Nasteya Read online

  ‘Consult the council? The council is an important body of eligible minds yet this decision is mine alone. And would the council have suggested any different? Even if you doubt my decision or if anyone else does,’ the King looked sideways towards Savaan, ‘I won’t change it. As my strength has withered with the passing of long weary years, my eyes have learnt to see clearer. I have served Saarah alike my fathers and grandfathers who laid Saarah’s foundation on their blood and bones, and I know well what Saarah best needs. My decision isn’t biased but it is based on sound judgement after recalling the past, seeing the present and wanting the best for the future. Go now and celebrate and do not be worried for you won’t be troubled under Nasteya’s kingship—in fact, you will be less troubled I would say, than you are under mine.’

  Mayoor himself wasn’t troubled—some others were. I couldn’t prevent myself from feeling nervous about the frustration writ large on Savaan’s face. But Savaan wasn’t the only one who envied Nasteya—there were other members of the council too, who were gathered in a conspiratorial group, looking surreptitiously at Nasteya with hateful eyes as he received greetings and words of congratulations from all, his eyes moist with emotion— happiness, evidently.

  One thing was certain—the king would be asked to set aside his pronouncement soon. It was not because they thought themselves eligible to replace Nasteya but because they hated him for garnering so much attention and fame. Mutiny was imminent, I feared. But it wasn’t the right time to worry about such matters—my mind was preoccupied and I was supposed to carry out another important task, a vital task. I glanced left and right to see if anyone was watching me. Fortunately, everyone else was busy celebrating, eating, drinking and dancing, so I walked outside as inconspicuously as possible. Unwatched, I sped down the stairwell. But just when I thought I was almost out of there, Nasteya appeared at my shoulder and said, ‘You must stop, Vasu. It is no good trying to escape your best friend. Did you think you could leave me here all by myself and sneak away? You’re not that clever yet, friend.’

  ‘This is not the first time I’ve killed you in my head for being such a nuisance!’ I said in frustration as I leaned helplessly against the wall. ‘Do you feel delighted every time you do this to me? Making things more difficult for me than they already are, pleases you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I wonder where you were going,’ he said quietly.

  ‘None of your concern,’ I replied.

  ‘I reckon I know, but it hurts when you hide things from me, things that you think I don’t know—but I do. Your actions speak to me more than your words and it is hardly an effort to read your face,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Then look closer and read that I am already chasing time now. And you might read a lot more,’ I said.

  ‘Consent granted. Go now. Run before your efforts go in vain. I know you can’t hide anything from me, not until you become a wizard or a Himalayan saint,’ he said and I ran swiftly out of the palace.

  Time was pressing as I sped along the path that crawled up the hill in the north-west and joined a narrow footway that wasn’t used much. It was dimly lit by the radiance of the glimmering palace and small things stirred in the grass. From the top of the hill, when I turned back, I saw the marvellous palace casting its light upon the city of Saarah. Cool breeze kissed the grass. Far in the north, some wolves howled.

  ‘What bad omen do the wolves sense? Bad for me, in any case I guess—she must be angry, I have kept her waiting for an hour.’

  Faint music could still be heard from the palace. Other than that, there was the sound of crickets chirping— crickets and their close relatives all about me. But the only sound I longed for was that of her voice, as sweet as Himalayan honey, as melodious as the voices of angels singing in the woods. I talk of Seeya, a farmer’s daughter, with beauty and charm that was every woman’s dream and every man’s fantasy. Yes, a fantasy she was, to all but me. Our love for each other was deep and had grown ever since I first saw her. When I finally stood at the top of the second hill, she was there, leaning against a big boulder, pulling up stalks of grass in boredom. Even the dark night wasn’t darker than her long black hair. Her skin shone like a pearl in the moonlight. Dressed in a pale-coloured sari edged with golden silk, a crimson rose peeping over her right ear, she sat with her elbows resting on her bent knees, cupping her chin in one hand. An involuntary smile came to my lips the moment I saw her, but I dreaded her wrath, too. She stirred as she saw my shadow.

  ‘I have talked enough to the stars and this rock and that grass. We’ve chatted for an hour and now I feel like going home,’ she said in a flat voice, without even looking at me.

