distance.
In the King's wing, the brothers had separate rooms, having ample space to accommodate both large and small groups of the brothers, allowing for extensive and intimate gatherings of siblings who wished to spend time together or who wished to linger in the main palace when their wives were visiting families.
Upon first witnessing the transformed space, he entertained the notion that it might be Queen Gandhari's handiwork, but swiftly dismissed the idea. It seemed implausible for someone who had been deprived of sight for years. Naturally, he assumed it was the work of the Crown Prince and Princess—a conclusion that turned out to be another erroneous assumption. In hindsight, he acknowledged he shouldn't have been surprised to discover that it was the brainchild of the King of Gandhar.
Who else possessed the uncanny ability to foster peace at his mere volition, where conflict and chaos seemed inevitable, while also wielding a corresponding yet deadly adeptness to sow discord in situations where peace appeared natural, simply because it aligned with his designs?
Standing on the expansive front balcony of his opulent chambers, he looked out into the enveloping night, his observant eyes meticulously noting the positions of the vigilant sentinels stationed on the terrace of the formidable fort. The ethereal glow of the nearly full moon cast its silvery brilliance across the sky. The time-stained palace walls stood as a resilient structure, firmly rooted in the soil of a kingdom that has borne witness to the turning of yugas.
His stay within these walls was sporadic. His days were divided among the Hastinapur's grand palace, the affectionate embrace of his ancestral home, journeys across his own kingdom, and expeditions as a dignitary accompanying the Kaurav entourage on leisurely excursions. Most importantly, he found himself frequently at the forefront of battles, both significant and minor, where he shouldered the cherished role of a war general of the Kuru Kingdom.
Despite these myriad demands, his dedication to maintaining a presence within the palace had also remained steadfast. This was a commitment fueled not only by his growing acceptance as a king among his people and his fervent efforts for the rapid advancement of Anga, but also because of Shanmukh, who was living with him for the purpose of weapons training and learning of the shastras (scriptures). Amidst the constant flux of regal duties on a then foreign land, Shon's presence was what had turned the palace into home.
The courtyard of his quarters which he rarely visited now, had once been a vibrant training ground. It was where peals of laughter and the rhythmic cadence of instruction had reverberated against the dusty walls, bestowing upon his mind a serene calm, reminiscent of chanting of verses from timeless scriptures, which gently soothe the soul. Now there are only the ghostly echoes of those bygone moments—mere fragments of a time when his spirit had soared high, akin to the majestic flight of the mighty Garuda.
Even in those days, adorning this castle with transient and unnecessary comfort was a notion he had seldom entertained, with only a partial consideration stemming from his uncertainty about the true extent of his dominion to bring about such transformation. The primary reason for this hesitance lay in his indifference towards such superfluous comforts yet he suspected that an underlying aversion towards excessive affluence might exist, as is only rational for someone who has grasped the profound truth that genuine wealth transcended material opulence.
The upkeep and maintenance of the palace formed a separate concern to maintain a worthy royal stature amongst the masses and the neighbouring kingdoms. However, the prospect of sculpting the palace to mirror his taste, embody his style, or enshrine his comfort had then felt akin to delicately treading across an invisible boundary, one he never quite desired to cross. He also took care to avoid being perceived as unduly attached to the opulence of royal life. Despite the kindness of his noble friend, he remained cognizant of the fact that larger, unseen forces were in motion, casting doubt upon the longevity of his reign. His kingship was supposed to be like a nomadic monsoon breeze, destined to linger only momentarily. The palace was thus merely the temporary abode of an equally transient king.
Image of Draupadi cocooned in her blankets flashed in his mind. Although the winters here were not as severe as the ones she was used to, perhaps there was more that could be done to enhance her comfort. Now, for the first time, it felt worthwhile to invest time and energy in making the palace cozier, more akin to a home — and, in many ways, it had already started to regain that feeling.
Karna's eyes fell upon the discreet approach of a spy he had dispatched only a few days earlier. The guptachar skillfully navigated the palace grounds, assuming the guise of a humble palace attendant. The King subtly signaled the guards to allow him entry into the inner chambers.
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In the old private meeting room adjoining his bed chambers, the atmosphere was of subdued silence. The furnishings were opulent yet functional, with a grand rosewood table serving as the focal point. On its polished surface lay meticulously crafted maps, scrolls, and quills.
