Part 1: Blood & Lies
When Vaidehi Devaraya would recount these moments, she would likely talk about the opulence, the sheer grandeur of the Mahal. The gardens and courtyards were lush with flowering trees and shrubs. The boldest of paintings adorned the corridors. The pathways were lined with sculptures and priceless artefacts, likely spoils of war or gifts for clemency. The intricate marble floor, the carvings on the high domed ceiling were mesmerizing.
She would not describe how small it made her feel, how powerless. She would never tell anyone that when she walked past drawing rooms full of revellers, it reminded her of happier times at home. How strange it was to see men, women and the videha, as the queer now called themselves, exist without bloodshed.
She was ushered into the throne room, the Chief Guard closing the doors behind her. The moment she turned towards the room, her blood ran cold. Vaidehi rushed forward, her mind reeling with memories of a day five years ago.
It was here that she had sat, her thoughts screamed, as she stared at the velvet settee near the throne. Here was where her husband had committed the gravest of sins. Vaidehi stopped short of the inner circle, a U-shaped space close to the King where the Chief Advisors perched. There were four seats, two on each side of the throne. Even the draperies were the same, Vaidehi realized, scanning the room in panic. The Emperor had made it almost a replica of Vijaynagar, except for the Devaraya antiques.
“He would have them soon. The whole kingdom is laid bare for his taking,” an insidious voice within her whispered.
She swivelled as the doors opened, a chill spreading through the grand room. His presence permeated the air, before the Emperor’s majestic form strode into the room.
Emperor Agastya.
Vaidehi thought she was prepared, but nothing could brace her for him. His silver hair was longer than she remembered, the ends curling becomingly at his shoulders. He wore no jewellery, except for an ornate gold nose ring. His amber eyes were alight with an inner fire, his gait like that of a jungle cat’s. Wearing a plum silken robe over taut bronzed skin, Emperor Agastya looked like the God many believed him to be.
The guards shut the heavy doors behind him, sealing them in a space throbbing with memories and something else. Something terrible yet exhilarating that she had never been able to name.
As Vaidehi took an unconscious step back, Agastya’s leonine gaze landed on her. Straight sensuous lips curved in silent triumph, just like before. Her lips parted in remembrance, as if tasting the past itself.
She had been a new bride, her hands stained with henna. It was her first Mahasabha, a grand meeting of all council members with her husband, Raja Devaraya II. Dressed in red royal finery, she had felt conspicuous, sitting on the King’s right. People had been staring at her, seemed to be talking about her. She had smiled bashfully, her head lowered as was flattering for a bride.
Her husband had reclined on his magnificent throne. It was golden with peacock feathers etched onto the surface. There was a chalice of mulled wine in his bony hand. His grey eyes had crinkled at the corners as he laughed at a jest. Servants had rushed about, refilling chalices and replenishing food platters. There was a grand celebration, in honour of their nuptials. The King was expecting a very special guest.
Vaidehi remembered the raucous merrymaking, the shy chink of her bridal bangles as she shifted on the flowery settee. She remembered a storm. Heavy royal blue draperies that billowed from a gale outside the Palace walls. The cool air on her skin had been a blessed relief in her heavy clothing.
And then there was a sudden hush. Everyone had looked at the door with bated breath. As the guest’s name was announced, Vaidehi remembered a trickle of something at the nape of her neck. When she touched it, it was dry. And yet, she had had a persistent feeling, like she could sense a spectre weaving her unravelling.
A eunuch had walked into the Devaraya throne room. His gaze was fierce as the sun, and cheeky impertinence had sat at the corners of his mouth. Dressed in a silken black dhoti, his kohl laden eyes had scanned the room before landing on her. She had found herself suddenly breathless, like he had sucked the very air out of the room.
Vaidehi had shuddered, drawing the translucent veil closer to her flushed face. She had stolen a look at her husband, watching as he smiled imperviously and rose to welcome the guest. And yet, the stranger never wavered, boldly watching her even as he bowed respectfully to the King. She had swallowed in trepidation, realizing it was the celebrated Seer Agastya her husband had yearned to meet.
The eunuch’s fame had spread like wildfire through Hindustan, enticing many a ruler to pander to one they unanimously held below their station. People believed that behind Agastya’s hooded eyes lay secrets that could create and destroy a King. That at the turn of a palm, he foretold a future that would follow the mere wisps of his breath.
Fear of loss and hunger for power are all encompassing, tossing aside traditions and established social systems. It can raise a man of humble beginnings to the status of God, or turn vast empires into dust.
When Vaidehi had watched the Seer turn the King’s palm, she had felt her heart beat faster. Her palms had moistened, clasped tight in the folds of her lehenga. She had been tempted by an odd impulse to snatch her husband’s hand away from Agastya’s.
