Mish' Fiction

Chandrika paced inside her tent. She had driven all her companions crazy that day with her mood swings and tempers. They were standing huddled at a distance, fearful of what the next outburst would bring. She knew that at least five messengers had come from the battle field to the camp. Every time they came she had sent a messenger to get some news of Bhumimitra. Every time her messenger had come back without any concrete information. “Maharaj was fine” could have meant that he was actually fine. But it could as easily have been a standard message to avoid any panic If there was indeed something wrong. All the other news of how bloody the fight was that day was reaching her unfiltered. Just no news of the one person she was interested in.

Tired of pacing, she slumped into an armchair.

Bhumimitra barged in unannounced. Chandrika jumped out of the chair she had occupied barely a moment ago and it took all her grooming in gracefulness to not scream out loud. But her restraint slipped again, and she ran towards him.

“Maharaj!” she exclaimed, panting, and stopped short of running into him. “You are injured?” she looked at the bandage on his left upper-arm. His chest and forearms also showed signs of minor injuries on which a healing paste had been applied. Overall though, she slowly realized, he was indeed fine and no great harm had come to him.

“You were worried about me?” his eyes threatened to penetrate her very soul.

She gulped and didn’t reply.

“You sent for me five times, I am told. Why?” he pressed on.

“The news from the frontier was terrifying. I am under your protection right now, Maharaj,” she found her voice and an excuse of a reply too, “You are my lord today. And I have been taught to be loyal to my–”

“A lesson you don’t care a whit about,” he interrupted and stepped closer to her. She stood glued to her place, “You didn’t flinch when your father was deposed. Your most legitimate lord who deserved your loyalty the most. In fact, you deposed him. No. You don’t feel loyalty for your lord, Chandrika. Love, however,” he reached out and cupped her face, “Is a different beast. And it attacks a republican heart as easily as it does a monarch’s.” He pressed his lips on hers, she did not stop him, and her companions quietly left the room.

—

He woke up with a feeling of well-being that he hadn’t felt in years. Not since taking over the reign of his kingdom. It was ridiculous to feel this relaxed in a war camp at the frontier. He recalled the night of frantic, followed by languorous, love-making with his republican princess and his lips stretched into a grin. Some food had been brought to them. But he hardly remembered eating anything. He had also sent a message to his men that the war council meeting will be held before sunrise. So, they all should go to bed early and be ready to be woken up earlier than usual. Perhaps it was time to send them the summons. But before that– His hands stretched and sought her out on the other side of the bed. But her side was empty.

He sat up immediately, his hands on the dagger that he had remembered to sleep with even after indulging in blinding passion through the evening. Where was he? Had he only dreamed of the passionate encounter? It was still dark and the only light was coming from an almost dying earthen lamp in the far corner of the tent. It was not his tent. He was definitely inside hers. He looked around hurriedly and soon made out a shape lying on the armchair from which last evening he had seen the same shape jumping out on his unannounced arrival. He threw off the bedcover and rushed there. “Chandrika!” he held her head and turned it so that he could look at her, “What’s wrong?” Even in the dim light he could see that she was sweating and was breathing with difficulty. “God, what’s going on? Did I hurt you? I will call the Rajvaidya–”

“It’s too late, Maharaj,” she spoke with a lot of effort, “And it is by design. I must die.”

“No. You must not. Why must you die? Stay with me,” he held her hands and shouted out to his attendants.

“Maharaj!” Two of them came running in.

“Call the Rajvaidya immediately. Princess Chandrika is unwell. She must be attended to right away.”

“Yes, Maharaj,” they ran out.

“I wish you wouldn’t trouble Rajvaidya at this hour. He can’t do anything. Let me say this while I still can. You are a brave and just man. If monarchy could ensure that all rulers were like you, it needn’t have been challenged. If republics could create rulers like you, they would become successful. So, I’m not ashamed to have loved you. Still, I die a republican, Maharaj. I never gave up on my principles. But for a woman– oh, I can’t say it all. I don’t have much time left. There is a letter for you. I have made a small request and having known you as well as I do now, I am sure that you will honor my request. I die a republican. And I die loving you. I am happy about both. I die happy. Please forgive me that one night was all I had to give to you.”