Angraj reclined upon an exquisite diwan, a regal seat elevated in stature. Facing him, Abodh, the spy, occupied a lower gaddi. A small, slanted table stood gracefully between them, adorned with the soft glow emanating from the meticulously lit diyas, which the spy had ignited upon his entrance. The sanctity of this space was underscored by its exceedingly limited access, ensuring the utmost confidentiality in the exchanges that unfolded within its walls.
"Our Yuvraj, who was en route to Mithila, altered his course and rendezvoused with Rajpita and Rajmata in the city-state of Vaishali, Maharaj. They now journey together."
The King of Anga pursed his lips contemplatively. Shanmukh, holding the position of the official Yuvraj of Anga, displayed a conspicuous disinterest in spending time within the palace walls. Not only did he decline the company of Radha Ma and Adhirath Baba upon their entry last week, despite having travelled with them for a fortnight, but this was a recurrence of his habit—refusing to cross the palace threshold and vanishing after completing whatever task Radha Ma had assigned him. For instance, after delivering the anklets sent by Radha Ma nearly two moons ago, he promptly took off to Vanga.
The guptchar hesitated, either because he recognized the sensitivity of the matter he was about to convey or was aware that the news might not be well-received by his king.
"What troubles you, Abodh?" Karna inquired with a measured tone.
"The Yuvraj appeared discontented," the spy replied.
"Is that the extent of it?" Angraj responded, an air of indifference masking his true sentiments. Internally, he mused, 'What's new in that?'
Abodh averted his eyes before delivering the next piece of information. "He elucidated some most pointed sentiments regarding you in the presence of your parents," he finally admitted, the words hanging in the air.
The Maharaj maintained a stoic countenance. It was an anticipated revelation. No son would rejoice in witnessing the abrupt expulsion of his parents from the kingdom of their eldest which they had visited for the first time.
"Your parents offered a staunch defense of your actions, Your Highness," the informant supplied helpfully, before continuing, "but Yuvraj seemed to be steadfast in his opinion."
Karna responded with an amused tone. "Ah, the wisdom of youth! I'm sure he has all the answers to life's complexities at his tender age," a chuckle escaped him. "Well, at least he's resolute."
"He also seemed aware that he was being followed. Although he didn't completely shake off the spy tailing him, he came close. However, I believe he recognized me with your parents," the Guptchar added, a hint of concern evident in his voice.
The King of Anga, cognizant of the imperative to safeguard a spy's identity, decided on keeping Abodh away from tasks pertaining to the 'royal family' for some time.
"For the holiday of puranmasi, spend time with your family, Abodh. Enjoy a respite," With that, he signalled the spy to be dismissed. "Meet me four days from now, I have a designated task for you in mind."
The Maharaj of Anga stood, extinguishing the lone surviving diya and casting the room into a profound darkness that reverberated with the weight of his considerable responsibilities. Opting for his study over the adjoining bed chambers, he navigated the shadows with purpose. The elusive blessings of Goddess Nidra seemed to withhold their grace tonight, compelling him to find solace and productivity in his work. Ignoring the weariness that clung to him, he settled behind his ornate desk, illuminated only by the soft glow of a small oil lamp.
His first order of business was to meticulously scrutinize the policy aimed at providing relief and rehabilitation to the populace affected by the recent floods. Post that he had to delve into the provisional budget for Diwali festivities, and the proposal of the moving carnival so that the discussion tomorrow can be fruitful. If time permitted, he would continue his third reading of 'Nitisara' the treatise on polity authored by the revered Shukracharya, picking up from where he had left off.
The Queen of Anga, stirred from the embrace of Morpheus, arose, having finally grasped the elusive nectar of rejuvenation. She found herself reborn, akin to a celestial Champa flower unfolding its fragrant petals after a night's gentle rain — her repose restored her in a way that felt as if an eternity had passed in its absence. A resurgence of youthfulness coursed through her veins, a pervasive feeling flowed, reassuring her that the world, once again, was ensconced in the enchantment of boundless possibilities. The tranquility that enveloped her yesterday bore a striking semblance to that of an ineffable sense of belongingness.
As Draupadi cast her gaze upon the world beyond, she was greeted by a canvas of cloudy skies painted with the hues of romantic dreams and anticipation. The very air pulsated with the promise of adventure, reminiscent of the exhilaration one feels before embarking on a serendipitous journey.