And then his honeyed voice had echoed in the room, like his essence had permeated the ground, the walls, the very skies.
“Oh, Raja saheb. You are a glorious one! On your head is a precious crown blessed by Narasimha himself, and at your feet lie the rotting remains of your enemies. You wield the sword of death, and yet your virtue shines bright. You are a merciless invader and a powerful ruler to the world, and yet you remain a beloved of your home.”
The crowd had cheered, widening the beaming smile on Devaraya’s face. It was one Vaidehi had seen only once and then never again.
And then, the Seer’s gaze had clouded. “The past was victorious. The present is revelry. But the future…it is an endless night. Kingdoms rise, empires fall. The Devarayas have witnessed the tide of time with courage in their warrior hearts. Ah, but to be the last one…that will take a different kind of courage, my King.”
There was a shocked silence. Vaidehi’s lips had parted, as if words rested on the tip of her tongue.
“Do not speak in riddles, eunuch,” the King had thundered finally. The wind had lashed against the shutters as if in response to his rage.
Unfazed, Agastya had pressed back on the chair, his painted nails drumming against unsmiling lips. “Forgive me, Raja saheb. A riddle prepares the mind for the bitter truth. I shall speak plainly then.” He paused, as if relishing the weight of the moment. “You will be the last Devaraya on the throne.”
A collective gasp resounded in the room. Whispers and murmurs rose like the sound of angry bees.
“I do not see you fall in battle,” the eunuch persisted, his hand tightening over the King’s. “No, it isn’t an enemy blade that would take your life. You shall live long years, but death will be a small mercy. I see you vanquished. I see you exist yet forgotten by your people. And from the ashes of your kingdom, shall rise a new conqueror. They shall be of your left rib, but not quite.”
The King had gone white. “I thought you were done with riddles.”
“The conqueror shall be close to your heart, and yet not yours.” Agastya had leaned forward, brass bracelets dancing on his wrists. “I’m afraid to be clearer, Your Highness. Prophecies can be vile, tangled things. Often the paths the doomed take to avoid it are the very ones that fulfil it.”
And then he had looked her way, stunning her with the ferocity of his gaze. “If Raja saheb does not object, I must see your bride’s hands.”
Her nails digging into moist palms, Vaidehi had stood at her husband’s nod. Walking the small distance with all eyes on her was harder than she had thought. “My hands are painted with henna,” she had whispered. “They will be hard to read, Learned One.”
“It is not the lines on your palm that show me your destiny, Rani Vaidehi,” he had murmured, extending his hand for hers. She had glanced at her husband, a ferocious frown marring his handsome features. He had taken her hand, impatiently thrusting it into the Seer’s warm grip.
“Tell me what you see,” the King had growled. “And no more riddles, eunuch!”
She had shivered as Agastya’s hands shifted to her wrists. “Ah, my Queen,” He clucked his tongue. “To be so young and full of dreams. I hear your blood rushing through these veins. I see pain, sorrow and a land that remains fallow.” He had opened her palm, the jagged edge of a painted nail tracing a henna pattern. “Bartered by your father, only to wed a cursed man. Alas, you will have to bear further misfortune. Your womb will never quicken with a Devaraya’s seed. And neither would any other woman’s. The King is fated to be childless.”
As he had spoken the damning words, his nail had pierced her skin. Vaidehi remembered sobbing at the blinding white pain, hot blood seeping out from a V-shaped mark on her palm. She had dropped to the floor, feeling oddly betrayed.
Her skin crawled, remembering Agastya’s enigmatic smile. It had not dulled, even when accused of black magic and beaten by an enraged King. He had been sentenced to a hundred lashes, dragged away to the dungeon in front of a shocked crowd.
She had reached out to her husband in grief, only to shrink at the sight of his cold pinched face. Devaraya strode away without a backward glance, anxious advisors at his tail. Maids had helped her to her feet, medicated her wound and put her to bed that night. She had slept a dreamless sleep, waking intermittently at the throbbing pain in her hand.
The space beside her had remained empty through the night.
Then, Vaidehi remembered waking in the dark. Perhaps, it was the storm outside, shrieking outside the windows. Or the hollow in her heart that seemed to grow larger every moment. The words of the Seer had tormented her till she could bear it no longer.
Donning a midnight robe, she had walked out, an earthen lamp in her good hand. How Vaidehi cursed herself for this impulse in the following years. If only she had stayed in bed, wallowing in her pain on comfortable bedding. But no, she had walked down the stairs, her feet carrying her to the dungeon door.