  ‘Look, I… uh... forgive me,’ I stammered.

  And that was enough for her to forgive me. She locked her arms around me. Moments passed and not a single word was spoken, just the sound of sighs, the music of breaths so pleasant that we kept dancing to the tune of our hearts while our eyes exchanged what words would have failed to.

  ‘Say something, won’t you? I’ve waited long to hear your voice,’ she said.

  ‘Let me look at you, for only God knows when we will be in each other’s arms again,’ I murmured.

  ‘I’ve written something for you,’ I said pulling out a note from my pocket.

  In the meantime, Nasteya wandered through the pillared corridors of the royal palace with a glass of wine in his right hand, thinking of how everything would shape up under his kingship. Preoccupied, he was hardly aware of where he was going. As he passed by the council room, his quick ears caught a sound that compelled him to stop and listen. Those screams and yells were easily recognisable, even though they appeared as if they came from under the earth, faint and muffled. It was Savaan’s voice. Nasteya moved stealthily towards the room and stood by the door to listen.

  Through the gold-plated door, Nasteya heard Savaan saying, ‘It is injustice! How could you do that, my king, even after knowing everything? Everyone respects you for your unbiased decisions and judgements, but this one is different.’

  The frown creasing Nasteya’s forehead deepened while Savaan continued, ‘I respect you, my king. But it is unwise of you to have chosen an heir who doesn’t belong to Saarah. Your actions will be considered a folly by all other kingdoms. Not that I’m unaware of how rude are the words that I speak, but these men ask you for justice!’

  There came a sound of murmured consent before Savaan continued:

  ‘Some of us wonder if he is even an Aryan at all. Yes, my Lord, I have shared the secret of Nasteya with my companions as well, for the ministers of Saarah should know all that concerns Saarah and its people. Neither was the council asked for their advice years ago when you yourself allowed my mother to let Nasteya stay, nor was it asked before your announcement. But now they ask you for one simple thing, to select another successor from amidst our men, not an outsider of unknown origin.’

  Baffled by what he was hearing, hungry for answers to the questions that now swarmed his mind, Nasteya kept listening. The king said, ‘Outsider? It disgusts me to hear that you think he’s an outsider. All who share this room right now are aware of Nasteya’s selfless service. Before you spit more words, you must not forget that it was Nasteya who stood forth in all our battles and brought victory every time. If in his veins flows blood not that of an Aryan, still I reckon it is more pristine and untainted than any of ours. It is under Nasteya’s service that the men and women of Saarah sleep peacefully. Children are told his tales. Songs are sung in his praise. If you can, then you must remind me of one such time when Nasteya was talked about with hateful words. Show me one such man who dares to claim that Nasteya refused to help him. He is a son to me, not my very own, yet no less. You dare to speak more than what your rank permits—mind your words next time, Savaan.’

  The king stood unmoved. He would not utter a word against Nasteya, much to the disappointment of his detractors. But Nasteya was still listening eagerly.

  ‘If I mind my words, my king, will that
amend anything?’ Savaan said shrewdly. ‘Will that make what you are doing go by the book then, my Lord? The heir to the throne shall either have royal blood flowing in his veins or shall be a native. Never in Saarah’s history has this rule been broken and every member of the council is distressed that this time, Saarah’s record is going to be fouled. No doubt, none but Nasteya is worthy of it, but your decision might create unrest in the system.’

  Nasteya’s mind was in turmoil. If he wasn’t a native, then who was he? Where was he from? Or were those ministers out of their minds? Like a hammer against a hot iron spear, these questions kept hammering Nasteya’s mind and the glass shattered in his hand.

  Savaan continued, ‘Even before your announcement, rumours had reached distant empires. Soon, everyone will know. Other rulers are clever enough to take advantage of this turmoil in our system and I’m sure you do not want that, my king. If you wish law and order to prevail, then you must choose a new heir to the throne from amongst us, and discard your decision about Nasteya immediately. I speak in the voice of all our council members, ministers and allies.’

