Divya, page 13
When she saw the palanquin of the Chief Justice’s great-granddaughter after such a long time, the Greek female doorkeeper of the inner quarters of the palace, holding a sword in her hand, respectfully bowed to Divya and said, ‘The Arya is at this time in the pleasure grove with Seero, the President’s granddaughter.’
Divya was dumbfounded. There was no point in going back. But how long could she go on waiting at the gate, and to what purpose? ‘Let the Arya know of my arrival,’ she said.
Divya sat in her palanquin waiting for an answer, like one in a daze.
The answer brought by the maidservant was conveyed to Divya by the Greek doorkeeper, ‘The Arya begs to be excused. Because of indisposition he regrets his inability to have the pleasure of receiving you.’
Divya’s ears heard the answer but her mind did not accept it. Still in shock, she stared at the doorkeeper, waiting for an answer. She was unable to think of anything to say. The tiny flame of hope which she had carried with such care, sheltering it from the winds that blew on all sides, had been extinguished by a mere puff of wind. Her eyes were wide open but they saw nothing.
Noticing Divya’s expressionless eyes riveted on the door leading to the inner palace, the worldly-wise Dhata was filled with apprehension. She ordered the bearers to take back the palanquin, lest some discourtesy be shown to Divya. It was only when the palanquin had reached the main road that Divya came to her senses. The realization of her situation brought a fresh flood of tears to her eyes. Dhata immediately lowered the curtains of the palanquin; she did not want passers-by to witness a high-born girl crying on the highway.
This action had its effect on Divya. She remembered the day when, on the evening of the Festival of Spring, she had been crowned the Daughter of Saraswati and had proudly been carried on the shoulders of the high-born young men. ‘Has it come to this that I should seek shelter behind closed curtains?’ she said to herself. Heedless of the tears that flowed down her cheeks she threw open the curtains, and wiping her eyes with a corner of her shawl, lifted her head proudly.
The highway was brightly lit and Dhata told the bearers to take the palanquin home by some other route.
The bearers left the brightly lit main street, with shops and houses crowded with people and took to a dark lane, which passed through a poorer district. The lane was almost deserted, as the business of the day had ceased with sunset. The bearers had no torches and had to shout as they went along, ‘Look out! Clear the way! Step aside!’ to the strollers who were walking right in the middle of the road.
Suddenly, someone was heard calling, ‘Who’s there who wants us to get off the road?’
Right in the middle of the dark, narrow alleyway, a shadowy figure stood with head erect and his chest thrust out. In his outstretched right hand he held a bowl of wine and with his left hand he beat his chest again and again, as though challenging someone. Two more men, with wine bowls in their hands, swayed on unsteady legs on either side of him.
‘Captain Vrik … here’s a p-pretty damsel … a palanquin-riding p-prostitute!’ shouted one of them with glee.
The palanquin-bearers pricked up their ears. ‘Matals!1 A band of matals! There will be trouble!’ they whispered to one another.
Dhata too shrank within herself with fear, but admonished them in a firm voice, ‘Leave the road for the palanquin of the noble lady to pass, matal!’
Instead of withdrawing, the matals, attracted by the female voice, moved towards the palanquin. Tottering under the influence of wine, they yelled lustily, ‘Friend Vrik … a … p-pretty girl … pretty!’
Twirling his long moustache with his left hand, Vrik said, ‘Vrik was only looking for you, my pretty, after drinking a few bowls of wine … And you refused to take him in your arms because he had no money, eh?’
A shiver ran through Divya’s body. Dhata rebuked the man more harshly than before, ‘Matal, make way for the palanquin of the noble lady!’
Emboldened by Dhata’s voice, Divya too called, ‘Leave the path, citizen!’
‘Matal? Who is a matal?’ Vrik shouted back. ‘Captain Vrik drinks good wine, high-class wine, in the company of friends and then sleeps with high-class prostitutes.’
‘Matal, you will pay dearly for your insolence to the high-born lady!’ Dhata’s voice shook with fear.