The preceding night unfolded with an unexpected grace. Clasping a handful of delicate cotton saree in her hands, she found herself compelled to quell the impulse to dance around the chamber in sheer elation. Triumph of shattering the divine patience that had shielded her husband was imminent.
Observing the queen's elevated spirits, her attendants hastened to assist in her getting ready for the day. Consequently, despite it being a holiday today, she was dressed sooner than on other days, perhaps owing to an early rising on this particular morn. Now, how to fill this leisurely interval?
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While Angrani sat planning the day, her trail of thoughts was abruptly disrupted by the resounding cries of "Maharani! Oh Maharani!"
Samyuktha, the newly appointed maid, hastened into the room. Despite her initial inclination to rebuke the intrusion that seemed to disrupt the prevailing propriety, Draupadi restrained herself as she discerned the palpable panic etched across the maid's countenance. Without any forewarning, the young girl humbly prostrated herself at the feet of the queen, effectively catching the latter off guard.
"Mercy, Oh Maharani, Mercy!" Samyuktha implored with a tone of urgency and distress.
Draupadi regarded the situation with perplexity. Wasn't Samyuktha supposed to have already been in her village at the outskirts of Champanagri? After all, she had departed yesterday evening for the holiday.
"They have captured my aunt, O gracious queen," the maid managed to articulate, tears cascading down to grace the lotus-feet of the Maharani.
"Who?" the queen queried, her voice hard. After all, who would dare to lay a hand on the royal maids directly employed in the duty of the queen herself? As far as Maharani of Anga was aware, there was no hint of bandits or robbers in the vicinity, especially so close to the capital.
Receiving no immediate response, she inquired in a gentle tone, "Why did you not approach the palace security? You could have brought this matter to the attention of the Fort Commander directly."
The queen knew Vibha, Samyukta's aunt, who had played a crucial role in facilitating Samyukta's entry into the palace, a fact the young girl had once confessed to her. Vibha, also the sister of Bhumita, served as the chambermaid in Draupadi's quarters.
"The soldiers are the ones who have captured my aunt Vibha, Maharani!"
Uneasiness tightened its grip around the queen's heart as fragmented words and phrases spilled out of the distressed maid's mouth. Dismissing others, Panchali retained only Bhumita, the head maid, and Samyuktha in the chamber.
"...allegations of spying!" The young girl's wails pierced the air, "it can't be true, Maharani! I know my aunt, in fact, her husband used to work for the army-" She broke down, crying loudly.
Silence reigned in the chamber, broken only by the cries of the maid.
"...can never betray the kingdom," interspersed with loud sobs, "we are being framed!"
The Queen of Anga sighed heavily. This situation lies outside the realm of her purview. In matters concerning state security, the paramount discretion rested solely with the king. In the event that the maids in her service had hailed from her own kingdom, they might have enjoyed some immunity and the assurance of fair conditions during a trial, courtesy of the involvement of representatives from Panchal, but even then, in the case of grave crimes like espionage, salvation would be improbable.
Luckily, the maids were citizens of Anga itself. Panchali wondered on the fortunate circumstance that her father had abstained from bringing specifically any attendants for her or leaving behind his own maids in his visit. Such a happenstance, with the involvement of people from her maiden kingdom, might have derailed the already delicate relations between their kingdoms.
"Please save my aunt, Maharani!" Samyuktha pleaded.
Bhumita chose that moment to interject, her gaze remained steady as it met the Queen's eyes. "Gold coins marked with five-stars were found on Vibha's person."
Oh!
Oh no!
'Oh, what a grievous misfortune!' thought Panchali angrily. Though she concealed it well, shock coursed through her.
The five-star punched coins, once she had used so liberally in her carefree days, at the moment bore an unexpected weight in her mind. The five-star symbolized the five founding clans of Panchal kingdom: the Krivis, the Turvashas, the Keshins, the Srinjayas, and the Somakas.
How could Panchal's currency find its way here, so far from its homeland? Only one plausible explanation lingered—perhaps the King of Panchal himself bore it.
"Maharani!" sniff "You yourself have given your jewellery... to..to... us...'' sobs "..your sa..sa...satisfaction..." sniff "It is possi..ssi..ble that your fatherrr..rr.. gifted coins...ss...'' the crying girl broke off again in soft sobs.
