Divya, page 10
Yawning, Balajit called to Rudradhir, ‘It won’t be long before the sun rises. You will need time to bid farewell to your father and mother, and to the rest of the family.’
Self-surrender
MITHRODUS, THE AGED PRESIDENT AND COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF, realizing the magnitude of the problem, resolved to mount a determined resistance to Kendras. He entrusted the treasury and the department of war supplies to Prestha, the magnate, and the department of war strategy to Okris, the Greek noble. The task of fighting off the enemy in the impregnable mountain passes by the Tavisha river was entrusted to Prithusen with his army of freshly trained soldiers. The President took upon himself the work of general coordination and supervision. The internal administration of the city and of the state was left to the Chief Justice.
This new arrangement soon dispelled much of the fear and panic that had prevailed among the populace, and aroused a new enthusiasm for the war effort. Inspired by the thought of defending their country, groups of citizens began to offer their services voluntarily. Production of the weapons of war increased fourfold.
The President, feeble with age, could not travel widely over the country’s rough roads. He could be seen, however, in his palanquin at all hours of the day in parts of the capital or its suburbs, engaged in inspection work. Prithusen was often seen riding by the side of his palanquin, on his agile white horse, its neck bent almost double by the tightly pulled reins, or he would be seen galloping, swift as an arrow, through the streets and lanes, followed by a detachment of cavalry. From dawn to dusk he was busy training the infantry and the cavalry in tactics of attack and defence. He spent days in the forests and in the lowlands of the Apaga river training his men in jungle warfare.
Prithusen was well liked by the Chief Justice, and also by Prabuddha Sharma and Dhriti Sharma, yet he never went to the palace of the Chief Justice, conscious as he was of the silent hostility of Vishnu Sharma and Vinay Sharma towards him. With his father’s permission, he made one visit to the Chief Justice to ask him for the hand of his great-granddaughter. The old man’s reply was, ‘My son, at this time you have taken upon yourself a very heavy responsibility. You should attend to that, heart and soul. There is a time for everything.’
Divya’s heart, already laden with worry, had now, like a flower, begun to wilt under the heavy weight of another anxiety. She would have to wait for days on end for a mere glimpse of Prithusen. She went to the palaces of Mallika and Vasumitra looking for him, but would come back disappointed. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she went to the palace of Prestha, the magnate. Prithusen’s father and mother greeted her warmly, took her into their arms and smelt her hair according to the custom, but there was no sign of Prithusen. Sick at heart but with a smile on her lips, she went home and in utter despair shut herself up in her room. Mahadevi would scold her for her listlessness and apathy, but Divya could give no reply except to shed tears. Now and then, when he had some free moments from his work, Prithusen would send a message to Divya through Vapa, the old maidservant, and they would meet for a little while, either in the seclusion of a grove by the side of the lake, or in the palaces of Mallika, Vasumitra and Prestha. Overwhelmed by emotion, Divya would throw herself into his arms, with tears streaming from her eyes. Prithusen would himself grow extremely restless and, in turn, seek comfort in Divya. Divya would be obliged to resist his advances by holding his hands in hers and this would make him languid and absent-minded. It caused Divya much suffering to see him in this state.
Prithusen said one day, ‘I shall soon be leaving for the battle front by the Tavisha river. You have accepted my love, yet you continue to spurn me. I shall carry with me only the painful memory of your rejection. What if I don’t come back and it is my dead body that is brought back to Sagal!’ He clasped his arms tightly, in an attempt to restrain himself. Divya put her hand on his mouth and burst out crying.
Prithusen had spoken out of frustration, mingled with self-pity. But when Divya burst into tears, his heart was filled with remorse. Holding her in a close embrace, he began to kiss her hair, her tear-stained eyes, her cheeks, consoling her and begging her forgiveness for his harsh words. On her part, Divya was swept away by her desire to soothe his unrest. Oblivious of their separate identities, their hearts merged in a flood of mutual passion.