Vrik, with his friends, advanced towards the palanquin and said jeeringly, ‘Ha, ha, the high-born! … Money alone is high-born! Who dares call the soldiers of Commander Prithusen low-born? These soldiers bared their breast to the swords of the enemy. What does a woman’s family matter? A woman takes the family name of the man who enjoys her. Vrik has put his heel on the throats of the high-born nobles of Darva and has snatched a hundred gold pieces from them.’
He gulped a mouthful of wine. ‘That money is not yet spent. Vrik has enjoyed the high-born beauties of Darva, trembling in their own silver bedsteads! Tell me your price, high-born woman! Even if you are Vasumitra or Mallika, the power of my gold will disarm your sword-carrying doorkeepers. You will yourself come begging for my favour. Pretty one, my mouth does not smell of cheap meraya. It has the sweet odour of wine made of the finest grapes, as sweet as the scent of your body after you are bathed and sprayed with perfume.’
The second matal, tottering on his feet, threw back his head and shouted drunkenly, ‘Oh! A high-born beauty!’ He made a sucking sound with his lips and started beating the ground with his feet.
‘Come, my beauty! Give joy and get money!’ said Vrik opening his arms wide towards Divya.
Dhata again shouted, her voice trembling with fear and anger, ‘Insolent matal, you will have to pay dearly for insulting this girl from a noble family!’
The matal on the right of Vrik, took an unsteady step forward and said jocularly, ‘High-born girl!’ while the other, rolling the words round his lips, drawled, ‘For Captain Vrik, a high-born lass with a juicy body!’ And raised the wine bowl to his lips.
Divya could bear it no longer. Although very frightened, she hardened her voice and said, ‘Soldiers, this insolence will have grave consequence.’
‘Look at the conceit of the woman!’ growled Vrik, throwing the bowl on the ground and advancing towards the palanquin. ‘What is the price of your pride? Are you puffed up because some high-born noble enjoys you? Vrik, the captain, has trampled upon the heads of many a noble in Darva,’ and he struck the cobbled street with his heavy Greek sandal. ‘You are full of pride because rich fellows of high families sleep with you on silver bedsteads and silken mattresses. Vrik has rolled on the bodies of many a palanquin-riding, proud girl like you.’ With an oath, pulling out a heavy money-pouch from his waist-belt and dangling it aloft, he shouted, ‘I can pay for your pride,’ and then stretching his arm towards his companion he ordered, ‘Varan, present the high-born lady in the palanquin to Vrik, the battalion commander!’
Divya was trembling from head to foot. Dhata raised both her hands and stood in front of the palanquin. ‘Beast! Ruffian! Help! Help, citizens, help!’ she shouted, and called upon the palanquin-bearers to save the girl. The bearers hastily put the palanquin down on the ground and came forward.
Suddenly on the cobbled street, the sound of fast-approaching horse hoofs was heard. At the bend in the street a glow of light appeared, moving towards them. A rider, accompanied by a torch-bearing slave and an armed attendant, was racing towards them.
‘Help, Arya, help! Save the great-granddaughter of the Chief Justice from these ruffians!’
The rider reined in his horse. All three matals stood stupefied.
‘Ajeya Verma, son of Sarvarth Verma, the feudatory chief, is at your service, lady!’ said the youth, drawing his sword and edging his horse close to the palanquin. ‘How did you come at this untimely hour to this wretched place?’
‘Arya, she is returning from a visit to a friend’s house to which she was invited,’ Dhata replied, bowing low. ‘The main road was too crowded, so we decided to return by this secluded road, when these ruffians blocked our way.’
Ajeya Verma looked at the matals with fire in his eyes. Both the companions of Vrik were trembling with fear. Vrik tried to run away but was quickly seized by the armed attendant. Seeing his military uniform, Ajeya Verma said angrily, biting his lip, ‘Who else but the soldiers of Commander Prithusen, the slave-born, would dare to do such a thing?’
He placed the three matals under arrest and ordered his attendant to hand them over to the authorities. He then ordered the torch-bearer to proceed towards the palace of the Chief Justice. He himself rode alongside the palanquin. ‘What else can be expected, when low-caste people are encouraged to occupy posts meant only for the nobility?’ he asked contemptuously. ‘Perhaps the next thing will be that we shall be turned out of our palaces and made to rub shoulders with the populace, losing our identity altogether.’