“Stay with me, Princess — Devi Chandrika. Rajvaidya will be here any minute. Chandrika. What have you done to yourself, my love? Did you swallow a poison? You must know the antidote to it. Please tell me what it is–”

“May you have a long and happy life, Maharaj.”

The monumental, unbridgeable difference between life and death is just of a moment, Bhumimitra realized. He had seen numerous deaths in the battlefield. He had also been present through the deaths of his parents and many other family members. But it was the first time he had really known it. He would never forget the exact moment, when her hands in his clutches turned lifeless. They were weak even while alive. But the coldness of death was distinct!

He settled her as gracefully as he could manage on the chair. Then picked up the letter she had pointed towards.

She had addressed him as just “Priya” – beloved – in her letter. No salutation, no greetings for Maharaj. Just “Priya”. The first paragraph repeated what she had already told him. But the second tore his heart apart.

“If my love and my principles were not a conflict for me, why must I die, you may be asking yourself. It is because I am a woman. Nobody will question your support of monarchy because of your passion for me. But as a woman, if I surrender my love to you, it will be assumed that I have surrendered my cause to you as well. It is a sad state of affairs. But that’s how the world is. And I won’t be able to live on love if I am seen as betraying my cause. So, I must go, my beloved. And I go in the belief that the man I loved is a man of principles. He may win his cause, but he will do so fair and square. He will win it in a war or in a debate. He will not employ the underhand trick of discrediting me and through that my cause. So, I go trusting that since I am asking you for it, you will ensure that the world will not come to know of this brief, but precious relationship we had. That I will not become a discredit to my cause at your hands. I go, my beloved, in the hope that in the next birth we meet under less adversarial circumstances.”

“Maharaj!” Bhumimitra hardly had had the time to mop over the letter when another attendant barged in.

“Rajvaidya!” he stood up, glad that the dimly lit room would hide the moistness in his eyes.

“No Maharaj! A messenger from Chandranagar.”

“He wants an audience now?”

“Yes, Maharaj. It is urgent, he says.”

Bhumimitra threw a distressed glance at Chandrika’s cold form lying on the chair, then stepped out. “I will speak to him in the waiting room.”

—

Raigarh State Archives for the day read:

“Hours before sunrise, a messenger from Chandranagar brought the news of a conspiracy against King Chandravarna. The culprits were not the republicans, but the rival royal faction led by the King’s nephew. They had imprisoned the King. The news of her father’s misfortune shocked Princess Chandrika. Even if her political inclinations were republican she had always been devoted to her father. Without her devotion, during the brief republican rule in Chandranagar, her father’s life would not have been spared. That he should now be threatened by his own brethren distressed her so much that she fell fatally ill and breathed her last an hour later.

This news also warranted Maharaj Bhumimitra’s speedy return from the frontier. The war council decided to go an all-out offensive like that of the previous day. At the end of that day’s fighting, the enemies were pushed deep into their territory. Leaving a small force to guard the border, Maharaj decided to head back with the remaining army.

It was also decided to open negotiations with the republicans in Chandranagar to support their rule in return for the safe extraction of King Chandravarna and their promise to limit their sphere of influence exactly to the currently accepted boundaries of the kingdom of Chandranagar.”

– The End –

With the assurance that her intelligence had not been ignored, Chandrika calmed down. She even felt ashamed of some of her childish antics from earlier. Now that she was no longer angry at being dismissed by Bhumimitra, nor worried sick about the disaster ignoring the intelligence could have brought on her country and its people, she was perfectly capable of understanding why he did what he did. King Bhumimitra was in a tricky situation with her. She was, after all, a prisoner. Imprisoned for treason, nothing less. Openly siding with her against his own men would not send out the right message. But at the same time, he hadn’t let that compromise the security of her country. He had taken the best possible decision under the circumstances. He was a wise ruler, and brave, just what she had always heard about him!

She came out of her reverie when he was announced. After the exchange of greetings, he informed her that her intelligence was right.

“Reconnaissance team confirms it,” he concluded.

“And the enemy doesn’t realize that you know now?”

“I do have some trained people in the army, Devi Chandrika. So does your father. Of course, the enemy doesn’t realize that we know.”

