“I come from the neighbouring kingdom of Trigangeya. It is not an enemy kingdom of yours. I came here on the instructions of your revered teacher, Sage Sharabhanga, to teach the art of dance to Princess Kumudvati.”
At the mention of Sage Sharabhanga, the noise in the court abruptly diminished.
His name was no ordinary name in Panchanada. Kings did not dispute his words. Even his silence was something elders tried to interpret.
Vikramasena studied her sharply.
“On the instructions of Sage Sharabhanga?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Then what of the message sent by pigeon?”
“It was sent to the revered sage himself. Its meaning and its context will be revealed by him when the proper time arrives.”
Prachanda interrupted her at once.
“Your Majesty! This is nothing but sorcery woven out of words. The pigeon was found. The message was found. The reply was found. She gained entry into the inner palace. What further evidence is needed to prove treason?”
Sulochana turned towards him.
Her gaze did not become harsh. Yet it stood before Prachanda’s face like a mirror he could not endure.
“The evidence may be in your hands, Commander. But the motive lies hidden in your heart.”
Prachanda stepped forward in anger.
“What did you say?”
“For several months, your gaze has repeatedly fallen upon Princess Kumudvati and upon me. It was not the gaze of a protector of the kingdom. Nor was it the gaze of a soldier guarding the honour of the inner palace.”
A hard silence descended upon the court.
The minister turned towards Prachanda.
“Is this true?”
“False!” Prachanda thundered. “She seeks to stain my name in order to save her own life.”
Sulochana’s voice remained unchanged.
“Once, you entered the dance pavilion without permission. You believed the princess to be alone. I stood in your way. I stopped your advances. The humiliation remained with you. These chains are your revenge for that humiliation.”
Near the entrance to the women’s quarters, the faces of several attendants suddenly turned pale. In their eyes, there was more recognition than fear.
Vikramasena noticed it.
Prachanda spoke loudly.
“Your Majesty! Will you allow the words of a dance teacher to insult the commander of your army? Keep her imprisoned. Question her. Then punish her.”
Sulochana looked down at her hands.
The iron shackles still encircled her wrists.
She smiled.
“You say, ‘Keep her imprisoned.’ But first, should we not determine what has truly been bound, Commander?”
Then she turned towards the king.
“Your Majesty, I came here as a prisoner of my own will because I wished to see you. But these chains cannot bind me.”
Every gaze in the court came to rest upon her hands.
Sulochana closed her eyes.
Her lips began to move slowly.
At first, the sound of the mantra seemed too faint even for the air to hear. Then it spread through the lamps, through the pillars, through the very breath of those assembled in the hall. The sound was gentle, yet its depth was like an unfathomable sea.
The flames of the lamps suddenly stretched taller. The golden arches behind the throne shone with twice their former radiance. Flowers scattered upon the floor trembled, though there was no wind.
The female guards tightened their grip upon their spears.
Prachanda grasped the hilt of his sword.
The syllables of the mantra grew clearer.
The iron shackles upon Sulochana’s wrists first stirred with a dark gleam. Then they flushed with a red glow, as though heated from within. Upon one link, a tiny white bud appeared. Upon another, a golden streak. Upon another, a ray of crimson blossom.
Before the eyes of the entire court, the iron forgot its hardness.
The chains began to turn into flowers.
The fragrance of jasmine came first. Then champak. Then firecracker flowers, hibiscus, and parijata. One by one, the iron links opened like petals. Within moments, the shackles around Sulochana’s wrists had transformed into garlands of flowers.
The iron chains were gone.
Yet the bond remained.
It no longer resembled punishment. It looked like a garland placed upon the image of a deity in a temple. What had begun as humiliation now stood as the witness of a mantra.
The entire court remained frozen in amazement.
The weapons in the hands of the female guards trembled slightly. The minister opened his mouth but could not speak. For one moment, the hardness in Prachanda’s face cracked apart. Vikramasena sat upright upon his throne, but there was no royal anger in his eyes now—only the caution of a king who had recognised the presence of a mystery within his kingdom.
Sulochana opened her eyes.
Her hands were still held before her. Garlands of flowers encircled them. She stood like a prisoner. Yet in that moment, the very question of who was bound and who had done the binding stood in the centre of the court.
She spoke slowly.
“Will this court now hear me as a traitor? Or will it hear me as the dance teacher who came under the command of the revered sage?”
No one could answer at once.
At that very moment, a commotion arose outside the entrance to the court.
The doorkeeper hurried inside and bowed.
“Your Majesty!”
Vikramasena frowned.
“What is it?”
“Princess Kumudvati wishes to enter the court.”
Once again, a stir passed through the assembly.
It was rare for the princess herself to appear before the royal court. She did not ordinarily cross the boundaries of the inner palace in this manner.
Vikramasena considered for a moment.
“Let her enter,” he said.
For the first time, a subtle change appeared upon Sulochana’s face. Until then, she had faced the court, the king, and the commander with the same stillness. But for a single instant, anxiety flashed in her eyes. At once, it dissolved again into calm.
The doors of the court opened.
Kumudvati stepped inside.
There was royal dignity upon her face, but the anguish of a disciple in her eyes. Her gaze first fell upon her father. Then upon the minister. Then upon Prachanda. Finally, it came to rest upon the flower garlands encircling Sulochana’s hands.
For one moment, she stopped breathing.
“Gurudevi…” The word arose upon her lips and faded.
No one in the court understood how much love, how much fear, and how much mystery lay hidden in that one word.
Kumudvati stepped forward.
“Father,” she said, “before you pass judgement upon Sulochana, you must hear everything—how she entered the inner palace, what she taught me, and who hates her, and why.”
Vikramasena’s face grew even more solemn.
“Speak, Kumudvati.”
Kumudvati looked towards Sulochana.
Sulochana slowly nodded.
Within that single nod lay the permission of a teacher, the reassurance of a companion, and also a warning that some secret must still remain unspoken.
Kumudvati stood in the centre of the court.
*************************
Just before she could begin, Grandmother drew the needle out of the cloth.
“From here, the story turns backwards, children,” she said.
We all looked at her at once.
“Backwards?”
“Yes.” Grandmother smiled. “To understand how a flower blossomed, we must first learn where the seed fell, must we not?”
Beside the red flower, she began embroidering a slender vine with golden thread.
“A few months earlier,” Grandmother said, “a chariot came to a halt outside the gates of the inner palace of Panchanada…” (To be Continued)
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