After the palanquin had gone some distance, Divya said, ‘Many thanks for your timely help. The Arya need not trouble any further. I gave my word to Devi Vasumitra that I would pay a call at her palace. That was one of the reasons why this route was chosen. It won’t be difficult to get a torch-bearer from her palace. It’s a safe road from there on.’
Dhata glanced at Divya in surprise but did not contradict her mistress. ‘My lady is awaited at the palace of Vasumitra. Greetings to the Arya from this humble servant,’ she said.
On instructions from Ajeya Verma, the torch-bearer changed direction. At the brightly lit entrance to Vasumitra’s palace, Ajeya Verma offered his salutations to Divya and took his leave.
Divya stepped out of her palanquin at the gate of Vasumitra’s palace. Instead of going towards the reception hall, she entered the garden. Not understanding her mistress’s intention, Dhata followed her closely. Divya went to a thick grove of trees and sat down on the ground in the dark. ‘Amma, you may go now,’ she said. ‘Take the palanquin and go back to the palace. There is no place for me there any more like I have no place in the house of Prithusen. I have been cast out. And I don’t know which way to turn, where to find refuge—on the roads, in the city streets, under a tree in the forest or in the waters of the Apaga river. You may go, Amma. You nursed me on your breast like a mother. It is customary for a mother to bid farewell to her daughter when the latter goes to her husband’s house. Bid me farewell in the same way. My husband has played me false. And now there is no place for me either in the house of my great-grandfather, or in the house of the father of my child. I don’t know which way I shall go.’
Tears welled up in Dhata’s eyes. She had once suckled Divya, had held her to her breast. And Divya, though her mistress, in this unbearable crisis had become for her like her own daughter, a part of her very heart. She sat down by her side and putting her arms round her said, in a voice choked with emotion, ‘What are you saying, my child? How can I leave you? Where will you go?’
Divya’s eyes were dry and her voice firm. ‘Amma, how can I live in the grandsire’s house, now that I have become pregnant before marriage? When there is no place for me in the house of the man who is responsible for this pregnancy, from whom else can I seek shelter? I belong where my child belongs. If I don’t find a place, I shall work as a drudge somewhere, sell my own body and somehow save the one who is lodged within me. Whatever god wills …’
‘What are you saying, child?’ Dhata repeated, clasping Divya to her heart, her tears wetting Divya’s hair. ‘Will you pass your life on the roads and in the streets? You have never so much as touched a pot or a pan with your hand; your feet have never trodden on the ground; you have never experienced heat or cold—and you will work as a drudge? My precious one, the world is full of ruffians and dangerous people. How can you live alone in the street or the desolate forest?’
‘What way out is there for me, Amma?’ Divya asked. ‘I don’t have to fear anyone. And who is there that I am afraid of? To be afraid of Vrik, the matal? I was not afraid of Prithusen. Why should I be afraid of Vrik? What is a woman, after all? Vrik was right, Amma. All men are alike, so far as women are concerned—tough and unbending Rudradhir, sensitive Prithusen, the outspoken Marish and Vrik the matal. Who can a woman depend upon, when she is born to serve merely as an object of enjoyment? She will continue to be merely an object of pleasure. My great-grandfather, my grand-uncle wanted to marry me off to Rudradhir. I, of my own accord, surrendered myself to Prithusen, and this is the result. What is the way out for me, Amma?’
Holding Divya close to her breast, Dhata went on weeping silently. Then, her voice cracked with tears and broken by sobs, she said, ‘My child, my mistress, how can I let you go alone in this world inhabited as it is by wild creatures? My jewel, your servant will follow you about like a shadow. For a girl as tender as you are, childbirth will be an ordeal. The servant’s place is always with her mistress. How can I leave you in misfortune and suffer for this sin in the next life? I’ve seen something of the world; I’ve seen good days and bad; I’ve seen a great deal of craftiness and duplicity. You are very innocent, child. Your mother left you in my care. In your days of difficulty, your Amma will always remain by your side, sheltering you as best as she can.’
Divya and Dhata sat in the garden for an hour or so. Then, when the concert at Vasumitra’s palace was over and the assembly dispersed, they left through the back door, avoiding the palanquin-bearers at the main entrance, and once again plunged into the labyrinth of the dark lanes of the city. Divya finding it difficult to walk because of her delicate condition soon expressed the desire that they should go and spend the night in some inn.