“I didn’t mean that–” she started explaining hastily, then noticed his smirk and realized that he was joking. She also smiled then and invited him to sit down, not expecting him to take up the offer. He must have a lot to plan for now. But, to her surprise, he sat down.

“We have to change the plans now. We will have to engage on both fronts simultaneously,” he said as he sat down, “But I think we have enough men to do that.”

“I really appreciate it, Maharaj, that you didn’t ignore the information I gave you. Nobody could have blamed you for ignoring.”

“Being a ruler is not just about being a royal and nursing a huge ego, Devi Chandrika.”

She nodded, “You also have to be a strategist and a warrior. Which you are. I am not hesitant or ashamed to admit that you have all those qualities.”

“I learned it from my father. It’s in the blood and in heredity. Any upstart merchant propped up by crowd is not fit to rule.”

“Every first-born son of a great ruler has not been proven fit to rule.”

“Then he is defeated in war by one who is fit to rule.”

“Why must we always be subjected to violence to find a fit ruler?”

“Nothing else works. History proves it.”

“Not true. Look at the tribals living all around us. They don’t have a monarch. They elect their leaders.”

He laughed derisively, “Do you want us to be like the tribals? At the mercy of the jungle and the vagaries of nature? Is that what your plans for your Republic were? Will you be happy living like them?”

“Happy? Are you happy, Maharaj?”

“Happier than I would be as a tribal in a jungle.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then just shrugged, apparently unwilling to argue.

“It looks like,” he said after a pause, “That you have something to say there, but you don’t want to. Right now, I will not insist because I must get going. There is a war to prepare for. But I will say this before I leave. I am also not hesitant or ashamed to admit that you are a brilliant woman. Beautiful and graceful, but more importantly intelligent. I can’t fathom how you fell for that charlatan philosopher preaching republicanism.”

She looked at him defiantly, a defiance which reflected in her words, although her tone was polite, “If the great philosopher himself couldn’t convince you, Maharaj, I stand no chance.”

He shook his head and got up to leave. At the exit of the tent he turned back and asked, “If I pay you a visit in the evening, will it be a bother?”

“Not at all, Maharaj. It is always an honor.”

“I would like to hear you sing,” he said and left without waiting for her response.

—

“You never wore black again,” he said abruptly, after the song was over.

She looked surprised, “You do know what black meant, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“I have no intention of troubling you here, Maharaj. You are fighting to protect my country. And I will never come in the way of that.”

“And afterwards?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed and got up, “Please eat and rest well. We have a long and hard march tomorrow. By the end of the day tomorrow we will be at the frontier. From the day after, it’s only the war.”

“And the North East?”

“Minister Sindhupati will lead the efforts there.”

She nodded and bowed her head to him in parting greeting.

—

For next one week, it was on the North Eastern frontier that the war turned bloody. On the Eastern frontier which was being led by Bhumimitra, the two armies seemed to be playing hide and seek with each other. Bhumimitra turned up at her tent every evening without fail. Often, he requested her to sing and she obliged.

They discovered their mutual love for chess and started playing that in the evenings. He told her about the happenings of the day. Most of the time she listened silently. Once in a while she asked for clarifications. It was rare, but she also offered her opinion sometimes. But the few times that she spoke were enough to convey to Bhumimitra that she was really absorbing everything he was telling her, and not pretending to listen just for the sake of politeness.

“Did you know,” he spoke suddenly one evening as they were bent over a game of chess, “That your father had proposed our betrothal.”

“Really?” she cleverly kept her eyes glued to the chess board in front of them. So, he couldn’t read her expressions, “Our intelligence indeed utterly failed when it came to you.”

“It could still happen, you know.”

She froze for a moment, then slowly raised her eyes to him.

“It can’t happen, Maharaj. I am a republican traitor.”

“Leave this madness behind. You would make a great queen. You care for people. You understand politics. And war. You are wasting your potential.”

“Once you have seen something, Maharaj, you can’t un-see it. I cannot make you see it, but I have seen the falsehood of our way of life. I can’t pretend that the false is true. I will never be a true princess again, nor a queen, even if I decided to go back to end this ignominy of being a prisoner. So, I would rather suffer as a true republican.”

“Do you not desire happiness?”