The moment was, for Divya, the culmination of a long period of distress and despair. Whenever she reflected on her suffering, the words of the physician Cheebuk, the Buddhist monk, would come to her mind, ‘Joy and sorrow are interdependent. They exist only in so far as we give credence to thought and feeling. At the root of sorrow, in every situation, lies desire. The satisfaction of one desire gives birth to another. Real happiness lies not in the satisfaction of desire, but in ridding oneself of it.’ The monk’s sermon now irritated her. It would be a lie to say that the Chief Justice’s verdict in Prithusen’s favour and his promotion to the rank of commander had not elated her for until a few days ago her only wish was the fulfilment of that desire. Any reference to his abilities and his performance would thrill her and make her all the more eager to be near him.
Divya regarded Chhaya’s mother, Dhata, as her own mother and, accordingly, called her ‘Amma’. Chhaya had been Divya’s playmate in childhood and was the same age as Divya, hence her love for Divya knew no bounds. She would put up with Divya’s rebukes, given with or without reason, and would never harbour any hard feelings. At times, when Divya was upset, she would rail at Chhaya and say harsh things, but even then Chhaya would remain by her side. Divya too was fond of Chhaya. A friendly informality existed between the two girls. Divya took her attendant as much for granted as the clothes she wore every day. Bahul, Chhaya’s lover and the chief-slave of the household, had gone away. Of his own will, he had enrolled as a soldier to obtain his freedom. In Divya’s dejection and lassitude, Chhaya felt her own hidden sorrow. The measure of each girl’s suffering was in her capacity to bear and to express it.
Chhaya always sat by Divya’s side, wherever she was. With her hand resting on Divya’s foot or some other part of her body, she would go on talking of this, that and the other to distract Divya’s mind. She would tell Divya about Mahadevi’s constant concern for Divya’s marriage; about the numerous worthy suitors; about Prithusen’s request for Divya’s hand and the grandsire’s reply to it; about the indignant remarks made by Vishnu Sharma and the usually reticent Bhrigu Sharma, in the privacy of their rooms.
Divya felt furious at the disrespect shown towards Prithusen by her family. ‘Let my great-grandfather know, let the whole palace know, that I shall not marry anyone except Prithusen. Arya Prithusen has expressed before the grandsire not only his wish but mine too. This and this alone will satisfy me. There is no question of my marrying anyone else. Only when my great-grandfather knows this, will he pay any serious attention to Prithusen’s proposal. And the marriage must not be delayed. I would like it to take place before the Arya leaves for the battle front.’ She spoke her mind before Chhaya without let or hindrance, knowing that her views would be conveyed to Amma, and through her to the whole household. ‘What then? Let them all know,’ she said to herself.
One day Tara, wife of Prabuddha Sharma, her paternal uncle, took Divya into her arms and said tenderly, ‘It isn’t proper to be so impatient, dear. The grandsire cannot deny your wish because he loves you so deeply. But in these disturbed times, people will not think well of you, if you marry in such haste. Besides, the judgment given by your great-grandfather in Prithusen’s favour will be construed as scandalous partiality.’
The news that Kendras’s army was bearing down on Sagal had brought terror and panic into the innermost recesses of the city palaces. ‘There is no reason for alarm,’ said Prabuddha Sharma reassuringly, both to his wife and to Divya. ‘Our new army, so well organized by Okris and Prithusen, will march into battle after viewing the eleventh moon, on the auspicious day determined by Vikram, the astrologer. The fortunes of war will surely take a favourable turn. There is a world of difference between mercenary soldiers forcibly conscripted, and those engaged in the defence of their motherland.’
Divya learned that after midnight on the fourth day, Prithusen would leave for the front with his army, and she felt a stab of pain in her heart. Divya had had no direct experience of war, but she had heard a great deal about it: that hordes of men, with deadly weapons in their hands, attacked one another, that rivers of blood flowed, that thousands of wounded lay screaming on the ground, that war always meant peril and disaster. In her mind’s eye she saw Prithusen, mounted on his horse, plunging headlong into the slaughter. Under instructions from Mahadevi, Divya was required to help in numerous household duties, to divert her mind from thoughts of disaster and depression. Thus, while her hands were engaged mechanically in household tasks, her mind would see visions of battle: of Prithusen, seated on his white horse, his sword raised high, charging into the jaws of danger. Such visions sent a shiver through her body.
