Nobody said that the road to freedom
Will be clear like daily humdrum,
That those who rule in the name of God
Are not powerful, even if fraud.

Nobody said that our victory was final
Nobody said there won’t be reprisal
Nobody said that the fight was over
Nobody said that revenge won’t be cruel.

We still fought, and we will still fight,
Until the powerful lose their might,
Until the cruel are engulfed by night,
And a dawn comes when all is right,
When all are free, and all of us matter,
Where Gods say – humans are better,
Don’t denigrate me, don’t rule in my name,
Denying human reason its due is lame.

—

To say that Bhumimitra was incensed would have been understatement. He was blazing with fury. That he didn’t walk up to the stage and thrust his sword into that defiant, willful woman’s chest was a triumph of the great military strategist in him. Otherwise his huge royal ego would have sent his sword flying. Instead, as soon as he realized where this song, presented towards the end of a programme supposedly in his honor, was going, he whispered his instructions to his tense war minister Sindhupati. Even as the woman continued to sing, the military machine was put into action. Starting from the back of the large ground where the performances were being held, people started getting escorted out. Those who resisted were dragged out. Based on the arbitrary, unfathomable logic, that comes into being when a rebellion has to be quelled, some of them were even arrested. But as more and more people were removed, Bhumimitra felt the tension growing more instead of subsiding. The harassed, the terrified, the handcuffed – all started singing with the woman.

We still fought, and we will still fight,
Until the powerful lose their might.

But he wasn’t going to act ruffled. He kept his dagger eyes set on the woman on the stage. Was she looking back at him as defiantly? He couldn’t be sure. Or perhaps he didn’t want to believe that she was.

She continued singing, repeating her verses, until the venue was emptied of the last of the spectators. She stopped as soon as everyone was out and it was at the same moment that Bhumimitra also stood up and strode towards the stage. His companions rushed behind him. He was acting rashly. What if the woman was armed. Although she couldn’t have easily passed through the scrutiny of their security apparatus with a weapon, but if she was adventurous enough to give the performance she had just given, she might be devious enough to use undetectable means of harming—

“You insolent woman! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t behead you right away.”

She smiled unflinchingly, “Perhaps because I am the daughter of King Chandravarman, the same one whom you intend to put back on the throne tomorrow morning, with all the pomp and the show.”

If she had announced that she was an avatar of Goddess Durga, Bhumimitra couldn’t have been more shocked and furious.

“Daughter of King — Princess Chandrika has been kidnapped by the republicans and still not found. And now you are going to try and impersonate a royal–”

A man had walked up to the war minister with slow, measured steps, to avoid arousing any panic, and whispered something in his ears. The minister, in turn, interrupted Bhumimitra.

“Maharaj! She is indeed Princess Chandrika,” he said in a low voice, then added in a whisper, “One of our spies recognized her.”

“Princess Chandrika!” Bhumimitra said uncertainly, “Have the republicans forced you to–”

She laughed, “So, my father still doesn’t suspect a thing. I am not a victim of the republicans. I am their leader.”

This was the second time in a matter of few minutes that Bhumimitra was shocked beyond the pale.

“Your spy network has failed you, Maharaj!” she added. Her offhand tone and taunting demeanor had Bhumimitra’s blood boiling again.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he hissed at her, “A princess plotting against monarchy. Deposing her own father.”

She chuckled again, “I am sorry that you think so. Because I am not in the least ashamed of standing by a higher principle. And I prefer to be called Devi Chandrika, not Princess.”

“Good for you, because you don’t deserve the title of a princess. Place her under arrest,” he ordered the security team standing behind him and his team of ministers and commanders.

“Maharaj,” the chief commander stopped him as he turned away, “Whatever she may say, it isn’t appropriate for us to send the princess of this kingdom to the dungeons like a commoner.”

Bhumimitra stopped in his tracks. The commander was right and he felt annoyed that he had to take the counsel of so many people for doing this right. But it wasn’t everyday that he had to deal with rebel princesses who were leading republican against their own fathers. He took a deep breath and turned back to face Chandrika.

“Where are your companions?” he asked.

“I have no companions,” she replied.

He squeezed his fist hard to keep his cool, then issued the order, “Send a message to King Chandravarman. He should send some women from antahpur as companions for the Princess, who would be placed under house arrest at the royal guest house. Put her in the room next to mine. She must be guarded every moment of the day.”

“Yes, Maharaj.”

 

—

Bhumimitra paced in his room after dismissing his attendants. What a disconcerting climax to a campaign he had considered a great success. Republicans had overthrown the monarchy in Chandranagar and King Chandravarman had asked for his assistance. Bhumimitra, the well-regarded King of Raigarh, had provided that assistance successfully. Marching at the head of his army, he had the republicans were decimated, except for those who had gone underground or escaped in time. Their inability to rescue Princess Chandrika had been their only failure – something he had hoped to remedy sooner rather than later.

But the princess had walked on to the stage that evening. He had been stunned at first. Not because he had recognized her. But because the unconventional black dress she had worn set off against her milky white complexion so enticingly that he had ached with desire. It was now that he realized that her black was not worn to bewitch. It was the black color of the revolutionary republications. And yet – neither he, nor she could help how it looked on her. Ravishingly beautiful!

Her beauty and his potent attraction towards it should not have posed a problem. But she was a republican. Not a lost, young princess romancing with a naive idea of the revolution preached by that damned philosopher who was a rage amongst the vagabonds these days. But the leader of those traitors. There could be no doubt that she was the leader after the brave performance she had given that evening. A lone woman facing an assembly of fierce warriors – all men – and still scoffing at them. She was no wide-eyed, bored, naive damsel chasing novelty. She was a leader with a brave, solid head on her shoulders.

What a conundrum it had left him in? What was he to do with her?

An attendant announced King Chandravarman to him just then. Bhumimitra sighed. The elderly king of the realm must not have known of his daughter’s escapades then. Republican win and the need to ask for assistance from Raigarh hadn’t humbled him so much that he would have come to meet Bhumimitra himself instead of requesting his presence at the palace. This revelation, however, seemed to have broken his pride. He asked the attendant to send the king in. They had to discuss Chandrika, there was no avoiding it.

—

To be continued