Divya, page 23
‘What insolence!’ exclaimed the Acharya.
‘There can be no greater insult to art than that,’ Mallika’s voice rose higher. ‘I ordered the doorkeepers to conduct Madulika out of my palace. To think that I had brought her up with my own hands, had taught her the intricacies of music and dance, and then to have to turn her out in that manner … It was as painful to me as separation from Ruchira, the child of my womb! But Arya, Mallika cannot bear any insult to art.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Devi, when an undeserving person becomes ambitious, he crosses all bounds of decency. There is hardly a walk of life in Madra today in which disorder and insolence are not rampant. Whose honour is safe today? What institution is without blemish today? Devi, the greedy eyes of a Sudra weighs even the sacrificial horse and the sacred cow in terms of the value of their hide. Can justice and the well-being of the people ever be safe in such hands?’
‘Art demands a well-ordered mind,’ Mallika said, trying to suppress her agitation. ‘But is there in Sagal anybody with a well-ordered mind? The high-caste gentry, the real connoisseurs of art, harassed and frightened, have withdrawn from society and are living in seclusion. Arya, in Sagal today it is the rule of jackals, and the lions, bewildered and confused, have withdrawn into their dens. The newly acquired wealth and power have gone to the heads of the low-born and they have all turned into debauchees. What appreciation can such as they have for the subtleties of art?
‘And those who are disgusted with such dissipation and regard indulgence as the root cause of all wickedness, are no better either. They tend to seek refuge in Nirvana, hoping that they will attain peace in detachment. They get solace only in the call of the tonsured monks who invite them to join the Buddhist fold. In times of such confusion and disorder, how can art flourish?’
Finding confirmation of his views in the words of Mallika, the Acharya maintained his solemn demeanour. ‘The well-being of society demands that this should be stopped. Devi, both the here and the hereafter are at stake. In Madra the offerings for religious sacrifice are being eaten up by the swine. The gods, enraged over this sinful behaviour, have cursed us. Devi, it has become imperative to rid Madra of this sinfulness.’
‘But, Acharya, what can men do if such is the will of the gods, if fate wills it so?’ Mallika replied in a disheartened voice. ‘You have seen the times when Goddess Saraswati was worshipped with such veneration in this temple of art. It was blessed by her. And now, when the goddess has turned her face away, how desolate and harsh it has become!’
‘The fire-tongued Brahmin is the representative of the divine on earth,’ the Acharya said sharply. ‘He represents the invincible might of the gods. The Kshatriya is his right arm. All goes awry if, instead of walking on his feet, a man is made to walk on his hands. With his legs and feet up in the air, the head and the arms have to bear the strain. It is the bounden duty of the people to install the Brahmin in the seat of power. Devi, I seek your cooperation for the establishment of a righteous order.’
‘You have only to command me, Arya,’ Mallika said humbly. The twin reflections of the oil lamp shone brightly in her eyes.
Gazing intently into her eyes, the Acharya asked, ‘Do you promise, Devi?’
Mallika grew apprehensive, ‘What does the Arya mean?’
‘The objective is the re-establishment and proper protection of the caste religion in Madra. It is for this that your help and cooperation are needed,’ the Acharya replied in a firm voice.
Mallika thought for a moment and said, ‘I am at your service, Arya.’
‘Is this place safe for a conversation?’ the Acharya whispered cautiously. ‘Even walls have ears.’
Devi Mallika assured him that no one could hear their conversation. The Acharya then gave her a detailed account of his plans in a low and secretive tone.
In a solemn voice Devi Mallika said, ‘In the service of the gods, the Arya’s commands shall be obeyed.’
Prithusen and Rudradhir
DEVI MALLIKA, THE COURT DANCER OF MADRA, THE LAUREATE OF ART, the Light of the Town, had lost her zest for life and for a long time had withdrawn from public events. Consequently, the gentry of the town were deprived of the pleasures of her art. On important festivals and other days, performances were organized at her palace, but they were more in the nature of formalities observed to keep up old traditions. There was little sparkle or enthusiasm in them.