  The king was unyielding. ‘I, as king, have served Saarah and I know what it wants the most. I see that this turmoil is not that of unrest but a well-conspired plot of envious minds. It was not the ministers who rode forth in wars—it was I who brought victory in the Great War of Aryavarta. No minister lost his young wife. I am the king here and my decision will not be reverted.’

  ‘A king can ride forth in wars and fight bravely, but a king cannot counsel and avert wars without stepping on the battlefield. It is us who do so. We have held the future of Saarah secure. And it is us, only, who will determine what Saarah will see in coming days,’ Savaan said as his voice grew increasingly uncouth.

  ‘Is this the coming of a civil war? If it is, then let it be so. My decision won’t waver in the face of such matters!’ the king said, his voice shaking with rage.

  ‘Then I’m afraid Saarah will see a civil war,’ Savaan said bitterly. And Nasteya heard a murmured growl of agreement from the council.

  ‘Civil war? Never! The fate of Saarah is not so bad yet,’ said Nasteya as he swung open the door and entered the council room. ‘There will be no civil war, my king. I am ready to step down. Who wants such a kingship that brings unrest along with it? I’m happier this way my Lord, for my happiness is in the betterment of Saarah and not in its ruining. I do not want to be the king. I would like to stay a common man, gifted with endless love by the people of Saarah. I have already received from Saarah more than I deserve.’

  Nasteya’s smile was fixed and didn’t reach his eyes. After a momentary pause, the king replied, ‘If this is what you yearn for, then I ought to do it. Now I see who misuses power and who keeps his dignity. It is on this fateful night that I now regret the decisions of my forefathers who brought into existence the council.’

  A tear trickled down the king’s face and got trapped somewhere in his beard. Uncomfortable in the presence of the king’s grief, everyone left the room, Savaan too. The king, who now stood helpless and feeble with his heart filled with guilt, was wise enough to see the sadness lurking behind Nasteya’s smile. On the finely embroidered carpet, Nasteya walked slowly towards the king and said, ‘Your fine eyes will find you an efficient king. I feel lighter already—it was a big responsibility for a warrior like me to run a kingdom. And these men are right in their own ways. Saarah will keep on seeing happy days. You are old, my king, old and wise. Do not keep any burden in your heart.’

  The king, whose heart bore regrets even after Nasteya comforted him, turned aside and walked to his room. His tears hadn’t stopped. He suddenly looked weak and old.

  Nasteya rued the way things had gone—if not Godmother, Savaan had definitely ruined the night.

  THREE

  THE UGLY TRUTH

  Troubled and frustrated, Nasteya tried to deal with the ever-increasing heap of questions that were plaguing his mind since he had left the palace. He sped along the winding path that would take him to the place where he knew he would get actual answers. Home. His mother.

  He knew that she was the only one who could decipher the riddles within riddles in his mind. But somewhere in his heart there also lurked a fear of facing the reality Savaan had laid bare. His head was bent, eyes moist and his mind messed up with conflicting thoughts. Even his regular audience, the children who listened to his stories and were waiting for him to finish the one he had left halfway that day, failed to convince him to stop and went away disappointed as Nasteya rushed by without a word. The truth was that he was aware of nothing but his unanswered questions.

  When he stepped into the house through the wooden front door, his mother was in her chair, struggling with her ivory needles in the dim light. On hearing his footsteps, she said, ‘It’s too dark out there, son, come in. What took you so long, my king?’ and she chuckled.

  ‘Not any more, Maa,’ Nasteya said while he stood by the door.

  ‘What’s not any more?’ She didn’t look up, still busy with the ivory needles and the wool.

  ‘I’m not a king any more, and the sadder part is that I can never be one,’ he said in a tremulous voice.

  ‘Stop joking and tell me, are you hungry? Do you want me to cook something for you?’ Nasteya’s mother said without even looking up.

  ‘They say I’m not from Saarah! They say I’m an outsider and they snatched the kingship from me on these grounds. Everyone out there is insane, Savaan too. They’re talking rubbish! Or is what they said true, beyond doubt? Am I not from Saarah? Was I not born to you? Am I not your own son? Is this the ugly truth?’ Nasteya asked in a single breath.