Draupadi averted her gaze, lamenting her hasty display of compassion on the preceding day when she had bestowed upon the maids the adornments she presently held in diminished regard. She ought to have exercised patience for a more auspicious moment, such as the upcoming festivities of Deepavali, intertwining the giving away of jewellery with other regal offerings to the citizens. Dispensing standalone presents in lavish abundance, particularly to those currently under scrutiny for acts of espionage and potential betrayal, was inopportune. She pondered whether her own allegiance to the state might now be subjected to doubt as well.
Was it not more conceivable that Vibha had become entangled in an act of theft? Why is she facing allegations of spying? Indubitably, the situation harbours additional complexities yet unveiled.
"Maharani, maybe...aunt needed money-"
The queen curtly silenced her, her tone laced with ire. "Four months have transpired since my arrival in Anga, Samyuktha. In this fleeting duration, I have personally beheld the unparalleled munificence of the King of this realm, famous throughout the Aryavart. I am confident that this awareness is firmly etched in the consciousness of the citizens of this kingdom," she stated with conviction.
Receiving no response, she continued, irritation still coloring her voice,"Any financial needs your aunt may have had would assuredly have been suitably redressed by the generous Maharaj. Even if, despite her status as a worker within the palace and her easy access to an audience with him, she found herself unable to approach Angraj directly, there were alternative avenues, such as petitioning at the river bank, that she could have pursued."
The young maid, immersed in earnest sobs, bowed with an anguished plea, pressing her face into the depths of the carpet as though it would swallow her whole, transporting her to a safe place away from this madness. "I implore you, my generous queen, please, save her!" she begged, her shaky voice palpably conveying a fervent desire for deliverance.
Angrani rose and approached the window, wrestling with a blend of anger and helplessness warring within her. Why is it arduous for people to comprehend the importance of respecting boundaries in their requests? Displaying restraint shouldn't be such a daunting task. What compels one to corner another in such an undesirable situation? Simpleminded hope? Or Foolhardy indiscretion?
The rustling of fabric and hushed tones suggested that Bhumita was currently offering solace to Samyuktha.
She glanced at the sunless sky, where leaden clouds hung low, casting a pallor over the world below. Her mind was a brewing storm. She wondered about her father entertaining the notion of offering a bribe to one of the maids. A part of her recognizes that espionage is a craft routinely wielded by rulers of varying magnitudes—be they formidable monarchs or modest kings.
Yet, in defiance of compelling evidence and rational reasoning, she still resists the admission of such thoughts about her own father. Would he genuinely jeopardise his daughter in this manner? Does her happiness and security hold no significance to him? Is this not akin to playing with fire? Why such impulsive actions that defy reason and prudence?
Even in supposing, a concession she hesitates to make, but for the sake of argument, if her father had indeed resorted to bribing a maid, why would he choose coins native to Panchal for such a purpose?
"What can I do now?" Samyukta asked wearily, her voice hoarse.
"Cooperate with the investigations," was all Draupadi could say, turning around to gaze at the sorrowful profile of the young girl. "Should your aunt's culpability be proven, refrain from pleading on her behalf in the presence of the King."
Samyukta rushed out of the chamber, her exit mirroring the urgency that had characterized her entrance. Her departure didn't take away the gloominess that had settled with her arrival; the once buoyant atmosphere had now dissolved into the harsh reality. The blazing eyes of Yagnaseni alighted upon Bhumita, stationed in a distant corner. This woman, now compelled to bear witness to the trial befalling her own sister, was soon likely to shoulder the burden of an enduring separation from her sibling—one of a permanent nature.
Draupadi's heart ached, contemplating the uncertain future that awaited the relationship with her own siblings. In retrospect, she instinctively regretted her failure to dispatch the letter her husband had assured her could be sent—an opportunity that was now surely forfeited.
Brokenly, she moved to the temple for the customary aarti, her mind burdened with uncertainty and foreboding.
*** *** *** ***
Upon her return from the temple, accompanied by Bhumita, a maid hastily pursued her, delivering the disconcerting news that all her maids were summoned to the investigation chambers downstairs. This denotes that there is going to be a secret trial rather than public court proceeding for her maids. The only discernible inference from such a discreet legal recourse converges upon a singular and unequivocal reality: there exists tangible evidence implicating the egregious offence of espionage.
The atmosphere was fraught with the palpable dread of the maids, a sentiment not unfounded; beneath them lay the dungeons, where few who descended, emerged alive to bask in the light of day again. Yet, given that they were summoned to the investigation chambers rather than being immediately ordered to be confined into the dungeons, a glimmer of hope lingers. She is certain that the majority of her attendants remain untainted by guilt. Would the benevolent King of Anga, known for his magnanimity, condemn an entire cadre of maids for the transgressions of a solitary individual?