“Happiness?” she smiled, “Maharaj, you think you are happier than a tribal. Why? Because you have more things? More comforts?”

“Definitely. The fruits of our civilization.”

“Your favorite charger, Maharaj, the horse you ride all the time. And also, the mare from your stable that you have generously left at my disposal, they are from a recently developed breed in the Arab country, right?”

“Yes.”

“If you were to lose them and not be able to acquire another of this breed, will you be unhappy?”

“I will, indeed, be very unhappy.”

“Nobody in either of our countries had even heard of this breed five years ago, right?”

“You are right.”

“Were you unhappy without a horse of this breed five years ago?”

“Of course, not. I didn’t even know–”

“The absence of what we haven’t known we could possess doesn’t make us unhappy, Maharaj. Acquisition of what we do know about makes us happy. The fewer things you have known, the easier it is to be happy. It isn’t far-fetched that the tribals who live deep in the jungles, never getting exposed to our civilization, are a happier lot. Because the jungle provides them plenty of everything they know they can have. Those in contact with our villages and cities are very unhappy though. They have seen things that they could possess, but don’t have the means to acquire those.”

He looked at her for a long time, his gaze so intent that she couldn’t meet his eyes and soon looked away.

At last he said, “Well then. Becoming a tribal is not possible for me. And now I know what I could have. So, I will be unhappy until I have it. Tomorrow is our big push, Chandrika. I don’t fight recklessly, but there is always a chance that I don’t come back alive. However, if I do, then I will marry you. I don’t know how it will happen, but it will.”

Her voice trembled as she said, “You can’t force me, Maharaj.”

“Oh, I can. But I won’t. I will wait until you own up that you are as much in love with me as I am with you. That even amidst the pressure of war and the ridiculousness of your situation as a traitor, you look forward to these evenings as much as I do. And then, I will marry you.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“We will see.”

—

To be continued

When they stopped around midday, Chandrika assumed that it was for lunch. She spotted a pond at some distance from her chariot and made her way towards it along with her companions. They had hardly walked a few meters  when a messenger came running and panting to her.

“Devi Chandrika! I beg your pardon. Maharaj has sent me.”

“What for?”

“He wants to know where you are headed to?”

Chandrika clenched her teeth, but could not control her temper. She pushed one of her companions towards the messenger and said, “Take her with you. And tell Maharaj that if someone must be beheaded because I am headed towards the pond that promises some cool and sweet water, then I volunteer her this afternoon.”

“Devi!” the messenger and Sumati, the companion now staring at her death, exclaimed together.

“Can you remember a message?” Chandrika snapped at him, “Or do you need me to write it down and put my seal on it?” Gulping hard in terror, he bowed and stepped back. “And you Sumati? Why are you staring at me like that? This is the time to prove your loyalty to me. Go with him.”

Trembling and barely managing to keep herself from fainting, the poor woman stumbled behind the messenger.

Chandrika didn’t even spare her a glance and strode towards the pond with double the speed. Her remaining companions, baffled and scared, scrambled to keep up with her.

Within minutes Sumati was back.

“What happened?” Chandrika asked.

“Maharaj started laughing,” she replied, her voice still trembling, “When the messenger repeated what you had asked. Then he ordered me back.”

Chandrika looked at her now, frowning, “Did you really think he was going to behead you for this? Do you have a brain in that head of yours?”

“I am sorry, I got scared, Princess–”

“But I will behead you if you continue calling me Princess.”

“Sorry, Devi Chandrika.”

“All of you stand to this side and screen me. I need some privacy. I want to wash up before eating.”

The women hurried to obey.

Riding gears were grating on her now. She decided to walk back barefoot after her quick bath. But the cosmos was conspiring against her mood that day. Barely a few meters away from the chariot, she felt a sharp prick in her left leg. The pain was excruciating and she ended up squealing before she could control herself. She made a seat out of a stone nearby and her companions lifted her leg. A thorn was pressed deep into her sole. Although she had kept her lips bitten to avoid making any further sound, she could not stop her tears.

“Excuse me, ladies,” the women jumped away on hearing Bhumimitra’s voice. His attendants waited at a distance, as he knelt in front of her and after studying the thorn for a moment, pulled it out in one swift move.

