“The kingdom will be in disarray.”
“Not the first time a brother killed a brother for the throne.”
“Ram Gupta deserved it.”
“Justice is restored by Chandra, after all, they dared to insult the queen of Pataliputra.”
The kingdom was abuzz with a lot of rumours. The news had spread like wildfire from behind the walls of the palace to the citadel. It was believed that Ram Gupta, the king of Pataliputra, the firstborn of Samudra Gupta, was dead. He was killed by his brother Chandra that afternoon. While most supported Chandra Gupta’s claim to the throne, especially after he had rescued the dynasty from being humiliated by the Shaka kings of the west, others feared unrest in the state. While some talked of a royal coronation, others wondered what had happened to the body of Ram Gupta, which was believed to be lying in the pool of blood in the palace lawn.
“Perhaps the rumours of them keeping Rajkumar Chandra captive were true.” Someone wondered. “Perhaps Ram Gupta was ready to surrender to enemies.” Others suggested in the city market.
“ Rajkumar Chandra deserves the throne.” Someone made the others agree.
“He also deserves the queen more than his brother.” An old man sneered at his peers while they sat under the banyan tree. Some laughed, and others were amused at the suggestion. “I would also kill for the throne if I got a queen with it.”
“What if he kills her too?” A woman gasped at another in the bathing ghats of the Ganga. “Nonsense, he saved her, didn’t he?”
“Are the rumours about them true?” Someone whispered. The women were intrigued.
Amidst this buzz in the citadel, in a house, fairly comfortable for a lone nobleman, an old man sat, worried as the servant brought to him the rumours he had heard in the marketplace. The number of soldiers running about the main roads confirmed his doubts that something was amiss. The old man stared out of the window and sighed. It would be wrong to say he mourned the loss of the king. Or his son-in-law. Not after what he put his daughter through. Not after the humiliation and uncertainty. But what would become of his daughter? When the Maharajadhiraja Samudra Gupta had asked for the ordinary nobleman’s daughter to be wed to his heir apparent, he should have known something was amiss. But even if he did know, could he refuse the king? He had told his daughter she would be the queen of Pataliputra someday. She was. Briefly. Until she was humiliated, when she realised the cost of it. Until this afternoon. When her future became unsure. Usually, when thrones changed hands, several things happened to the women in the king’s palace. From being imprisoned for loyalty, to being respected but banished from the royal life, to even marrying the new king. But sitting far from it all, the commoner that he was, a helpless father knew very little of how his daughter would be able to impress the new king.
Far from the cacophony of the city, the worry of her father, and the gossip, Dhruva Devi sat still, her husband’s blood-spattered body lying on the blood-soaked ground, the dagger plunged in it, as she realised her own bodice and Angvastra were also spattered with the royal blood. She eyed her husband’s frozen, horrid face. Was she not supposed to be shattered by what happened right in front of her eyes? With the dagger she had kept for self-defence? Was she not supposed to wail and lament her loss? Not a single teardrop escaped her eyes as she continued to stare at the lifeless figure. The women who guarded her had formed a circle around her to make sure she was not harmed. Who would harm her? Chandra had not spared her a glance since he was attacked by Ram Gupta over a disagreement, and he killed his brother in self-defence. She knew by now that nobody would believe Chandra’s version of the story. He would always remain the murderer of his brother. She would always remain a biased witness to the duel. People would think lowly of her if she spoke the truth. If she said how her husband attacked first, they would think she speaks from resentment or perhaps a need to impress the new king and pledge her loyalty to him. As she sat there, suddenly feeling dirty by her husband’s blood, Dhruva winced a little as if she smelled something rotten. Was this his punishment for his sins? She wondered. Was this what he got for leveraging the exchange of his wife and queen for the Shakas to leave the Gupta Empire alone? She shuddered at the thought as if she felt it again. Her own husband, her protector, ordered her to leave to join the Shaka king, for the sake of saving her people. The humiliation and disgust she felt even today, thinking of it, made her taste something bitter in her mouth. She was relieved he was gone. Yes, in her deepest soul, she was. He never loved or honoured her. He was not fit to be king after the great Samudra Gupta. If that day, Chandra had not come forward with the bold plan of a counterattack by disguising himself and going in her place, who knew what would have happened to her and to the kingdom Ram Gupta claimed to save. Chandra was so unlike his brother, born from the same mother, growing up in the same kingdom and household, he knew the price of such humiliation her husband refused to see. Dhruva suddenly remembered the first day she had witnessed a grand royal procession in the main road of Pataliputra, when Samudragupta rode alongside Ram Gupta and Chandra Gupta. She was an ordinary girl, curious about the royals back then. She remembered telling her maid-in-waiting that Chandra must be the future king. She never understood why Samudragupta chose her. The turn of fate she had, when she accompanied her father for his morning rituals in the Ganga Ghat and encountered the king disguised as a beggar, was supposed to be nothing short of a fairytale. He had chosen her to be his son's queen. But she was here, now, unsure of a future.
