Chapter 19 To Old and New Friendships
Two weeks later…
Shota took a dip in the cool waters of the rectangular temple pond and climbed the steps that surrounded it on three sides.
His thin cotton panche—a regional variation of their traditional dhoti—clung to him. His upper body was bare except for a yagnopaveetha, a three-stranded, woven, sacred thread he wore looped around his body, from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist.
The religious thread didn’t make him out of place here, where all the men wore it. For him, though, it carried a special significance—marking his place in his family and the world, and a reminder to himself that learning never ended.
He draped a thin cotton cloth around his neck and shoulders and proceeded to the temple.
As he made his way to the temple gates, he saw farmers setting out for their fields beyond the city gates, leading oxen and plows. A woman balancing three pots, one on top of each other on her head, made her way home, having collected the day’s water for her family.
The businesses lining the street were still closed, but no doubt would be open once the sun rose high enough in the sky.
The Brihadeeshwar Temple was built on religious principles, a treatise called vastu shastra. Which meant the design was similar to all the temples.
The temple was oriented in the east-west direction. Square in design, the temple was enclosed on all its sides by eight-foot walls set with elaborate pyramid-like entrances, called gopuras.
As he passed under a gopura, climbing the short flight of stone steps, he noticed one half of the heavily carved temple doors had been taken down. Veer was probably at work repairing them.
Shota had only a cautious hope in Veer’s plan. He felt the risks were too great and the results too doubtful to risk it. Veer, of course, was all for it.
It was foolish, daring, and Shota still didn’t know if it was going to get them what they wanted. He wished he had a better one to offer.
Shota had been coming to the temple every day under the guise of a devotee from afar.
He would bathe first thing and go to the temple.
After he paid respects to the deity, he took the prasad or offering, and spent time around the temple.
Ostensibly praying, but really observing the carvings, the layout, and the all-important statue. And there was a lot to observe.
But although he had learned a lot about the stories and myths depicted on these walls, there was none that gave him a clue.
Few devotees were here this early in the morning. A long shadow stretched across the dark stone as the sun climbed in the sky. It was made by a cylindrical metal pillar located in the center of the temple courtyard, directly in front of the sanctum sanctorum.
Shota touched the warm pillar with his hand and gazed up. It was the tallest structure in the temple. Taller than the shikara, the pyramidal spire on top of the sanctum housing the idol.
At its top, this metal pillar had three horizontal perches pointing toward the sanctum of the temple. It was called the dhvajastambha.
Shota supposed there was a reason and a myth behind the presence of the pillar, but it had a more practical purpose. It acted like a lightning rod during heavy monsoons, protecting other tall structures nearby. People prostrated before this pillar prior to doing anything else in the temple.
Shota followed suit, then leaned down and pinched some holy ash lying at the pillar base, smearing his forehead in three horizontal lines. As well as both his pectorals and elbows.
Now properly adorned in the guise of a devotee, he went into the mandapa—the long, pillared, open hall, where devotees waited in line for the priest to finish offering prayers to the Lord—and joined them.
He was tall enough to glance over their heads to look into the sanctum sanctorum, the garbhagriha, that housed the idol.
If he had any doubts that the idol was the key to finding the next piece of the lotus, they had disappeared once he obtained his first look at the idol. It was made of the same strange metal as the lotus key and those boats in the caves of Amaravathi were constructed of.
The people here even had a name for the metal,—moola dhatu or—prime metal. Shota had been disconcerted to note that although the idol was no bigger than three feet tall, it had required several men to lift it at one point.
The priest finished his recitation of prayers and came out of the sanctum with a ceremonial plate. Camphor burned on it in a steady flame.
Shota cupped his hands around the flame and touched his eyes. After taking the prasad offered by the priest, he stopped to have a few words with him instead of leaving. He had become a familiar face here with all his visits.
The conversation revealed that a few days ago, another minor robbery had taken place quite close to the town. The bandits weren’t much of a problem when King Harideva was alive. Thianvelli’s loss of stability had led to all sorts of problems in the surrounding kingdoms.
