First Light (13 page)

Mahadevi Bhanumati's shraddha ceremony was performed in Brindavan with great pomp and splendour. But as soon as the rites were concluded the king rushed back to Agartala abandoning his original plan of visiting a few more places of pilgrimage. Addressing his ministers in a secret conference he revealed the purpose behind his hasty return. He wished to marry Monomohini as soon as possible. This, as he took pains to point out, was not a personal indulgence. At his age he was not eager to don a
topor
and chain himself in wedlock to a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. His late queen, just before her death, had expressed a desire that he marry her niece. It was her last wish and he had to respect it.

All this explanation was probably unnecessary because no one showed any sign of surprise. ‘Let the girl be sent to her father's house then,' Radharaman said ponderously. ‘We'll find a suitable date in the coming year and make the arrangements.'

‘The coming year!' Naradhwaj, the king's brother-in-law, echoed sharply. ‘Why not this year? Or even this month? The sooner the better. Don't you agree Maharaj?'

‘The Bengalis believe in mourning their dead for a year Naradhwaj,' Birchandra smiled indulgently. ‘And their brides come from their fathers' houses. Isn't that so Ghosh Moshai?'

‘Why should Bengali customs be made to prevail in this country? Do we leave off eating sweets when our wives die? If a man wishes to eat a sweet, must he be made to wait a year? It doesn't make sense.'

Radharaman was silent. He knew that Naradhwaj was putting pressure on the king to marry his sister's daughter. Birchandra could have kept her as a kachhua and enjoyed her charms without getting involved in marital rites. And that is what he, Radharaman, would have advised. ‘Our women don't come to us all coy and demure in their bridal finery,' Dhananjay Thakur pressed the point. ‘We kidnap young girls and make them
our brides.' Taking his cue Naradhwaj continued, ‘Let's fix the wedding for the twenty-fifth of this month. It is an auspicious day. We must get an English band from Chittagong. How much will that cost Ghosh Moshai?' Radharaman cleared his throat. ‘Vast amounts of money have been spent on the two shraddhas,' he announced solemnly, ‘There's very little left in the treasury. That is why I suggested postponing the wedding to a later date.'

‘There's no need for an English band,' the Maharaja said hastily. ‘We mustn't think of indulging ourselves at a time like this. I would like a simple ceremony with only the formal rites. The priests needn't be paid anything. They've lined their pockets thickly enough during the two shraddhas. As for the bride's jewels, Mono will get half of what Bhanumati left behind. The rest will be put aside for Samar's bride. But do we need to wait till the twenty-fifth Naradhwaj ? Can't you set the date sometime this week?'

The wedding was fixed for the coming Tuesday—exactly five days away. The palace started humming with gossip and rumour. The other queens turned up their noses disdainfully at the king's choice. ‘A girl like that!' they whispered to one another, ‘She runs in and out of the palace as if she's a maid—not a princess. And she talks so freely with men! How can the king think of putting her on par with us?' Those of the royal women who had slandered and harassed Monomohini openly after Bhanumati's death now shivered in apprehension. She would be married to the king and enjoy his special favour for six months at the least. Who knew what revenge she would take? The only person unaffected by the news was Monomohini herself. She wandered about the palace and gardens just as she used to shrugging off all the instructions and advice showered on her by her well-meaning relatives.

Maharaja Birchandra, though fond of good food, was no glutton. In fact he was very fastidious about the taste and quality of whatever he ate. He took his meals in his own apartments as a rule but occasionally he bestowed on one of his queens, the honour of eating a meal in her mahal. The queen sought out for this distinction was overwhelmed, not so much with gratitude as with fear and panic, for the king was extremely whimsical and difficult to please.

Queen Karenuka knelt by the velvet
asan
that formed a
crimson square on the milk white marble floor of her chamber. In front of her was a vast gold thala ringed with eighteen silver bowls brimming over with curried fish, chicken, duck, mutton, vegetables, sweets and relishes. As the tapping sound of the king's khadam came down the gallery Karenuka's heart missed a beat. Would she come through the ordeal before her? Sweat poured down her face smudging the sandal paste with which she had adorned it. Birchandra glanced at the blue clad figure kneeling on the floor and his mouth trembled in a smile.

‘How are you Karenu?' he asked affectionately. Then, seating himself on the
asan,
he went on, ‘Hmm! You have a fine spread here I see. Which of these dishes have you cooked?'