“It is time for the holy bath.” A group of widowed women interrupted her thoughts as they approached her cautiously. Her guards enquired. They said that Mahadevi Datta, mourning her son, sent them to his widow for the rituals. Dhruva looked up at the unfamiliar faces as a group of soldiers came by, almost scaring the women and started dragging the lifeless body away from public view.
“Stop.” Dhruva’s words made them stare at her and stop. The outstretched hands of the mutilated corpse are still in their grips. The women guards eyed each other. Perhaps she would cry now, lament over her husband.
“That…” she said abruptly, scaring herself with her own lack of emotions. “That dagger is mine.” She could see it in the eyes of the soldiers who had fought many a battle themselves that they did not expect her to ask for her dagger that was plunged into the corpse of her dead husband. They looked at her women guards in confusion. Had she lost her mind?
“Maha…” The woman nearest to her stopped, unsure of her title now. “Devi, do you want it back?” She asked in disbelief. Dhruva nodded firmly. “Maharajadhiraja Samudra Gupta gave me that… for self-protection.” She said plainly as the widows stared at each other, worried. Dhruva knew almost certainly that her strange request would reach the ears of her mother-in-law. She could very well be banished from the state for it.
“We… will bring it back.” One of the soldiers reassured, while the others seemed too flabbergasted to speak. “After the court session…”
Chandra Gupta arrived at the court, flanked by his trusted confidantes, ready to be coronated king. The priest sat on the chair beside the empty throne, looking grim. He had been in court since the time of Samudra Gupta, and although he had seen the Maharajadhiraja himself battle with claimants to the throne, an assassination was new territory even for him.
“Ideally.” He cleared his throat when asked about an auspicious date of coronation by the ministers who congratulated Chandra, who took a seat beside the empty throne. “There is a mourning period before…” He stopped at the unsure glances of the courtiers. Chandra Gupta read his mind.
“Very well, we will follow that. There is no harm in letting the subjects as well as the enemies know I meant no harm to my brother. I respect him even in death. I did what I did because he tried to kill me.” The ministers agreed. “It will also be respectful towards my mourning mother.”
“Very well, the coronation will happen after that. We must make sure you appear before the subjects…” One of the enthusiastic Commanders for Chandra was interrupted by his hand gesture. “Why are you worried, Raj Purohit?”
“Because…” The man turned over a leaf of the rules book he was carrying, wrapped in a piece of cloth. “Every rule says you must have a queen beside you for the coronation. I cannot find a rule where you can be coronated alone.”
“A queen?” The chief of ministers gasped. “Where will we find a queen befitting to be the Maharani of Magadha on such short notice?” Chandra frowned slightly at his words; the ripples on his forehead caused the vermillion drawn crescent moon to fold. Before he could speak, a soldier came in and bowed.
“What do we do with the retrieved body?” he asked as the celebrating court fell into odd silence. A few of them wondered if they were asked, they would suggest displaying the body of the shameful king who lost to the Shakas and was humiliated in public. They eyed Chandra, looking a little pale in contemplation.
“All the rights fitted for a king are to be done for my elder brother. This will be a message to enemies that the Gupta Empire is not divided or broken.” The priest secretly praised Chandra’s intelligence. He knew how to be diplomatic even when he resented his brother. The man nodded but did not move.
“What is it?” The minister asked. “Why are you still here?” The man stared at the men a little unsurely. Chandra urged him to speak. “The… Maharani…” he fumbled, unsure of what to call her now.
“Where is she?” Chandra urged.
“At the holy river with widows sent by Mahadevi.” The soldier replied. “But she asked… for her dagger.” He could read the confusion on everyone’s faces. He cleared his throat.
“The dagger… umm… in the corpse… of the late… Maharaja… she…” A few people gasped. Others exchanged silent glances. Chandra Gupta’s brows shot up. “She wants that dagger back?” He sounded shocked. “Why?”
“She said… it was given to her by Maharajadhiraja for self-protection and she would not part with it.” The soldier bowed. Chandra’s eyes twinkled at his words as he observed the men around him eyeing each other, confused.
“Very well.” He stood up as everyone stared at him. “ Clean the dagger and bring it to me.” He ordered. “And Rajpurohit, give me a few days to think about the coronation and its clause.” He walked away as they nodded.
