Daksha sat quietly in his chamber, staring out of the window, waiting for his death. He looked towards the door, wondering where Veerini had gone so early in the morning.
Has she abandoned me as well?
As death approached, he was honest enough at least with himself, to not blame her if she had.
Daksha took a deep breath, wiped a tear and turned his gaze back at the window, towards the banyan tree in the distance. It was a magnificent tree, centuries old, even older than Daksha. He had known this tree for as long as he could remember. He recalled its size when he was young and the fact that he always marvelled at how the tree never seemed to stop growing. Its branches spread themselves out over vast distances, and when they extended too far, they dropped thin reed-like roots into the ground. The drop-roots then matured, anchoring themselves deep, drawing nourishment and growing enough in bulk to eventually resemble another trunk, thus supporting the further extension of the branch that gave them birth. After a few decades, there were so many new trunks that it was impossible to tell which the original one was. It had been a single tree when Daksha was born. It still was, but now it was so massive, that it appeared like a jungle.
Daksha knew all Indians looked upon the grand banyan tree with utmost respect and devotion. It was considered holy in India; a tree that unselfishly gave its all to others, building an ecosystem that sustained many birds and animals. Innumerable plants and shrubs found succour and shade under its protective cover. It remained firm and solid, even in the face of the most severe storm. Indians believed that ancestral spirits, even the gods, inhabited the banyan tree.
For most citizens of Devagiri, this massive tree represented the ideal of life. They worshipped it.
Daksha’s perspective though, was very different.
At a very young age, he had noted that no offspring of a banyan was able to flourish, or even grow, around its parent. The roots of the tree were too strong; they twisted and pushed away any attempt by another banyan sapling to grow roots in the vicinity. For a young sapling to survive, it would have to move very far away from its parent.
I should have run away.
The banyan tree is pollinated by a particular species of wasp. But the tree extracts a terrible price from the tiny insect that aids its reproduction. It kills the wasp, kills it brutally, ripping the insect to shreds. Daksha’s interpretation of this fact was very simple: the banyan hated its own progeny so much that it would murder the kindly wasp that tries to bring its offspring to life.
To a neglected child’s imagination, the banyan tree’s munificence was reserved for others. It did not care for its own. In fact, it went out of its way to harm its own.
So while everyone else looks upon the banyan tree with reverential eyes, Daksha viewed it with fear and hatred.
He was fearful because this was not the only banyan tree in his life. He had had another: his father.
He hated his father with venomous intensity; but at a deeper level, perhaps loved and admired his abilities. Just like the desperate offspring of the banyan, he had always tried to prove that he could be as great as his father. He had carried this burden all his life. But there had been this one time when he had unshackled himself from his father’s grip; when he had been free for a few magical moments. He remembered that day so clearly. It had been a long time ago; more than a hundred years.
Sati had just returned from the Maika gurukul, a headstrong, idealistic girl of sixteen. In keeping with her character, she had jumped in to save an immigrant woman from a vicious pack of wild dogs. Daksha remembered well that Parvateshwar and he had rushed in to her rescue. He also remembered that, despite not being an accomplished warrior, he had, with Parvateshwar’s help, courageously fought back the dogs that were out to kill his daughter. He had been seriously injured in that terrible fight.
Fortunately, the medical teams had reached quickly. Parvateshwar and Sati’s injuries were superficial and had been quickly dressed. Daksha knew that since he had been in the thick of the battle, his injuries were the most serious. The medical officers had decided to take him to the
ayuralay
so that senior doctors could examine him. However, due to massive blood loss, he had lost consciousness on the way.
When he had regained consciousness, he had found himself in the
ayuralay
. He remembered that he’d scolded Sati for risking her own life to save an insignificant immigrant woman. Later, when recuperating in his room, he had asked Veerini to bring Sati to him, in order to make peace with her now. But before Sati could be brought in, Daksha’s father Brahmanayak had stormed into the chamber, accompanied by the doctor who had treated Daksha.
