First Light (85 page)

Kashi was eight or ten miles away and he was still quite weak. Yet he started walking hoping to catch a passing carriage. But within an hour or so Bharat was thoroughly exhausted. He had covered only a couple of miles on the road that wound in and out through rocks and mounds of earth. He decided to rest for a while. After a few minutes a humming sound came to his ears, low and indistinct at first, but growing louder and clearer every second. It was a motorcar coming, not from Sarnath but from the direction of Kashi. Bharat stood up in his excitement and ran towards it waving his hands. But in a few seconds he realized his folly. This was no ordinary tourist vehicle. It was a killer car and the intended victim was Bharat himself.

Bharat stared in horror as it came towards him at a maniacal speed lurching from side to side like a drunk. The headlights gleamed evilly like the eyes of a demon. A sixth sense, one that he
had developed through his many encounters with death, made him leap back in a flash. Flattening his body against a wall of rock he waited, his heart beating wildly against his ribs.

By a miraculous chance Bharat was saved. The car shot past, nearly grazing his shoulder, crashed against a tree a few yards away and turned over. Bharat's first impulse was to run in the opposite direction and let the victims of the crash fend for themselves. He stood undecided for a few moments then, a faint groan coming to his ears, he ran to the overturned car and wrenched the door open. There were two men inside. One lay huddled over the steering wheel. He was probably dead from a wound in the chest for his satin vast was soaked with blood. A glance at him was sufficient to tell Bharat that he was a member of the nobility. Three strings of pearls hung from his neck and the hands on the steering wheel were loaded with rings. The other was obviously an employee. He was unhurt but had fainted from the shock. Bharat pulled him out first and laid him on the ground then turned his attention to the other. The body was wedged between the seat and the wheel and it took Bharat some time to extricate it. To his relief, he discovered that the man was not dead but had fainted from loss of blood. He was small and slight and Bharat picked him up quite easily. As he did so the man's head fell back and his face came clearly into view. In the light of a rising moon Bharat saw that it was the face of Radhakishor Manikya.

Radhakishor was trying to kill him! Why? Why? The question tortured him, searing his soul, as it had done so many times in the past. He felt overwhelmed with conflicting emotions—fear, nostalgia, a strange elation; murderous rage. This was the moment to take revenge for all his past wrongs, he thought suddenly. He could put his hands around Radhakishor's throat and strangle him to death. Then, he could walk away from the scene without anyone being the wiser. However, what Bharat thought and what he did were totally different from one another. Placing his burden on the ground, he ran to a pond near by and, whipping off his shirt, brought it back soaking wet to where the men lay. The other one, he saw, had regained consciousness and was trying to sit up. ‘What's the matter?' he asked, his eyes dazed and anxious. ‘Has there been an accident? Is Raja Moshai . . . dead?'

‘No,' Bharat answered, ‘He's seriously injured but alive.' He had recognized the man by now. It was Mahim Thakur. Mahim clutched Bharat's hands and exclaimed, ‘We must save him. He's no ordinary man Moshai. He's the Maharaja of Tripura.'

‘I know,' Bharat said quietly. Then, on an impulse, he spat out the question, ‘Why were you trying to kill me?'

‘Kill you?' Mahim's eyes nearly started out of his head. ‘Why should we try to kill you? The car went out of control and nearly ran you down. But it wasn't deliberate.' Then, frowning a little he peered into Bharat's face and added. ‘You said you knew he was the Maharaja. Have you seen him before?'

‘Not really. I guessed he was a Maharaja from the way he was dressed. But we'd better get him out of here as soon as we can. He needs a doctor.' Leaving Mahim Thakur sitting beside the still unconscious Radhakishor, Bharat went in search of a tonga and, by an amazing stroke of luck, he found one. It was coming from Sarnath and had one passenger in it. ‘It's a matter of life and death Sethji,' he begged. ‘If you don't give us a lift to Kashi a man will die.'

As the tonga rattled along on the road to Kashi Mahim Thakur, who had been glancing at him curiously from time to time, said suddenly, ‘Your face is familiar. What is your name brother?'

‘I'm Bharat Mahim Dada. Am I so changed that you don't recognize me?'