Dhruva entered her bed chambers, wondering how long she could stay there. She had shifted to this bigger chamber a few months back when her husband was coronated. She wondered if she would be given a small room, somewhere in a corner of this palace, away from the politics or perhaps be moved to the outhouse where the Mahadevi stayed with a few attendants. Sooner or later, her day of judgment would come in court. But first, Chandra had to be coronated. He needed to be king, to punish his brother’s wife. Could she not plead loyalty? Could she not remind him of the time she saved his life by letting him know via a messenger that Ram Gupta was thinking of keeping him under house arrest? Or perhaps of the time he had saved her life? Dhruva unmindfully stared at herself in the mirror. She could not recognise the woman in it. Devoid of the ornaments of a queen in a plain angvastram, she looked much older and very similar to her mother-in-law. Dhruva found her cheeks wet with tears. She eyed the mat that had been laid down on the floor for her mourning period. She was not supposed to sleep on the bed or eat nice things. She sat down on the mat and suddenly started sobbing. To the attendants, it seemed like a wife mourning her husband at last. But Dhruva mourned, not for the man who disrespected her but for herself and her uncertain future.
Chandra eyed the dagger in the flickering light of the lamp lit by his bedside. It was the darkest hour of the night, and he had been sleepless. It had been a long day. He was finally alone. The feeling of being king, like he always wanted, was to sink in. The thought of murdering his brother was yet to sink in. He did not remember the events clearly. All he knew was that when he approached his brother, sitting in the lawn and enjoying fresh fruits with his queen, he had seen this dagger kept neatly beside the basket of fruits. He did not remember the conversation or the argument. All he remembered was an angry Ram Gupta attacking him, and his reflexes working just in time. He closed his eyes, and he remembered something else. Something he had not remembered till then. It jolted him. He immediately picked up the dagger that had been cleaned and walked out of his room.
“Wake up.” The maid shook Dhruva awake from deep slumber. “Wake up, please.”
“What?” She jolted up, scared. “What happened? Who attacked?” She asked in a reflex.
“Nobody.” The maid reassured her. “The king is coming this way.”
“The king?” For a moment, Dhruva Devi appeared confused. Her husband never came to her bedchambers at night. He always spends his nights with concubines. She stared at her empty hands in a reflex. “The king is dead.” She said matter-of-factly as the maid sighed. “I meant, the future king…” Before Dhruva could enquire further, footsteps were heard in the corridor. She could see the darkness engulfing the silent hour of the night. The maid quickly lit a lamp as she searched for her dagger in reflex and remembered its fate. Dhruva was pale with fear. Such a rendezvous meant two things: either the king would abuse and humiliate the dead king’s wife, which was unlike Chandra and the most likely cause, or he would kill her too. Unlike the king, her death would be silent, not even fit for rumours. She stood up as Chandra entered the room, asking the unsure maids and guards to leave them alone. Scared, yet putting up a brave face, Dhruva nodded at them to follow his order. As they left, silence filled the room as the occasional rustling of trees in the gentle breeze outside brought in the smell of celestial flowers from the garden.
“What do I owe the pleasure of this meeting for?” Dhruva asked, breaking the silence as Chandra looked up from staring at her feet to her face. She looked different. Had she been mourning? Had she cried? He suddenly felt doubtful of himself, cursing his impulse to come to her without going over the possibilities in his head. He held out the dagger.
“You wanted this back.” The sight of the dagger made Dhruva step back as she stared at him, unsurely. All this while, whenever she had observed Chandra, it was from afar, usually separated by the veils of formality. She had never seen him observe her back like he was now. His piercing glance made her gulp. Was he here to kill her or test her loyalty?
“Yes.” She said, unsurely. “ Your father gave it to me for protection.”
Chandra extended the dagger in his palm to a doubtful Dhruva. “I can assure you, you don’t need self-protection as long as I am alive to protect you.” A shiver ran down her spine as she looked up from the dagger at Chandra’s determined stare. She took the dagger gently from his palm, avoiding touch, as she noticed the bruises on his arms.
“You are the king. You have the priority of protecting your kingdom. Who am I for you to protect?” She shrugged, melancholically.
“You know who you are.” Chandra Gupta spoke almost in a whisper. A smile formed on the edge of Dhruva’s lips. “Yes, the widow of a worthless king. Do tell me what you have decided for me.”
“I will.” Chandra Gupta stepped forward as Dhruva’s hand tightened on the dagger. Could he use it on her, too? Could she hurt him in retaliation and live? “But first, I have something to ask you.” Dhruva nodded, waiting for him to speak as he narrowed his brows at her. “Why did you save me?” His words made Dhruva look confused.
“At the fort? I thought I should let you know of his plans… after all, you saved my life and dignity.” Dhruva smiled faintly. “Even if you did it for the dynasty and state.”
“No, today.” He shook his head. Dhruva looked confused.
“When did I…”
“The moment he eyed your dagger, you knew. You shouted my name before he plunged at me. Why?” His words were hurried, with a strange urgency to know the truth Dhruva concealed in the deepest corner of her heart.