“Aah!” she screamed again before clamping down on her lips. Tears continued to flow down her cheek.

“For all your bravado, Devi Chandrika,” Bhumimitra smirked, “You are no soldier. And you can’t tolerate any pain at all.”

“For all my bravado, Maharaj,” she shot back at him, “I never claimed to be a soldier. I am not trained as one. And I definitely didn’t claim to not feel any pain. The only thing I claim is that I am willing to go through any pain for my cause. You are free to test that.”

He stood up and squinted as he looked at her. As if trying to locate something specific. Then he turned away without saying anything.

“What do you think of me?” she erupted behind him. That made him stop in his tracks and turn back, “You think I am a selfish scoundrel who didn’t care even for her own father?”

“Devi. I didn’t say anything like that.”

“No. You didn’t say. Everything doesn’t need to be said, does it? But some things need to be heard, Maharaj. Republic is an idea whose time has come. You may be able to use your power to resist it for a while. But you can’t stop it. If not you, then your heir’s head will be on a pike one day when the monarchy is overthrown for good. But guess what? Nobody put my father’s head on a pike despite a complete takeover of the government by the republicans. How do you think that happened?”

He looked stunned. Then he spoke, sounding hopeful, “Is that why you were with the republicans? To save your father.”

She shook her head vehemently, “You misunderstand me, Maharaj. I was with the republicans, because I am a republican. I have no loyalty for a monarch as a subject. But I do have loyalty for my father as a daughter. And that ensured that he lived. To be crowned again, it turned out.”

He sighed, “I appreciate it. I truly do.”

“While we are on the subject. Who exactly am I here? If I am a republican traitor, I have no loyalty towards a monarch, Maharaj. I am not under any compulsion to respect your authority. And if I am a princess, I can’t just be ordered around at everybody’s whims.”

That made him smirk again, “If you are willing to be a princess, Devi Chandrika, which would entail taking up your duties and responsibilities as a royal of Chandranagar, including unconditional loyalty towards your father – the King, then I will make immediate arrangements to send you back to your palace. You have no business being on this rough march with the soldiers. But if you are a republican traitor, what hope do you see for yourself by defying my authority? What do you make of this?” he moved his hands around to indicate the large army that was following him.

She was silenced. He didn’t pursue his advantage though. Instead said gently, “Your tent must be setup by now. Take rest, Devi Chandrika, until the food is ready.”

“Tent?” she looked up surprised, “Aren’t we marching after lunch?”

“We are waiting for the reconnaissance party to return.”

“You sent a reconnaissance party?”

“Yes,” he said simply and moved away.

—

To be continued

That night, as he was finishing his dinner in his tent, he heard a voice he immediately recognized. At first, he smiled. She had the sweetest possible voice in the world – his republican princess did. But then he heard the words. And the smiled evaporated.

“This wretched woman!!” he hissed and made to stand up.

Seeing his master leaving his dinner unfinished, his attendant immediately rushed into action, “Maharaj! Do you want to send someone to the Princess–”

“You really think that will work with this cursed woman?”

“Your dinner, Sir–”

“I have lost my appetite. Come on, get my stole and come with me.”

Two of the body guards rushed to accompany them when they left their tent to go to Chandrika’s.

He waited until he was announced by one of her attendants. The announcement put a stop to her singing. He jerked aside the flap of her tent and strode in.

“You will not do that again,” he barked without waiting for any pleasantries, “You are prohibited from singing your treasonous revolutionary songs. Do you understand me, Devi Chandrika?”

Her calmness infuriated him even further. She took her time in walking closer to him, then greeting him with folded hands. Only after that charade of politeness did she open her mount, “And if I did not heed you, Maharaj?”

Bhumimitra clenched his fist in exasperation. Then he looked pointedly at her companions. Unlike her, they were feeling the full weight of his fury and already looked pale.

“Do you know what the Gurus of princes do in the tyrannical countries where they are not allowed to punish the royals even if they are only tiny boys and have been disobedient? They punish the lower-born friends of theirs.”

To his immense satisfaction, that threat worked. Chandrika looked discomfited and averted her eyes. When she looked back at him, she didn’t look as fierce as earlier.

“You shall not have any reason to complain in future, Maharaj.”