The moment she had neared the place, the vicious sound of a whip had broken the silence of the Palace. She had halted on a step, her pulse racing in fright. The lighting was dim. A rank smell emanated from the quarters. The dungeons were no place for her, but she had found herself unable to move. She had flinched at the sound of another lash. The man wielding the whip had grunted, cursing the silent prisoner.
Curiosity had made her step down the last flight of stairs. What she had seen then was something that would visit her nightmares till her last breath.
The Seer was suspended from the ceiling, held up by strong chains. He was naked, shrouded with dirt and blood. A startled cry had escaped her seeing the torn remnants of his back. At the sound, the guard had noticed her, alarm on his face.
“My Queen, what are you-“
“Open this!” she had screamed, pulling at the heavy gate with difficulty. “Open it this instant, or I swear I will have your head on a platter!”
Vaidehi had never been able to explain the panicked rage that had gripped her. She had never had the stomach for such cruelty, even if justly deserved. And yet, there was something different about that moment. Something visceral that compelled her act, unlike a Queen. She had pulled at the bars violently, uncaring for her freshly bleeding palm, a wound the prisoner had inflicted.
When the gate had opened, she had rushed inside, nearly slipping on the wet floor. There was a strong smell of rust in the cell that made her want to retch. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she had realized the floor was smeared with blood. Her stomach had heaved and she had sought a corner to empty the contents. She had felt ashamed at her weakness, her brows clammy with sweat.
“Ah, the infant Queen herself. Have you come to gloat?” The sing-song hiss had raised goosebumps on her skin. She had felt a trickle at the nape of her neck again, just like earlier in the throne room.
“A-Agastya?” Her voice had trembled, as she inched closer to the prone Seer. His body had remained still, hanging face down. Averting her eyes from his mutilated back, she had bent gingerly towards his face.
His head had turned towards her, making her back away into the bars. There was a light behind his eyes, like a predator staring at her in the dark. And then he had smiled, that same mysterious one as before. “You didn’t answer me, Vaidehi. Have you come to gloat?”
She had shaken her head, at a loss for words. Even chained as he was, the Seer had been frightening.
“No? Come now…Surely, you do not mean to say you care. What would Raja saheb say?” The tone had seemed deliberately provocative.
“Do-do you need w-water?”
Taking the silence as acquiescence, Vaidehi had wiped a dirty tankard with the ends of her robe and taken some water from the pitcher. Nervously, she had approached Agastya, placing a hand under his chin to lift his face. His skin had been burning to touch. “You seem to have a fever!” she had exclaimed, watching as he gulped down the water, dribbling most of it on the floor.
To her great amazement, he had chuckled. “I have had five lashes short of one hundred. It should surprise you more that I am still alive.”
There had been silence as she replaced the now empty tankard.
“Did-did you mean what you said?” She had ventured hesitantly, dabbing the sweat from his face with her arm. “You said, I will never have children. Is that true?”
“Ah,” he had sighed, relaxing under her ministrations. “So that is why you sought me out.”
“I need to know, Agastya. Please tell me.” It had been as close as she could come to begging at the time.
“The cub becomes bold,” his eyes had closed wearily. “Yes, Vaidehi. You will never have a child with a Devaraya. But with other men…yes, you may.”
“How can you say that?” she had blurted out, shocked. “I am married! There will be no other men.”
His eyes had flown open, hatred stirring in their amber depths. “What about when your husband ceases to exist, his soul torn between earth and hell? What about when he is buried alive, eaten ever so slowly, by maggots burrowing deep under his skin?”
She had staggered back, her eyes wide in terror. “You are mad. You are well and truly mad.”
“Vaidehi!”
Their heads had turned in unison at the roar. The King had stood at the entrance, his slender frame shaking with fury. The Seer had laughed, infuriating him more. The next moments to her bedroom were a blur. Vaidehi remembered being dragged unceremoniously, her husband’s punishing grip on her wrist. She remembered looking back at Agastya, his chains rattling with his mirth.
She had been flung on the bed roughly, Devaraya banging the door shut. “You dare! You dare defy me!” A familiar sound had lashed through the room. Vaidehi had turned, staring in horror at the blood stained whip. “You saved him five. So, you shall bear five.”
The first lash had burned her back as she tried to run; the second had brought her to her knees. The third had hit her torn palm, setting fire to her very nerves. The fourth had struck her breasts, knocking the air out of her body. And as she lay gasping for breath on the floor, the fifth knocked her unconscious, mercifully snuffing the unbearable pain.
When she had woken on the bed, it had been two days and she was covered with medicaments. They had never spoken of that night. She had never defied him again and her husband had considered the lesson well and truly learned.
And yet, in the privacy of her thoughts, Vaidehi could not deny that when news had reached her of their prisoner’s escape, she had smiled.
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