“What are you saying?” Dhruva gasped. “I do not remember anything like that…”
“But I do,” he asserted. “I remember vividly.”
“You are imagining things. It had been a traumatic day and…” Dhruva fumbled.
“When both of us were in trouble, you chose to warn me, rather than your husband.” Chandra’s statement miffed Dhruva.
“I do not know what you wish to hear. If you are accusing me of not caring enough for my husband, pardon my audacity, but that is no secret, Maharaj.” Dhruva shook her head. “I cannot respect someone after they planned to trade me to the enemy.”
“I am not accusing you of anything, Dhurva.” Chandra Gupta’s calm voice echoed in the room. Dhruva looked up at her name escaping his lips. She had never heard him call her by her name before. “I am asking you why, because a lot depends on your answer.”
“Because I care.” Dhruva was surprised at her unbrazened self. “I care for the future of the dynasty, the subject and the state. That was my first duty as a queen, and I always knew you would be a better king than him. The treaty confirmed my doubts.”
“So you called out to me, warning me, because of the state, subjects and dynasty?” Chandra Gupta had a hint of doubt in his voice.
“What else?” Dhruva suddenly feared being seen by Chandra. Being seen for all the times she had secretly admired him from afar, praised him to others, and feared her own feelings to be sinful. He observed her lips quiver as she looked away, fluttering her eyelids nervously. It was his turn to smile.
“I came to inform you that the Rajpurohit wants the coronation to be held after the period of mourning.” Dhruva nodded at his words. “Congratulations, I will send you some official gifts." She looked unsure, "If you allow me.”
“But he said I must have a queen for the coronation.” His words made her heart skip a beat. Was he asking her to find him a bride worthy of being a queen on such short notice? Was he trying to tell her he needed her room emptied after the mourning period for the new queen, whom he had already chosen?
“I… will leave if you let me know where to go.” She fumbled.
“I do not want you to leave.” Chandra Gupta shook his head as Dhruva looked confused. “I want you to sit in the coronation with me. As my queen.” He could hear a gasp slightly escape her lips. Dhruva’s eyes widened as she stepped back at his words. Was this a new way of insulting her? Her eyes teared up. “I… am your brother’s widow.”
“I am aware of that. But I also feel you are a good queen to my people.” Chandra asserted. “I want you here, running the state with me.”
“But… Mahadevi Datta would be…”
“I will speak to mother after you tell me your answer,” he said, looking determined. Dhruva gulped.
“Why?” She asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it is time I acknowledged what I feel for you.” Dhruva Devi gasped again at his words.
“Chandra!”
“Do not lie to me that you did not feel the same way. Do not say I am the only one.” Chandra Gupta shook his head. “I respected and honoured you as my brother’s wife. I saved you from drowning as my brother's wife. I did not intend for the feelings to come. But since I have known you, seen you fight your fate and be a queen, somewhere deep in my heart, somewhere even before you were queen, I always liked you.”
“But why did you not…” Dhruva was overwhelmed. “Is this why…" She fumbled. "Am I one of the reasons he is dead?”
“No.” Chandra Gupta shook his head as he stepped forward, holding her cold hand in his. “Never. I would never dishonour you like that. I respect you too much. Since the day I saved your life, since the day you saved mine, we have always been allies. You know that too.”
Dhruva Devi looked unsurely at him. “If I willingly become your queen, what does that make me? I am the widow of the man you killed.”
“You are a queen who knows what is right and a woman who chooses her happiness.” Chandra Gupta shrugged. “I will not force your decision. You have the time to think. For the state, its people, but mostly yourself, and spare a little thought for me.” he turned to leave. "If you do not agree, I will respectfully let you live with the Mahadevi in her palace." He reassured with a sigh. "And we will try not to see each other again. I have to find an alliance to be the queen of Magadha."
As he was about to walk away, Dhruva remembered that since she had stepped into the palace as a newlywed, she had been scrutinised for being a commoner, humiliated when she spoke her mind and disrespected by her husband. He did not love her, nor did he want her. His subject of lust, if she believed in rumours, was different. He could not be her protector like Chandra always was, even from afar. Dhruva had accepted it all as her fate. But today, divine intervention was giving her a chance at love. A chance to be cherished and respected. How could she let that go? She was not that selfless.
Chandra stopped as he felt her cold hands wrap around him, and she crashed into his warm embrace, sobbing. He turned to face her, with a smile on the edge of his lip. He held on to her, knowing that he always wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by her. Together, they would rule and raise children who would be the future of the empire. He did not care if anyone looked back at history and tagged his relationship as a sin he committed before making her queen, because he knew in his heart how long he had waited for the right time to be with her.
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