Bahul, the chief-slave and Chhaya’s lover, had now been posted as foot soldier in Prithusen’s army. Separated from him, Chhaya was miserable. Divya would make Chhaya sit by her side and talk to her about Bahul, thereby seeking consolation for herself. Chhaya had procured an amulet for her lover’s safety from Baikunth, the tantric pandit. Divya, too, parted with a gold ring to obtain from the pandit an especially powerful talisman for Prithusen’s protection.
On each of the three days before his departure, Divya managed to slip out of the palace in search of Prithusen. She went to the palaces of Mallika and Vasumitra, to the garden by the lake and to the palace of Prestha. But each time she came back disappointed. She learned from Dhriti Sharma that Prithusen, as commander of the armed forces, was extremely busy, that he knew no rest, that he was spending day and night on horseback, and that if one horse got tired, he would call for another.
‘What if he is so busy? Can’t he spare even a few moments for me?’ she would say to herself. ‘Had he thought of me, he could easily have sent Vapa to me … But this is as it should be, I don’t deserve any better. When have I ever provided any comfort to his tired body or to his anxious mind? I have always thwarted him by my harsh indifference. If, in this struggle, he has chosen to blot me out of his mind, then I have fully deserved it.’
Her eyes filled with tears. But she was not free even to cry. She could not give vent to her feelings as freely as Chhaya could. Her throat so choked with tears that she would find it hard to breathe. In her mind’s eye would appear the same sequence of events: Prithusen, tired, weary and eager, seeking rest and solace in her arms and then, frustrated by her rejection, plunging headlong into the thick of the battle. ‘From which, very likely, only my dead body will come back,’ he had said. Prithusen’s dejected face rose before her eyes and her soul felt crushed.
She began to imagine the worst. She saw Prithusen, falling from his horse, covered in blood. She saw a troop of soldiers, stricken with grief, standing round a dead body. With such scenes as these, she also saw visions of her own death. She recalled the discussions about life, death and the thereafter in her great-grandfather’s assemblies, and she would imagine that she and Prithusen would be born again, to be united forever. She remembered the utterances of Buddhist sages, that it was the keen desires and mental restlessness of mankind that made death so painful.
Prithusen’s eagerness and longing came back to her. She became restless, and kept repeating to herself, ‘My body belongs to him, my mind belongs to him, my whole being belongs to him. Why should I see him suffer? Whatever he desires shall be his. But where can I meet him before he sets out for the battlefield? There is only one evening left.’
Divya held in her hand the all-protecting amulet that she had procured from the tantrik. She would not let Prithusen go to the battlefield until she had tied the amulet around his arm with her own hands. Though she appeared calm, inwardly every fibre of her being trembled with anxiety, like the swings of a veena.
In the temple of Brahma, the Lord of Creation, a grand yajna was organized by Prestha, the magnate, to offer prayers for the well-being of his son and for the victory of the forces of Madra. In the holy monastery of the Buddhists, the magnate organized for the chanting of hymns by three hundred monks before the image of Lord Buddha, and afterwards he fed a thousand bhikshus. While in the temple of the Greek god Zeus, he arranged for the sacrifice of a horse with great pomp and ceremony. Taking Chhaya with her, Divya went to all three places, but Prithusen was nowhere to be seen. She learned that he was in the military camp. She turned back disappointed, but the disappointment made her all the more restless. She begged Dhata to go to the palace of the magnate and sent Guha, a slave, to the military camp to find out where Prithusen was.
Divya was perplexed. On one hand, each moment she spent without Prithusen seemed to be as long as a lifetime, on the other, the sun sinking towards the west, made her feel that time was rapidly slipping out of her hands. Neither had Dhata come back from the palace, nor had Guha returned with any news of Prithusen. The setting sun illuminated only the treetops now. To Divya its fast-fading rays seemed to be carrying away with them her last hopes.
The light died on the treetops. Struggling against her despair, Divya turned her eyes towards the north, and the mountain range that towered above the palaces of Sagal, on which the last rays of the setting sun still lingered. Solace and relief seemed as far from her as the mountain tops. Dhata came back to tell her that she had failed to locate Prithusen. Just then, the last light on the mountain also vanished.