  His mother’s grip on those ivory needles loosened. She looked perplexed and stammered as she spoke: ‘Stop that nonsense, son, stop trying to fool me…’

  ‘It is you who kept everything concealed from me and still you think it is me who’s fooling you? But thanks to Savaan…’

  ‘Savaan speaks rubbish—he knows nothing. He envies you and you know that! Who are they to decide whether you are an outsider or not? They cannot take away your title! And if they did, it wouldn’t change a thing, at least not for me. You’re my son, Nasteya. I’ve fed you with my own milk and still you believe what others say?’ She was furious, yet fear crept over her. Her hands fluttered.

  After a brief pause, Nasteya said, ‘It is true that you fed me and brought me up. I can hardly deny this fact. But tell me, how true is it that I was born to you?’

  As he confronted his dear mother with these words, tears rolled down his face.

  His mother sat there in silence, contemplating, until suddenly she exclaimed in a broken voice: ‘OK, it’s true! I admit it! Yes, you were never born to me! Are you pleased now?’

  Nasteya’s eyes widened and his heart sank. Neither could he alter anything nor could he deny the fact that he was brought up under the best circumstances, so he had no reason to be angry at his mother. Yet, he was furious, fuming within. Handling this day would have been easier if he had known the facts beforehand.

  ‘Have I ever shirked my responsibilities towards you? Have I ever loved and admired you any less than Savaan? Have I ever, by any means, let you know the fact that you were not born to me? Have I ever hurt you intentionally? Have you ever felt the absence of a mother’s blessing? Does your coming into this world from someone else’s womb make any difference? If you answer any of these questions with a ‘yes’, then I’m no better than a living failure,’ exclaimed Nasteya’s mother, and she burst into tears.

  Nasteya, a son who would rip open the chest of any person who would make his mother cry, hardly noticed her tears. He spoke in an angry, confused voice: ‘It would have been less painful if you had told me the facts. I wish you could feel, Maa, how hard it is when your dream is shattered even before you get a worthy chance to fulfil it! To be eligible for a chance to sit on Saarah’s throne—that was the reason for becoming all that I have eventually become, and just when I thought I have made i
t through… I wonder if it is a nightmare. But wait! No, it is real… Everything is real. Except my story.’

  Nasteya’s tears glittered in the dim lamplight as they trickled down his face. His dream shattered into countless pieces with each single piece burnt to ashes. He felt betrayed, and that too by the ones whom he loved more than his own life.

  ‘Who am I? If I’m not from around here, then where am I from?’

  Nasteya still stood by the door, crying, not meeting his mother’s eyes.

  ‘Does that even matter now?’ asked his mother.

  ‘It wouldn’t have mattered if it hadn’t ruined my dreams, trampled all my desires, but it has. To me, it matters now,’ Nasteya said. ‘Tell me, I need to know!’

  His mother sighed heavily and said, ‘I can put it no plainer than to say that I don’t know your roots or what realm you came from. All I can remember is the blissful day you came to me… These eyes, like blue gems shimmering in the middle of a white ocean, are still the same as they were on that fortunate day. Though the way they look at me now has changed.’

  ‘Be specific,’ Nasteya said rudely and turned around.

  His mother took a step back and after a sigh, she said, ‘The day is still fresh and clear in my memory, the day when I found you. I was up in the hills in search of basil. Behind a bunch of trees was a huge boulder. I thought of taking a nap in its shade before getting back on the path—I was tired, you know, and needed some rest. That’s when I heard something, the sound of an infant crying. It could be a hallucination out of weariness, I thought. But then, again, I heard it and this time I was wide awake. I couldn’t prevent myself from moving towards that sound… When I went behind that rock, I saw something that my mind refused to accept as true. A giant golden eagle stood on the edge of the boulder with its wings wide open, shading a newborn child wrapped in a silk cloth. I was stunned, but not stunned enough to ignore the annoyance of that eagle that was unable to stop that child from crying. After a moment of shock, I said, “O mighty eagle, the child needs to be fed. No harm will come to it from me. By your leave, I can help.” “Modest lady, you need not explain for I can see kindness in you. This child needs more than feeding, a mother he needs that I can never be, nor any of my kindred,” the wise eagle replied.’