However, hasn't Angraj Karn imbibed the art of ruling from the steely command of Hastinapur's iron-fisted rule? A shiver traversed her spine as she contemplated the governing ethos characterised by the supremacy of the sword. Why had she remained oblivious to these intricate matters? When she was the empress, such affairs had lain beyond the confines of her designated responsibilities, and she had not deemed it particularly necessary to delve into the complexities of distant realms. Yet, were there not persistent whispers of the unbridled use of coercive force to quell dissenting voices, both in this domain and in Magadh? Is it not precisely due to this shared proclivity that these two kingdoms had shared amicable relations?
Throughout her tenure in Anga, she had only been privy to the benevolence of the reign—the public-facing veneer. Could it be that there existed an obscured facet, concealed from her gaze? This incident marks her first brush with the unvarnished reality of how her husband wielded and perpetuated his dominion.
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Alone in her chamber, Draupadi sat in contemplation, cognizant that some secret meeting with courtiers was transpiring, yet she was shrouded in ignorance. Even if it pertained directly to her in more ways than one, she remained entirely uninformed. Her maids were entangled, her kingdom implicated, and whispers circulated about another individual from Panchal being apprehended. These tidings, however, were gleaned solely from the murmurings of the maids.
Did the maids possess knowledge surpassing her own?
Is that what life has become now?
A sardonic laugh escaped her lips, echoing the irony of her past and present. Once a formidable imposing queen, she had commanded influence and even actively participated in certain trials, public and secret, during her earlier reign, where her opinions held substantial weight. However, the harsh reality now is that she is devoid of any discernible power. Unable to exert any real authority even on her own staff. She let out a tired breath, the prevailing political climate in Bhratvarsh was such that the consultation of queens in legal matters is an anomaly, and it was certainly not an expectation she could entertain here.
Given the distinctive circumstances that bound her to this kingdom, with intricate layers of tumultuous history adding complexity to an already entangled situation, she recognized that exercising substantial influence in court was an implausible feat. However, the lack of such sway didn't perturb her, for what she seeks is rather straightforward and personal.
If things were normal, as a queen, she could likely consult trusted advisors, esteemed ministers, or court dignitaries apropos the delicate situation concerning the two kingdoms currently. The gravity of the unfolding events bore the potential for severe repercussions upon the kingdom. Theoretically, her role as a queen was pivotal in governance, diplomacy, and advising the King but did Angraj harbour any trust in her at all?
Will she ever authentically integrate herself into the fabric of this kingdom? Is it a plausible prospect for two kingdoms, historically entrenched on opposing fronts, to forge a unity of perspective? Will an everlasting divide exist forever, marked by the enduring shadows of political machinations? Have the pervasive tendrils of mistrust from the public, courtiers and the King, become an indelible part of her existence, now?
At the very least, a certain solace is found in the knowledge that the security of Anga remains unassailed, for spying on her won't help anyone with any substantive knowledge. There's something unsettling about all of this.
Though the security of the nation is not threatened, this is a great affront. Her contemplations veer in a different direction. Anga is safe, but what of Panchal? The harrowing memory of panic flashes vividly in her mind. She recalls experiencing this mind-numbing fear during the intense negotiations between Anga and Panchal – negotiations, if one could even characterise that disastrous family fight as such. The situation had teetered on the brink of spiralling into armed conflict, and that very same panic has now resurfaced with a vengeance.
The air surrounding her thickens, making it increasingly difficult to breathe and simultaneously, it feels as if an unseen force is compressing her lungs, systematically draining them out.
What will be her stance if Anga declares war on Panchal? What can her stance be? How severely the lines of enmity have blurred! What will it take to mitigate any potential damage to her maiden kingdom's reputation or salvage relations between these two kingdoms of which she was the sole link?
So this was it my friends.
Good news to you all!
The upcoming chapter is nearing completion, and I'm hopeful of uploading an early update, likely on this Sunday, itself! Stay tuned for more.
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"The Sun is eye of the universe, soul of all existence, origin of all life, goal of the Samkhyas and Yogis, and symbolism for freedom and spiritual emancipation!" - Mahabharata
As the sun journeys to the north on the celestial hemisphere, may your life be filled with the light of happiness.
Happy Makar Sankranti!
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