Karenuka was the plainest of Birchandra's wives. Her body was too thin for beauty and her complexion dull and sallow. All the butter and cream she had eaten in the palace all these years hadn't made a jot of difference. Besides, she had failed to give the king a son, her only offspring being two puny daughters. No one was more aware of her deficiencies than Karenuka herself and she was very humble in consequence. She folded her hands in answer to her husband's question and murmured, ‘I've cooked everything you see before you my Lord.'

Birchandra put out his hand and broke the mound of rice, white and fragrant as jasmine petals. Then, shutting his eyes, he said a little prayer. Queen Karenuka watched with baited breath as, opening them, he dipped his forefinger into all the bowls, one by one, and tasted their contents. Each time something fell short of his exacting standards he pushed the bowl away.

‘What's this?' he asked at last.

‘Fish balls Maharaj,' Karenuka answered. ‘Made from freshly caught chital—'

‘Hmm. Not bad. But Queen Bhanumati's fish balls were incomparable! The taste of it still lingers in my mouth.'

The other queens who stood crowding at the door, were delighted with the snubbing their co-wife was receiving at the hands of their common lord and master. ‘Ahh! Bardidi's cooking!' they cried out in high, excited voices, ‘Who can presume to compete with her?' Birchandra shot a glance at the figure kneeling beside him. The face was pale and pinched and the limbs tense with anxiety. Pointing to another bowl, he asked

‘What's this?'

‘Its brinjal, Maharaj. Cooked with garlic paste.' ‘Sudakshina!' Birchandra called out to one of his queens. ‘Come sit by me and have some of this.' Sudakshina tried to slip away but her co-wives caught hold of her. ‘It's the king's command!' they cried. ‘How dare you disobey?' Everyone knew that Sudakshina couldn't bear the smell of garlic. The very thought of it made her want to vomit. Twisting and struggling desperately she managed to free herself and ran screaming down the gallery while Birchandra roared with laughter.

The rejected bowls had been taken away, in the meantime, and replaced with others. No queen would dream of entertaining the king with a choice of less than fifty dishes ranging from the coarsest of humble fare to the most expensive and exotic of delicacies. For no one knew what he might fancy and when. It was perfectly possible for him to pass over the most succulent pieces of fat carp swimming in rich mustard gravy and dig hungrily into a bowl of sweet and sour tiddlers. Or he might, with fastidious fingers, pick out the pieces of pumpkin from a dish of mixed vegetables and put them in his mouth. After sampling all the dishes, he turned his attention on his hostess. ‘Why didn't you cook jackfruit Karenu?' he asked as if surprised at this omission. ‘The trees are bending over with fruit. This is just the season to eat a good jackfruit curry richly spiced and floating in ghee. Do you know that Bengalis call the jackfruit
tree goat
? If properly cooked it tastes like mutton.'

At this the sweat broke out all over Karenuka's body. All her planning, all her labour had been in vain! She had left out the one dish her husband craved. The other queens nudged one another and tried to suppress their smiles of glee.

Then something strange happened. Birchandra put out his left hand and placed it on Karenuka's head. ‘You've passed the test Karenu,' he said smiling tenderly, ‘You're a good girl and a good cook and I've enjoyed the meal. I'm glad you didn't cook jackfruit. My kingdom is fairly ridden with the loathesome things and I can't bear to look at them. It was very intelligent of you to keep it out of the midday meal.'

Dismissing the other queens Birchandra took a paan from Karenuka's hand and stretched out on her bed. Karenuka knelt
on the floor beside it and began massaging his legs and thighs. ‘Ahh!' the king breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction. ‘You have a nice touch Karenu,' he said approvingly. ‘The rest of you is as poky as a bundle of twigs but your hands are surprisingly soft and fleshy. How many children do you have Karenu?'

‘You have favoured me with two daughters Maharaj. But, hapless that I am, I have no son.'