‘Bharat! Which Bharat?' Mahim frowned. Then, suddenly, his brow cleared. ‘Of course I recognize you. I was wondering why your face looked so familiar. Your eyes and brow bear a striking resemblance to the old Maharaja's. You're Prince Bharat—the King's son.'

‘I'm no prince. I'm a kachhua's child.'

‘You are a prince nevertheless. The blood of the king and his forefathers flows in your veins. Isn't it an amazing coincidence? That out of all the people in the world, you should be the one to save your brother's life?'

An hour or so later, the tonga clattered through the
deuri
of the Maharaja's palace in Kashi and drew to a halt at the porch. Within seconds, news of the accident had travelled over all the wings and everyone came running out. Arrangements were swift
and efficient. Radhakishor was carried up to his bedroom and two eminent physicians of Varanasi called in. Examining the patient they found several ribs fractured and a great gaping wound on his chest. Recommending instant surgery they suggested that he be removed to the hospital. But the royal priest of Tripura who had been standing by the king's side all through the examination was horrified at the suggestion. There was only one hospital in Kashi and that was a charitable institution. There could be no question of sending the reigning king of independent Tripura to such a place. He dismissed the suggestion scornfully and was supported in this by the king's wives and mothers. It was decided that Radhakishor would be treated in his own apartments with full dignity as befitted his status and all the facilities the hospital could provide would be arranged here. The king was young and healthy and would recover.

It was past midnight by the time the wound was washed and bandaged and the preliminary treatment given. Through it all the king lay in a death-like stupor. Bharat felt dizzy with exhaustion. He had just recovered from a mortal wound and severe loss of blood and was still very weak. His muscles felt heavy and were aching. The rims of his eyeballs burned with the effort of struggling against the fumes of sleep. And now he sensed a familiar tug in his bowels which reminded him that he hadn't eaten for seventeen hours. ‘I'd like to go home Mahim Dada,' he said. ‘Send for me whenever you need me.' Mahim was loath to let him go at first but Bharat looked so dishevelled and distraught that he was forced to change his mind. ‘You do look exhausted,' he admitted, ‘And your clothes are coated with dust and streaked with sweat and blood. But you shan't go alone.' Calling for one of the carriages he sent Bharat home with a footman in attendance.

Next day, in the late afternoon, Bharat received a summons from Mahim Thakur. He was to come immediately. ‘The king is either dead or dying,' Bharat thought all the way to the palace. But his mind and senses were numb. He felt nothing—neither relief nor regret. The moment he entered the palace, however, he realized that this was not a house of death. Hope and joy were stamped on every face he saw, from the darwan's at the gate to Mahim's as he ran towards Bharat and gripped his arm. ‘Raja Moshai is conscious and is asking for you,' he said, guiding him
towards the king's chamber, ‘I've told him everything.'

Entering the room Bharat saw that it was full of women. He presumed that they were the king's wives, mother and stepmothers and wondered if Monomohini was among them. The thought made him blush and set his ears ringing with embarrassment. ‘This is Kumar Bharatchandra, Maharaj,' Mahim said leading him to the centre of the room where the king lay. ‘Brother,' Radhakishor lifted a feeble arm. ‘You saved my life. Shashi Master told me you believe I sent you to your death. That's a lie. A lie! I can swear by the Gita.' He tried to sit up as he spoke. His eyes glittered with tears and the blue veins stood out on his chalk white brow. ‘Take care Maharaj!' Several voices cried out at once. ‘Don't excite yourself.' Mahim hurried to his side and laid his head back, gently, on the pillow saying, ‘The Kumar knows you Maharaj. He does not doubt your word.' Then, turning to Bharat, he added, ‘Our Maharaja made several enquiries regarding your disappearance after he ascended the throne. But the results were unsatisfactory. The terrible deed remains shrouded in mystery to this day.'

Bharat's gaze rested on the sick man's face. It was beaded over with sweat and drops were gliding down his cheeks and chin and falling on his breast. His eyes looked unnaturally large and bright. Mahim and the others thought he was better and would live. But Bharat knew otherwise. ‘He's dying,' he murmured to himself and his heart missed a beat. Radhakishor took Bharat's hand in his fevered ones and said, panting with the effort, ‘You're my brother—a prince of the royal dynasty of Tripura. You've been denied your lawful rights all these years. But no more of that. You shall have your title, your own rooms in the royal palace and a monthly allowance of three hundred rupees. You must go back to Tripura. Promise me you will.' Looking on that dying face Bharat could not refuse. Henodded in obedience to his ruler's command but in his heart he knew he would never go back to Tripura or claim his inheritance.