Brahmanayak, being one of the foremost warriors in Meluha, had mocked Daksha about how he could have got himself so badly injured while fighting mere dogs. The doctor had pulled Brahmanayak out of the room using the excuse of a private conversation, wanting to save Daksha from any further mental anguish. As soon as Brahmanayak had left the room, Veerini had repeated the plea she had made many times earlier, that they should escape from Meluha and live in Panchavati with both their daughters, Kali and Sati.
‘Daksha, trust me,’ said Veerini. ‘We’ll be happy in Panchavati. If there was any other place where we could live with both Kali and Sati, I’d suggest it. But there isn’t.’
Maybe Veerini’s right. I can escape the old man. We can be happy. Also, Sati is the only pure one in my bloodline. Veerini’s corrupt soul has led to Kali’s birth. It’s difficult to help them. But I have to protect Sati from the terrible fate of seeing her father being insulted every day. My elder daughter is the only one worthy of my love.
Daksha breathed deeply. ‘But how...’
‘You leave that to me. I’ll make the arrangements. Just say yes. Your father is leaving tomorrow for Karachapa. You are not so badly injured that you can’t travel. We’ll be in Panchavati before he knows you’re gone.’
Daksha stared at Veerini. ‘But...’
‘Trust me. Please trust me. It will be for our good. I know you love me. I know you love your daughters. Deep inside, I know you don’t really care about anything else. Just trust me.’
Perhaps this is what we need.
Daksha nodded.
Veerini smiled, bent close and kissed her husband. ‘I’ll make all the arrangements.’
Veerini turned and walked out of the room.
In this moment of solitude, Daksha glanced at the ceiling, feeling light and relaxed; feeling free.
Everything happens for a reason, perhaps even this battle with the dogs. We can be happy in Panchavati. We will be away from my father. We will be free of that monster. To hell with Meluha. To hell with the throne. I don’t want any of it. I just want to be happy. I just want to be with my Sati and be able to take care of her. I will also look after Veerini and Kali. Who do they have besides me?
He noticed Veerini’s prayer beads on the chair. Next to the prayer beads was the tiger claw that Sati wore as a pendant. It must have fallen off during the battle with the dogs and Veerini must have recovered it to return it to their young daughter. Daksha stared at the blood stains on the tiger claw; his daughter’s blood. His eyes became moist again.
I will be nothing like my father. I’ll take care of Sati. I will love her like every father should love his child. I will not ridicule her in public. I will not deride her for the qualities she doesn’t possess. Instead, I will cherish everything that she does have. She will be free to live her own dreams. I will not force my dreams upon her. I will love her for who she is; not for what I’d like her to be.
Daksha looked at his own injured body and shook his head.
All of this to save an immigrant woman! Sati can be so naive at times. But she is a child. I shouldn’t have screamed at her. I should have explained things calmly to her. After all, who does she have to look up to besides me?
Just then the door opened and Sati walked in, looking grouchy; almost angry.
Daksha smiled.
She’s only a child.
‘Come here, my child,’ said Daksha.
Sati stepped forward hesitantly.
‘Come closer, Sati,’ laughed Daksha. ‘I’m your father. I’m not going to eat you up!’
Sati stepped closer. But her face still reflected the righteous anger she felt within.
Lord Ram, be merciful! This girl still thinks that she did the right thing in risking all our lives to save an unimportant immigrant woman.
Daksha reached out and held Sati’s hand, speaking patiently. ‘My child, listen to me. I care for you. I only had your best interests at heart. It was stupid of you to risk your life for that immigrant. But I admit I shouldn’t have shouted at...’
Daksha fell silent as the door swung open suddenly and Brahmanayak strode in.
Sati suddenly withdrew her hand and turned around to look at Brahmanayak, her back towards her father.
‘Aah!’ said Brahmanayak as his face broke into a broad smile. He walked up to Sati and embraced her. ‘At least one of my progeny has my blood coursing through her veins!’
Sati looked at Brahmanayak adoringly, pure hero-worship in her eyes. Daksha stared at him with impotent rage.