Birchandra could not keep count of his wives let alone his children. He hardly saw them—he couldn't bear their clamouring. ‘How old are they?' he asked carelessly showing no curiosity about their names. ‘They are seven and eight Maharaj,' Karenuka smiled remembering the brief months of happiness she had enjoyed as the king's new queen. Then two other women had come into his life and she had been forgotten. ‘The elder one is ripe for marriage,' the king muttered yawning, ‘We must start looking for a suitable match.' The words trailed away. Soothed by the gentle pressure of Karenuka's fingers on his tired muscles and tendons, Birchandra fell asleep. His breathing became regular and he snored gently. But Karenuka did not abandon her task. She went on pressing the royal limbs, a flood of gratitude and relief washing over her every time she thought of his kindness. Her lord had come to her, had accepted and been pleased with her service. What more could she want?

After an hour or so Birchandra awoke. Sitting up in bed he yawned and stretched luxuriously. ‘Radhe Krishna! Radhe Krishna!' he cried flipping his fingers in front of his mouth to ward off another yawn. Then, swinging his legs to the ground, he pushed his feet into his
khadams
and said with a kind smile, ‘Your apartment is so cool and airy Karenu!' He went from room to room opening windows and examining the furniture. ‘Come to me Karenu,' he invited. As she advanced timidly he put out his arms and clasped her tiny bird body to his magnificient chest. ‘You're a good girl Karenu,' he said tenderly. ‘You serve your husband well. Your cooking is perfect and your bed as white and soft as down.' Karenuka trembled in his embrace. She had believed herself rejected for all time to come. But God had listened to her prayers. Her husband loved her and wanted her. The joy of the discovery was too much to bear. She burst into tears. ‘I want something from you Karenu,' the king continued
stroking her back with tender fingers. ‘Will you give it?' Karenuka's voice trembled with emotion. ‘Ask anything of your slave my Lord!' she answered. ‘Even to my life. I'll give it gladly.'

‘No. No. I've no need of anyone's life.' Releasing her from his embrace the king held her by the shoulders and, looking deep into her eyes, he said ‘You may have heard that I'm about to take another wife. It was your Bardidi's last wish,' he added hastily seeing the look of surprise flash across her face. ‘The new queen will need a mahal of her own. Bhanumati's rooms are available, of course. But they are too full of memories. It wouldn't be fair to the new bride, would it?' Karenuka wondered if the question was addressed to her. But, before she could respond or even catch the drift of the conversation, Birchandra went on blandly, ‘That is why I'm asking you to give up your mahal. A room will be found for you and we'll see that you're quite comfortable. A new queen must be given a mahal. It is her right. Don't you agree?'

Birchandra felt himself to be very noble and magnanimous as he uttered these words. He was the king of the realm and could have got what he wanted at the mere lifting of a finger. But he hadn't done so. He had wasted a good deal of his precious time on a woman who was no better than a bag of bones. He had given her the privilege of cooking for him and pressing his feet. And, far from commanding her to give up her apartment, he had begged them of her as a favour. What king would do so much for a mere wife? His royal ancestors would have been horrified at such unseemly behaviour. But that was his nature, he thought with a pleasurable sigh. He couldn't be cruel to anybody. But the moment his eyes fell on Karenuka's strained and anguished face, his mood of complacent self adulation received a rude shock. A sullen look came into his eyes. ‘Get the rooms cleared by tomorrow morning,' he said walking away without waiting for an answer. ‘They'll need to be painted and refurnished—'

Birchandra married Monomohini on the scheduled day with a minimum of ceremony and expense. But the nuptial chamber was magnificient with its new furniture, bright lights and masses of flowers. The vast bedstead in the centre of the room had ropes of flowers twisted about its ornate carvings and hanging in festoons from the poles. Here Monomohini stood awaiting her bridegroom. Her exquisite body, draped in red and gold muslin,
made a wonderful foil for Bhanumati's jewels which glittered from her hair, neck and arms. Her eyes were not coy and downcast as those of other brides but bright with anticipation and curiosity. She tossed her head from time to time making her long diamond earrings wink and glow in the light of the many lanterns.

It was midnight by the time Birchandra entered the room. He looked fatigued and his silk kurta was soaked with perspiration. It had been a tiring day. As if the hundred and one rituals of the wedding and the entertaining of the guests was not enough, he had had to hold a long meeting with the Political Agent. Anyhow, all that was behind him now and he looked forward to relaxing with his young bride. It was not her body alone that he craved. He was enchanted by her spirit—as wild and free as one of the beautiful creatures that haunted the forests of his kingdom. In her eyes he had seen the beauty and innocence of a wild doe.