After a while, when everyone's attention was on the king, Bharat slipped quietly out of the room. His heart felt light and free, as though it had been imprisoned within stone walls for centuries and only just been released. Every nerve and sinew of his being quivered with relief. And, with this new-found freedom, the
doubts and fears that had nagged him all these years blew away like dead leaves in a storm. Walking out of the
deuri
he found that the day was spent. The sun had set and faint streaks of rose and orange clung to the sky over the Ganga. He quickened his steps. He had to reach Dasashwamedh Ghat in time to catch Bhumisuta.

This time he did not hesitate. As soon as the assembly broke he pushed his way purposefully through the crowd and came to her. ‘I have something to say to you,' he said simply, ‘Will you spare some time for me Bhumisuta?' Bhumisuta threw a quick glance at him, her eyes searching his face. She stood uncertain for a few moments then, turning to her companion, she said. ‘Can you go home alone Charu? Hire an ekka if you're afraid to walk. Here, take some money.' Unfastening a knot at the end of her sari she took out a few coins and handed them to the girl.

The crowd dispersed and a deep silence fell on the ghat. The shadows of dusk gathered around them as Bharat and Bhumisuta made their way down the steps and came to the edge of the river. They sat, not side by side but on different levels looking out on the boats that glided over the water like moving lamps. Slowly the stars came out, one by one, and a full moon trembled in the water at their feet. Bhumisuta broke the silence. ‘Are you completely recovered?' she asked softly. ‘Yes . . .' Bharat murmured, ‘yes . . .' Then suddenly he cried with a vehemence he hadn't known he was capable of. ‘Why did you come away to Kashi? Why? Why?' Bhumisuta was taken aback at the passion in his voice. ‘Because

. . .' she stammered in reply, ‘Because I've never come to Kashi. I thought I would offer prayers in your name.'

‘Offer prayers? For me? But I don't deserve your prayers Bhumisuta. You nursed me back to health. You gave me my life. What have I given you in return?'

‘You've given me everything.' Bhumisuta said so softly that her voice was almost lost in the sound of the water.

‘Why do you say that?' he cried out in an agonized voice. ‘Tell me! You must tell me! What have you received from me except pain and humiliation? I don't deserve your prayers Bhumi. Nor your love. I'm weak and worthless. I'm empty . . . empty. I can't tell you how I—'

‘Do you remember the night you took me away from the
house in Bhabanipur? The night of the riot? I was sitting, lost and frightened, on the steps of a house. You came looking for me. I saw the expression on your face when you found me. You held my hand and said, “I'll never leave you again.” I've carried that memory through all my struggles and sorrows.'

‘But I didn't keep my promise. Like a fool I thought Master Moshai was more deserving of you. My eyes and brain were clouded. I didn't look into your heart. I didn't sense your humiliation. I've made many mistakes in my life Bhumi, but I've regretted them and suffered for them. I've spent years looking for you. I went to Orissa thinking that you'd gone back from where you came. I lay, sick and destitute, among the beggars outside the temple of Jagannath in the hope that you would come. I lost heart over and over again but did not give up for a long, long time. Then—' Bharat's voice changed. It became solemn and charged with meaning. ‘My circumstances changed. I found a job, status, friends. I married an Oriya girl and had a son. She resembled you greatly and I was happy. But I wasn't born for happiness. She died and everything I had built up died with her—'

‘The child?' Bhumisuta asked gently.

‘I couldn't bear to look on his face after she went. I left him with his grandparents. I haven't seen him since.'

‘That's unworthy of you. Why should you deprive an innocent child of his father's love? Take him back into your life.'

‘Yes I will. I can—now.'

Silence fell between them. Then Bharat asked, hesitating but curious, ‘What about you Bhumi? Have you never been drawn to another? Were you not tempted—ever?'

‘I gave myself to you the day you took my hand. My heart and body I've kept untouched—for you. But I've loved another man with my mind—as one loves a god.'