‘I’ve heard about what you did,’ said Brahmanayak to Sati. ‘You risked your own life to protect a woman whom you didn’t even know; a woman who was only a lowly immigrant.’
Sati smiled in embarrassment. ‘It was nothing, Your Highness.’
Brahmanayak laughed softly and patted Sati’s cheek. ‘I am not “Your Highness” for you, Sati. I’m your grandfather.’
Sati nodded, smiling.
‘I’m proud of you, my child,’ said Brahmanayak. ‘I am honoured to call you a Meluhan, honoured to call you my granddaughter.’
Sati’s smile broadened as her heart felt light. She had done the right thing after all. She embraced her grandfather once again.
Brahmanayak bent down and kissed his adolescent granddaughter on her forehead. He then turned to Daksha, the smile immediately disappearing from his face. With barely concealed contempt, he told his son, ‘I’m leaving for Karachapa tomorrow morning and will be gone for many weeks. Perhaps you will need that much time to recover from your so-called injuries. We’ll talk about your future when I return.’
A seething Daksha refused to answer Brahmanayak, turning his face away.
Brahmanayak shook his head and rolled his eyes. He then patted Sati on her head. ‘I’ll see you when I return, my child.’
‘Yes, grandfather.’
Brahmanayak opened the door and was gone.
Daksha glared at the closed door.
Thank God I’m going to be rid of you, you beast! Insulting me in front of my favourite daughter? How dare you! Take the throne away, take all the riches away, take the world away if you wish. But don’t you dare take my good daughter away from me! She’s mine!
He looked at Sati’s back. She was still staring at the door, her body shaking.
Is she crying?
Daksha thought that perhaps Sati was angry with Brahmanayak for insulting her father. She was his daughter after all.
Daksha smiled. ‘It’s all right, my child. I’m not angry. Your grandfather doesn’t matter anymore because...’
‘Father,’ interrupted Sati as she turned around, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’
Daksha stared at his daughter, dumbstruck.
‘Why can’t you be more like grandfather?’ whispered Sati again.
Daksha was in shock.
Sati suddenly turned around and ran out of the room.
Daksha kept staring at the door as it slammed shut behind Sati. Fierce tears were pouring from his eyes.
More like grandfather?
More like that monster?
I am better than him!
The gods know that! They know I will make a far better king! I will show you!
You will love me! I am your creator!
You will love me! Not him! Not that monster!
The sound of the door being opened broke his train of thought, bringing Daksha back to the present from that ancient memory.
He saw Veerini walk into the bed chamber. She glanced at Daksha for an instant, then shook her head, walked up to her private desk and rummaged through it to find what she was looking for: her prayer beads. She brought them up to touch her forehead reverentially, then both her eyes and then her lips. She held the beads tightly and turned to take one last look at her husband. The disgust she felt couldn’t be expressed in words. She had no intention of desecrating her ears by listening to his voice. She hadn’t spoken to him since Sati’s death.
Daksha’s eyes followed Veerini’s passage. He couldn’t muster the courage to speak, even if it was only to apologise for all that he’d done.
She walked into the private prayer room next to her bed chamber and shut the door. She bowed before the idol of Lord Ram, which was, as usual, surrounded by the idols of his favourite people, his wife, Lady Sita, his brother, Lord Lakshman and his loyal devotee, Lord Hanuman, the Vayuputra.
Veerini sat down cross-legged. She held the beads high, in front of her eyes and began chanting as she waited for her death. ‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram...’
The faint echo of this chanting reached Daksha’s ears. He stared at the closed door of the attached chamber, his angry wife closeted within.
I should have listened to her. She was right all along.
‘Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram; Shri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram....’
He continued to hear the soft chanting of his wife in the prayer room. Those divinely serene words should have brought him peace. But there was no chance of that. He would die a frustrated and angry man.
Daksha clenched his jaw and looked out of the window. He stared at the banyan tree in the distance, tears streaming down his face.
Damn you!
The banyan shook slightly and its leaves ruffled dramatically with the strong wind. It appeared as if the giant tree was laughing at him.