Divya could not sit still any more. She got up from her bed and sat down beside it, only to get up again and walk up and down the room, before going out into the garden. After a few moments, she came back inside. She had no respite. Feeling thirsty, she asked Chhaya many times for water, but when it was brought, Divya put the cup down by her side and forgot to drink.
Just then Mala, another maidservant, appeared at the doorway and said, ‘Vapa, the maidservant from the palace of Prithusen, has brought gifts from the auspicious yajna, and is at present in Mahadevi’s room.’
‘What? When did she come?’ exclaimed Divya, jumping up from her bed.
‘This very moment, Mistress.’
Divya felt abashed at her excitement and lay down once more, but she could not take her eyes off the door. Nor could she keep lying in bed after the maid had left. She got up and began pacing up and down the room once again. When it became impossible for her to suppress her excitement, she turned to Chhaya, ‘Go and see if Vapa is still there or has left.’
Just then old Vapa entered the room. Greeting Divya and praying that Divya’s afflictions be transferred to her own worthless aged person, she sat down by her side and began giving a long description of the yajna ceremony. Her eyes turned again and again towards Chhaya, who was listening intently to every word that she uttered. Turning to Chhaya, Divya said, ‘Go to the kitchen, Chhaya, and bring some sweets for Vapa.’
When Chhaya had gone, Vapa whispered into Divya’s ear, ‘An hour after sunset, in Mallika’s palace.’
Divya’s eyes sparkled. She took off a diamond ring and handed it to Vapa. Then, getting up eagerly, she began to change her clothes and make herself beautiful. In her excitement, she broke out into sweat repeatedly and her hands trembled, slowing down her preparations. She could not talk to Chhaya who was standing there to assist her, or speak in her natural voice. She was getting ready to set out on her triumphal expedition of self-surrender. These preparations were a necessary ritual for that expedition.
This self-surrender was an offering to prepare Prithusen for his departure to the battlefield to defend Madra and to appease the goddess of victory. Divya, therefore, got ready to become his beloved in his hour of trial and danger, to give him courage and strength by offering herself to him, by making her way into his heart. He alone was the one nearest to her in the whole world. She was ready to sacrifice her family, her social position, her very being for his sake. She took into her hand the all-protecting amulet and asked Chhaya to get the chariot ready.
A month had passed since the infantry and the cavalry of Madra had left for the Tavisha river, under the command of Prithusen. The news that began to pour into the town was that Kendras was no longer advancing. His forces had begun to withdraw towards Darva. The whole town of Sagal was thrilled to hear the news, and Divya more than anyone else. She began to hope that in another month’s time Prithusen would return home, holding aloft the banner of victory. In her imagination she saw scenes of her wedding ceremony. Time passed more quickly now, as she was filled with pride in his victory, praying for Prithusen’s well-being and hoping for an early reunion. Mahadevi felt relieved at heart that with Prithusen away from the town, the girl had finally calmed down.
The second month was soon over. The army of Kendras had been defeated and was now retreating, while Prithusen, in hot pursuit of the enemy, was penetrating deeper and deeper into the territory of Darva. That the territory of the Republic was being extended filled the hearts of the citizens of Sagal with great enthusiasm. Divya was happy and proud that she too had a hand in that victory. She grew more tranquil, content to spend her days just awaiting his return.
She would shut her eyes and recall the night when Prithusen had set out for the battlefield. When she relived the feelings of that night, a wave of excitement would pass through her body. Finding that her despair had turned into victory, she was filled with a sense of achievement and pride. Her heart leapt with joy at the thought that within her she was carrying the presence of Prithusen. As her joy mounted, it turned to restlessness; she wanted Prithusen to come back immediately, fearing that further delay in his return would become a source of shame.
At the end of the fourth month the news came that Prithusen had conquered half the territory of Darva, that Kendras had been killed at his hands with a sword thrust and that Prithusen himself had been wounded in battle. The victorious army was returning home, carrying with it jewels, treasures, herds of horses and cattle, besides two thousand sturdy slaves and beautiful slave-girls. Hearing this news, Divya clasped both her hands to her bosom, and unable to control her tears, covered herself with a silken shawl and lay down in bed.