He nodded stiffly and turned away. But at the exit he turned and came back.

“I would like you to sing… something else, for me,” he said. His tone was nothing like what he had used earlier. It was not an order, only a request. He would have gone back, if she had refused. But she didn’t refuse. She did look surprised though.

“Now?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

That unsettled her, but her royal upbringing kicked in and she was calm and graceful again within moments.

“Please, do sit down, Maharaj.” Chandrika gave a silent order to one of her companions, who rushed to bring some refreshments to be served to the king. Having left his dinner unfinished, Bhumimitra gorged on the refreshments as Chandrika sang a heart-rending song about two star-crossed lovers. She was as effective in conveying the longing of separated lovers as she had been in with the defiance of revolutionary temper. Was it just a trick she knew and could employ while singing? Or could she feel both emotions with equal sincerity?

—

He invited her to ride with him again the next morning. She looked around with a frown as the marching orders were being given.

“Maharaj!”

“Devi Chandrika!”

“Are you not sending a part of the army to the north east from here?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because—oh!”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have the intelligence report from that area? The enemy’s plan is to send a significant chunk of their army through Raigarh-Chandranagar border and encircle us as we march towards the eastern front, cutting us off from our supplies.”

“Maharaj, we have no such intelligence–”

“Now you do, Minister Sindhupati,” Chandrika interrupted the war minister.

He didn’t respond to her directly and continued addressing Bhumimitra, “Pardon me, Maharaj. But in the matters of war, I can’t let the etiquette prevail over practical concerns. Princess—I mean Devi Chandrika here is openly a republican. I have reasons to suspect that she doesn’t want us to succeed.”

“I am a nemesis of monarchy, my lord Minister, you are wise to never doubt that. But my republic is first and foremost for my country and my people. We did hold the government machinery in our hands before you came to destroy it. We did have the intelligence from border areas. And this march of army was going to happen whether or not you were here. Except that from here, we would know better and secure north-eastern frontier as well.”

“With due respect Devi Chandrika,” the minister addressed her directly this time, “Your intelligence seemed to have failed horrendously on the real first attack you had to face, which was from us.”

“We misunderstood Maharaj Bhumimitra’s motivations, I agree.”

“What does that mean?” Bhumimitra frowned.

“Despite the traditional rivalry between our kingdoms, Maharaj, your policy on Chandranagar had never been aggressive. All you want from us was a buffer kingdom between Raigarh and our restless eastern neighbors. A buffer kingdom that was stable internally. You had never shown any inclination towards conquering or annexing Chandranagar, which made sense too. We assumed that you will continue to follow the same policy, especially since you and my father didn’t see eye to eye ever before. We didn’t count on your being so set upon the cause of monarchy and actually invade Chandranagar just to defeat the republic.”

Bhumimitra gave her a long look and then said, “Devi. Please ride with your companions today.”

She was exasperated at being so dismissed, “But at least send a reconnaissance.”

“Devi Chandrika!”

His tone brooked no dissent. She had to withdraw, although she was furious.

Once she was out of earshot, he turned to his war minister, “Send a reconnaissance party.”

“But Maharaj–”

“Do it secretly. The rest of us will march as planned. But only for half a day. After that we will wait for the reconnaissance party to return with their report.”

That precautionary measure was difficult to argue with. The minister did as he was instructed.

—

To be continued

With the first light of the day, monarchy was formally re-established in Chandranagar and King Chandravarman had been crowned once again. He professed eternal gratefulness and friendship towards King Bhumimitra, who, in turn, expressed his satisfaction that the untoward elements of the society had been crushed for good and that the restoration of the glorious kingdom of Chandranagar would serve as a warning to the upstart republicans in all corners of the world that their unnatural, selfish motives would never be fulfilled. There would always be brave kings and warriors in the world, destined by the gods and the nature, to maintain order and justness in the world. King Chandravarman was a shining of example of the tribe. The republicans couldn’t have chosen a more difficult enemy to strike at. All was well now. The anarchists were now annihilated and the stable world order would not be challenged again.