The citizens of Sagal were, therefore, overjoyed to learn that on the night of the full moon, in the month of Kartik, a grand festival of music and dance would be held in Devi Mallika’s palace. To this festival, the nobility, the members of the Council, the important merchants and traders, ladies of the nobility, and a number of reputed dancers had been invited.
The concert was arranged in the open air, under a clear sky flooded with the cool beams of a bright moon. White carpets had been spread; guests sat on white mattresses against white cushions; on all sides, white flowers bloomed; white fans were used, and even drinks were served in white crystal and silver bowls and vessels. The attendants, both male and female, were dressed in white. Mallika herself, her pupils, the musicians, the guest dancers, were all in white costumes. They had decked their bodies and hair with white flowers and strings of pearls.
The guests were thrilled to have been provided with such an event after so long an interval. Acharya Rudradhir, Kartavir, the feudatory chief, Vishnu Sharma, the savant, cavalry commanders Balabhadra and Dharmajit sat on one side, making a crescent, with the great feudatory chief Sarvarth in the centre. Sakrid, Indradeep, Vinay Sharma, Vasudhir and others sat at some distance from them. Prestha, the magnate, Okris, Martha and Pandit Ikrid, the Greek nobles, and Vardhak and Gopal, the feudatory chiefs, sat on the other side. Commander Prithusen, together with his friends and their womenfolk sat close by. High-caste ladies accompanied by their attendants formed their own set. Another group was formed by traders who had lately acquired membership in the Council, their friends and other prominent merchants.
Devi Mallika, although unable to give a performance on account of her advanced age, thanked the guests for having honoured her with their presence. Even though she had lost her agility, she took part in the inaugural ceremonial dance. Precious wines from Kapisha, Kandahar, Magadh and Drakshi were served to the guests. When the moon touched the zenith, the dancing girls, in all their finery, turned from the devotional to the voluptuous and the provocative. The guests, instead of sipping their drinks, began to gulp them down.
Seeing that the hands and feet of the guests had begun to move to the beat of the music, Mallika suggested to the nobility that they join in the raaslila dance. At a sign from Mallika, Kusumsena stepped forward to take Prithusen’s arm for the dance. One by one, the other men moved up to the ladies and dancing girls. The orchestra, consisting of veenas, flutes, tambourines and kettledrums, struck up the raaslila tune. The dancers stood in a wide circle on the concert floor.
At the end of the first round, those who had danced well were showered with praise. Mallika complimented Prithusen on the nimbleness of his footwork. Of the ladies, besides the dancing girls Kusumsena and Vasumitra, Zola, wife of Martha, the Greek noble, and Amrita, Acharya Rudradhir’s younger sister, and wife of Indradeep, were the recipients of special praise. Amrita had received training as a dancer under Devi Mallika, along with Divya and other girls from high-born families. Feeling thirsty after the dance, the guests drank many more bowls of wine. Over the rim of the wine bowl, Seero cast an inviting look at Mahendra, son of Okris, the noble. Mahendra moved up to her and addressing the assembly, said, ‘Honourable citizens, we have to thank Devi Mallika for having provided us with this happy occasion after a long, long time. Let’s forget everything tonight and lose ourselves in dancing.’
In response to this, Indradeep shouted, ‘With the moon shining in the sky, if there is any such person who does not drink or dance, I would say he is a worthless fellow.’
The orchestra struck up another tune and the raas dance commenced once again. Zola came up to dance with Prithusen. At the close of the dance, Devi Mallika’s slave-girls came in with fresh white towels, wiped the perspiration off the necks and faces of the guests, sprinkled perfume on them and cooled them with fans made of white swan feathers. Once again, bowls brimming with wine were served to the guests.
Sakrid, emptying his bowl at one gulp and handing it back to the slave-girl, said, ‘Friends, shall we waste such a precious night in indolence? Such a night comes but once in a year.’
Old Ikrid, removing the bowl from his lips, expressed his agreement jocularly, ‘And youth also comes but once in a lifetime.’ His voice was heard only by Okris and Prestha who nodded their heads and smiled.