Pondering about the bandits, Shota stepped out of the mandapa and went around the temple buildings, as was his custom. He had the prasad in a cup made of dried lotus leaves, stitched together. Today the offering was a sweet rice pudding.
He made his way along the stone-paved paths around the temple, savoring the rich sweet and fishing the cashews and raisins out of the pudding to eat first since he was partial to them. His thoughts centered on Veer and Chandra.
He usually didn’t care much about Veer’s love life or his conquests, believing it not to be his business, but the princess was his wife, and she would be the future queen of Rajgarh, which meant he had to pay attention to the kind of person she was.
When Virat’s murder happened seven years ago, Shota, like everybody else, had believed what the princess had said at her trial. About hating her husband too much to ever accept him as a partner.
But when Veer had asked him a few weeks ago, to investigate the events around Virat’s murder, Shota started having second thoughts. Was that really what happened? And what did it mean for Veer and Chandra’s relationship that Veer was starting to have doubts?
Everyone believed their marriage to be one of convenience, but he wasn’t so sure. Shota recalled the meeting from seven years ago, when Veer met his prospective father-in-law, King Chandraketu, for details regarding bridal agreements and choice of the bride.
* * *
Seven years ago…
“Prince Veer. We welcome you and thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Er… Is King Bheesmala not going to be present for this meeting?” asked a spokesperson from Amaravathi nervously, referring to Veer’s father.
“You know well enough, my father has business…elsewhere,” replied Veer, blowing on his nails, unconcerned with how his behavior might appear to the others. Shota knew that Veer detested meetings such as this.
King Chandraketu leaned over and spoke in whispers with another courtier, his eyebrows bunched in annoyance. It was considered a slight to not be present for such a significant meeting, but Chandraketu couldn’t make a fuss. Not without insulting Veer, whose presence was equally consequential.
They were in a ceremonial tent set up a few miles inland from the River Pravani—still in Amaravathi territory but right at the edge of the land occupied by Rajgarh’s troops.
Various platters of refreshments were placed on the many tables, the floor was strewn with carpets, elaborate lamps placed at intervals were aglow, warding away the evening dusk.
The flaps of the tent were thrown wide open to allow for a breeze, although, judging by the frantic movements of the fan-bearer, it was a futile hope.
A sweet-smelling jasmine plant provided some much-needed relief from the tension swelling in the tent.
They were here to present Veer’s choice of bride formally to King Chandraketu. But this was just a formality. King Chandraketu was already informed of Veer’s choice two days ago by unofficial means. Shota himself had delivered that news to his counterpart in Amaravathi.
Shota felt slightly unsettled when Veer had revealed his choice to him a few days ago. After the incident in the Navari Woods, where they had ambushed all the princesses of Amaravathi, Shota was sure Veer would choose Princess Aswini, the eldest and easily the most beautiful of them.
That would have been a conundrum, though, since Aswini was already engaged to a prince of Hoysyala and it would have created all sorts of trouble were Veer to insist on her.
But thankfully, he had chosen another. Shota approved of Veer’s choice.
He heard she was almost a carbon copy of Aswini, if not in looks then in her temperament.
The only thing that disturbed him was that he didn’t remember her among the others who made more of an impression.
Speaking of those kinds of people, he was glad Veer didn’t choose Princess Chandrasena. From what he had seen of her that day, she was as hotheaded as Veer himself.
Shota cleared his throat. “Prince Veer is here, representing Rajgarh and its wishes.”
The courtier straightened and his brow smoothed.
“Very well. We called this meeting to discuss matters of a truce. Both parties agree—this war has gone too long and will enter a discussion about what could be done to end this. I would like to have both parties’ verbal agreement, if this is acceptable. ”
“It is,” said Veer, inclining his head.
“We agree,” said King Chandraketu.
The courtier continued. “First, I will present Amaravathi’s terms. We ask that you retreat your troops and leave.
In return, Amaravathi will swear to never again question Rajgarh’s sovereignty over Saptavarsha or engage in war.
To make this alliance stronger, Amaravathi will agree to the marriage of Prince Veer to one of the seven princesses of Amaravathi. ”