The words were phony, Bhumimitra knew that. As traditional rivals, Chandranagar and Raigarh professing eternal friendship was a hypocrisy only the world of politics could entertain and look the other way as it was being professed. Besides, the world order was never stable. In this case, even if the republican revolutionaries had held power only for a couple of weeks, they had managed to challenge a world order that had never been challenged before. In the past, the claimants to a throne may have fought endlessly over who would be a king, but nobody had ever questioned the need for a king. That psychological wall was broken now. Bhumimitra did not even want to think of all other jealousies, rivalries and claims the temporary fall of King Chandravarman had stroked. The political, administrative and military mess that this incident had created was unparalleled in his experience. But he had to think of all that. Cleaning up this mess required doing two things at the same time. One, an army must march forward and secure the eastern Frontiers of both Chandranagar and Raigargh, because the neighboring kingdoms were keen to grab a piece of pie given the weakness of Chandranagar in the face of the republican challenge. Two, King Chandravarman must stay in his capital to consolidate his hold on his kingdom once again. An unstable Chandranagar wasn’t good news for Raigarh and Bhumimitra was resolved to see through the complete restoration of his traditional rival’s sovereignty. So, he would march to the border at the head of the combined armies of the two kingdoms, while King Chandravarman would attend to the affairs at home.

Through the ceremony no mention was made of the “missing” princess. The idea of Chandrika’s betrothal to Bhumimitra, which had been proposed by Chandravarman while asking for Bhumimitra’s help in crushing the republicans, was not made public. Chandravarman was mad enough at her to want to behead her with the other republicans charged with treason. But Bhumimitra had managed to talk him out of it. Her presence in Chandranagar could spell trouble though. So, it was decided that she would go with Bhumimitra as a prisoner of war. And attempts would be made to turn her around and see if she would renounce her republicanism. Then the intended betrothal could still proceed.

—

The winter was just setting in, and riding felt pleasant. Bhumimitra hadn’t seen Chandrika since placing her under house arrest on that fateful evening. But her defiant, shining face as she sang “We still fought, and we will still fight” was invading his thoughts more often than he would have liked. The march was going to be exhausting. And he should be focused on planning the campaign ahead, interpreting the information messengers were bringing and strategizing the position of his army. Instead he was repeatedly being assaulted by the insane desire of crushing that defiant woman. Not in a war. But in an embrace. Could he make her see the light? Could she leave behind her revolutionary madness and wed him like she was supposed to?  She was a few meters behind him, being driven in a closed chariot. And he was maddeningly aware of her presence, even though he couldn’t see her.

A message was quietly brought up to him.

“Princess Chandrika requests your permission to ride for a while, Maharaj. She says she could use some fresh air.”

He should have refused. She was a prisoner whom he needed to bring to her senses. But before the logic of refusal formed in his head, he found himself saying, “Get her a mare from my stable and tell her that she is invited to ride beside me.”

The ministers and commanders riding around him looked at each other. Some smirked and others shook their heads. A few minutes later, the crowd around him parted to let her ride up to him.

“I thank you for the permission to ride and am honored to ride with you, Maharaj,” she said.

He cast a quick sideways glance at her and then immediately looked ahead. She was wearing green today. She was still bewitchingly beautiful and even that quick glance had made him draw a sharp breath. That she spoke with such calm and confidence only served to make his desires even more potent. What a great queen she would make. And what satisfaction it would bring to subdue her, in bed!

“Princess Chandrika. You need not be in a position where you need a permission to ride. You need not be a prisoner.”

“Are you converting to the republican cause, Maharaj?”

He intended to treat her with an angry glare, but when he turned towards her, he ended up responding to her mischievous smile with a somber one of his own.

“Do I have to remind you that the republican cause is treason? I wish you would stop harboring it.”

“That is not going to happen. You should just mete out the punishment due to a traitor to me and be done with it.”

“That is not going to happen.”

“Why?”

“I am not going to hand over a martyr on a plate to the republicans, around whom they can rally.”

“Is that what you told my father to convince him out of punishing me?”

“Yes.”

When he turned to her he found her smiling again. Much to his gratification, it seemed to be an appreciative smile.

“I am still a republican,” she said, “And I still prefer to be addressed as Devi Chandrika, and not Princess.”

That spoiled his mood. He shot her dagger eyes and spurred his horse to go faster, prompting everyone, including Chandrika, to follow suit.

—

To be continued

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