Sakrid had already moved up to Seero before Mahendra could. Seero laughingly stretched her arm towards him, but the influence of drink made her too languid to rise. She sat there sipping the ice-cold wine. Prithusen’s eyes turned in her direction, but he looked away. He saw that the dancing girl, Vasumitra was looking at him in the hope of dancing with him, and that Amrita, Rudradhir’s sister, was also coming towards him with the same intention. Prithusen moved forward and took Amrita’s hand. His eyes fell on Rudradhir. He paused for a second and then started dancing.
Every few seconds Prithusen would steal a glance at Rudradhir and the other elders of the Brahmin community, who sat around Sarvarth, the great feudatory chief. They were constantly on his mind. As he had taken Amrita’s hand into his, a suspicious gesture had caught his eye. Rudradhir’s younger brother, Vasudhir, was infuriated and was about to object to his dancing with Amrita, but at a sign from his brother he fell silent. For a moment, every nerve of Prithusen’s body became alert, and this alertness dispelled the fumes of drink in his head.
With fatigue and drink, Amrita was dancing slowly. But Prithusen was quite content. It was not so much the enjoyment of the dance as the mute acceptance of the situation by Acharya Rudradhir and the other high-caste nobles that gave him the utmost satisfaction. ‘There was a time,’ he mused as he danced, ‘when in an attempt to lend a shoulder to the palanquin of a high-born girl, this very Rudradhir had insulted me. And today, right before his eyes, his sister has come to me of her own accord, and with her head on my chest and my arms round her, is dancing happily, and Rudradhir cannot so much as open his mouth. Such is the authority that power brings.’ Drugged with the sense of power, he smiled. He even made it a point to show Rudradhir that his sister was dancing in his arms. The sense of satisfaction that he experienced came not so much from his contact with Amrita’s body, as from the pride of power.
Zola was dancing with Dhriti Sharma, but she constantly followed Prithusen with her eyes. As soon as the round was over, she released herself from Dhriti Sharma’s arms and moved towards Prithusen. She threw herself down on his mattress, breathless with fatigue, reclining against a cushion. On seeing that he had become the centre of attraction for the high-born ladies, Prithusen’s heart again filled with a sense of pride.
Under the influence of drink, the guests began to show signs of listlessness. Mallika’s slave-girls, however, continued to be prompt in serving bowl after bowl of wine. Prithusen felt proud of the fact that he received the most attention. Mallika herself had offered wine to him twice. This honour was reserved only for the highest nobles.
After the slave-girls had wiped their foreheads and sprinkled perfume on them, a number of guests, including some of the ladies of the nobility, feeling languid and tired, chose to sit against the cushions sipping their wine. Others went into the garden to find a corner to rest amidst the malati creepers.
When the orchestra began to play again, Prithusen gently touched Zola, who sat by his side, lazily reclining against him. Zola did not move. Prithusen bent down a little and looked into her eyes. She was not fit to dance any more. Prithusen too did not get up to dance. Mallika sent one of her slave-girls with two fresh bowls of cold wine to them. They thanked Mallika heartily, accepted the bowls of wine, and with their eyes resting on the dancers, snuggled closely together.
Zola’s eyes wandered to where Seero was. She was sitting close to Mahendra, half-asleep, with her head on a cushion, while Mahendra had his arm around a dancing girl and was whispering something in her ear. Prithusen smiled as he looked at the dancers, who, in their drunken state, were dancing out of step.
The orchestra started a new dance measure. A number of guests, who had gone into the bowers to relax, came back to join in. The guests began to choose their partners for the next dance. Bowls brimming with wine were again sent to Prithusen and Zola. When Zola saw that Vasumitra was looking at Prithusen, she caught his arm in both her hands. Prithusen looked deep into her eyes; those eyes were more intoxicating than wine.
The guests were tired and fuddled and the dancing was gradually tapering off. Any time the dancers wanted to stop, they would unceremoniously break off in mid-step and walk towards the mattresses, while other guests would step in and take up the measure and the abandoned partners. The ladies were almost exhausted and many had gone to sit with their friends. The young men and the dancing girls were still up, whirling about with complete abandon, emitting cries and uttering whoops incessantly. Taking Zola, who was incapable of dancing, into his arms, Prithusen moved away towards a clump of bushes.