‘Child, without a man to accompany you, it is risky to go to an inn,’ Dhata explained. ‘The state officials may put inconvenient questions to you. Moreover, when the bearers take the empty palanquin back to the palace, a desperate search will begin for you.’
It was nearing midnight and a pall of darkness covered the town. Only occasionally, through windows and from terraces, glimmers could be seen. There was light, however, in front of wine shops and in the prostitutes’ quarters. Divya and Dhata were afraid that they might be recognized. In the darkness, fear of the unknown troubled them. Fear, in fact, surrounded them on all sides—fear of man! At that hour of the night, only men were to be seen on the roads; men such as those who could only bring trouble for women. If there were any women, they were prostitutes. To stop at any place in the street would arouse curiosity and suspicion.
Though extremely tired, they walked on. It was cold, yet Divya was perspiring under her clothes. Whenever a gust of wind blew in her face, she would shiver, from head to foot. They were in search of shelter, but didn’t know where to find it, and in what form.
Wandering without any clear sense of direction, Dhata and Divya once again found themselves in the prostitutes’ lane. From the terraces light fell on the road below. Under the lamps sat the prostitutes, their hair decked with flowers, their cheeks rouged and eyes lined heavily with kohl. They were trying to attract the attention of passers-by, by calling to them. From some of the terraces music from the veena, flutes and drums could be heard.
In the roadway too stood a number of prostitutes, wearing garlands, their lips red with tambool and their eyes bleary with drink. Some of them pretending to be in the throes of passion were inviting men to join them. Others strolled about in the streets, hanging onto the arms of their customers.
‘This is a brothel area. Let’s get away immediately,’ Dhata whispered into Divya’s ear.
‘Amma, I can’t walk any more. Let’s sit down and take a little rest somewhere,’ Divya replied, showing no embarrassment or fear.
They were passing by a drinking parlour when a drunk called out to them, inviting them to join him. Finding his invitation ignored, the man stepped forward, put his hand on Dhata’s shoulder, and said, ‘Auntie, who is the lucky fellow to whom you are taking this beauty, ignoring all her admirers waiting here?’
Earlier in the evening Divya had felt fear at being accosted by Vrik, the matal, even though she had been sitting in the palanquin and had the bearers to protect her. Now, though unprotected, she spoke fearlessly, ‘Citizen, we are not prostitutes; we have forgotten our way to the inn. We don’t belong here.’
A few more men emerged from the parlour. Just then an old woman, who had come out from a nearby lane, stepped into their midst and raised her arms to protest in a loud voice, ‘What scandalous behaviour is this, citizens of Sagal? You don’t know the difference between ladies of a good family and common prostitutes?’
‘Why are you butting in, Auntie Jaya?’ the drunkard said to the old woman.
‘Am I butting in, you young imp?’ She replied in a hurt tone, raising both her hands in protest. ‘Am I butting in? They are my sister’s daughters who have come from Valka and I’m taking them to my place. Don’t you see, they aren’t used to walking? How weary and tired they look!’
The old woman stroked Divya’s head and Dhata’s back tenderly.
‘If you want to go to prostitutes, why, go ahead, who’s stopping you? Go to Vasa’s. She’s got two new girls from the hills. Why, you’re so drunk, you can’t even keep your eyes open.’ To Divya and Dhata she whispered. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
After they had gone a few steps, the old woman said in a voice full of sympathy and concern, ‘How wicked these men are! What would have happened if I hadn’t come across you? Your feet must be sore with walking. What if you have lost your way! What if the inn is so far away! I’ll take you there in the morning.’
Dhata touched Divya’s arm and made a sign to her. Divya looked at her enquiringly, but could not make out anything in the dark. The old woman kept on, ‘The gods have given me a house of my own. It may not be a mansion like a magnate’s, but it provides shelter all right. There is food and clothes. I too have a daughter like you.’
The old woman’s eyes fell on the metal ring on Dhata’s ankle, an indication of her being a slave attendant, and turning to her she said, ‘How devoted you are to your mistress, you are certainly blessed with a great soul.’