From the grove came the sound of heavy snoring. Holding up Zola, Prithusen moved towards another grove. Seeing that the place was secluded, Zola, who was unable to stand on her own feet, put her arms round Prithusen’s neck. She was barely able to contain herself. ‘Oh, dearest,’ she breathed in his ear.
The musicians were playing away, while cheers and cries came from the young dancers. For Prithusen, everything was hazy and confused. Zola’s eager whisper rang in his ears. In the darkness of the grove all he could see was her half-closed eyes, shaped like the petals of a lotus. Inert in his arms, Zola sent thrills of excitement through his body.
Zola responded by holding Prithusen in a tight embrace. Prithusen too, in the languor brought about by wine, was letting himself ride on the wave of excitement. For a moment he thought of returning to the concert floor, but his legs would not bear his weight. He vaguely heard a jumble of the sounds of different musical instruments and of merrymaking. Then a voice fell on his ears from the other side of the grove, which abruptly brought him back to his senses.
‘Kumar, have you searched this side too?’
‘Yes, Arya. This side, and also the other side.’
Prithusen recognized the speakers. They were the army officer Indradeep and Rudradhir’s younger brother, Vasudhir. The stealthy behaviour of his old enemies filled Prithusen’s mind with a sense of foreboding. Holding his breath, he waited to hear more. The footsteps of two more men were heard approaching the grove.
‘Will all the preparation go for nothing?’ It was Vinay Sharma’s voice. ‘The planet Devas will soon be aligned with the constellation of the Seven Sisters.’
‘Prestha’s palace must have been surrounded by Shvetketu and his soldiers by this time.’ It was Balajit’s voice, tinged with anxiety. ‘They’ll give a blast on the trumpet when they set fire to the palace. And here you’ve allowed that son of a slave to escape! What could have made him suspicious?’
Prithusen’s body was covered with cold sweat. He did not think of Zola who lay huddled up on the stone slab beside him. He was all ears to every little sound. Even the throbbing of his heart pounded dreadfully in his ears. He trembled from head to foot.
‘If that son of a slave succeeds in getting away, he can prove dangerous,’ Balajit was saying. ‘It may be that he’s lying in some grove, sleeping it off after drinking heavily. Have armed soldiers been posted on the ramparts of the palace?’
‘Yes, Arya, two hundred trusted soldiers have already entered the palace compound through the rear gate. One hundred more are hiding in civilian clothes in the dark lanes outside the rear gate. Two hundred more are hiding near the main gate. They are only waiting for the signal of the trumpet call.’
Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the sound of a trumpet from the northern part of the town. Indradeep shouted the order at the top of his voice: ‘Attention! Surround the assembly yard and proceed towards the main gate.’
Prithusen was familiar with the garden and the groves of Mallika’s palace. Leaving the unconscious Zola, he wrapped his uttariya loosely around his head and face, and taking long strides, ran towards the rampart. A few armed soldiers coming out from behind the trees were moving towards the assembly yard. For a moment, Prithusen froze; then, going over to them he ordered in the manner of an army commander, ‘Soldiers! Towards the main gate!’
As the soldiers turned obediently towards the main gate, Prithusen, with the help of a tree branch, climbed over the parapet wall and jumped down on to the road on the other side.
Unarmed and helpless, he stood on the road and thought for a moment, ‘Where shall I go? Should I go towards the main gate where my bodyguard and chariot are waiting? … Towards my father? The two hundred soldiers of the enemy must have finished him by now. Shall I go towards my palace? The palace must have been captured by the enemy and set on fire.’
The sound of horses’ hoofs, coming from the direction of the main gate, fell on his ears. He at once crept into a dark lane nearby. A band of riders appeared to be making a quick round of the palace. Prithusen went on walking further into the darkness of the lane. He took off his pearl necklaces and other precious ornaments, and one by one, threw them away. Covering his body and head with his uttariya, he tried to pass himself off as a commoner protecting himself from the weather.
