Posts
She ran her chocolate brown fingers through his hair. In an hour his body would turn blue and stiff, her poison washing through his every cell.
Two hours back the body had a name – a handsome nobleman she’d enticed in his own chambers in the dead of night. It had been easy, too easy, and now he lay on his carved bed, oblivious to life.
She looked bored. This was number hundred-and-two. She kept count by chopping off the little toe from each victim. A string dangled from one of the rafters in her attic holding one hundred and one shriveled toes, embalmed with herbs to ward off the stench.
Vishkanya was her name. Actually it was the name of every poison maiden. She wrinkled her long nose, how about a special name just for me? But when she voiced her thoughts she received a rap on the head and was told crisply that she talked too much. The purpose of her life was to be efficient and lethal.
Eighteen of them lived in the underground chambers of the Prime Minister’s mansion. Each exquisite, they had been brought up on a daily dose of a low-grade poison. They all had an astrological defect. Little baby girls born on a Tuesday, they were called Mangaliks. The belief was that the stars foretold death and destruction to any man that married them.
Instead they lived a life of forced gaiety, amusing themselves with all the arts they had been taught as little girls – music, poetry, painting and most importantly the art of seduction.
King Bindusara’s eunuch squad was entrusted with the recruiting of the girls. They scoured the lands in and around Magadh bringing back the right kind of girls to the hostel. They stayed here from when they were merely six years old. Here they were taught everything they would need to ply their trade and fed daily doses of a variety of poisons mixed in milk.
Despite every care a few died on the way. The ones whose bodies learnt to assimilate the poisons went on to be successful poison-maidens.
At sixteen, when their youth was in full bloom, their base was shifted to any one of the secret chambers assigned to them.
Vishkanya went up to the attic. She untied the string and pierced the needled end through the freshly embalmed toe. This was always the first thing she tended to on coming home.
She washed her hands thoroughly and went down to breakfast looking for the two girls she always sat with. Finding them she slipped into a chair close-by as they looked at her quizzically.
“Who was it last night?” they chorused.
“You girls…you won’t change,” she smiled at them fondly, thinking of the grim fate that would be meted out if they were caught exchanging such information. But with these two it was okay. They told each other their darkest secrets.
She whispered the name of the nobleman she had been asked to decimate. He was a threat to the king. The Prime Minister kept a close watch over the country’s political climate. He also was in charge of the legion of the poison maidens and they took their orders from him.
Vishkanya daintily crunched scorpion claws which had been served alongside an otherwise normal breakfast. This kept their toxicity up to the mark. Her friends waited for her to finish. They had been picked from the same village. As little girls they had played together. The childhood friendship still gave them succor.
She was by far the loveliest of the lot. Apart from this she was one of the few in the entire kingdom that had been fed the Kaalkoot poison and survived. This was one of the deadliest known poisons killing anyone that came in contact with her body fluids in under a minute. She was sent on the more dangerous assignments. Having never failed she had earned a terrifying reputation.
A lot of the girls were jealous of Vishkanya for the attention the King lavished on her when he paid his annual visits. He had eyes only for her. If he looked at the others it was but a sweeping glance. When he enquired about their well-being, it was her he asked. If he complimented them on how well they all looked in a general compliment, he showered praises on her and her musical talents in particular. It was she who got to sing for him year after year.
Lyrics were written, tunes composed and practiced to perfection by her. These songs that were to be presented to the King came out from within her. From that place that was pristine, unaffected by all the poisons of the world.
There was one secret that she kept hidden in her bosom. Not even her dear friends knew. She had been in love with the handsome King for as long as she remembered. He was the cynosure of everyone’s eyes. A lot of the girls were infatuated with the King and whispered and giggled every time he visited.
That he sought her out gladdened her, made her want to dance. It also made her melancholy. They could never ever get any closer, they both knew it. What flew in her veins was for enemies. To love like a woman was not her destiny.
She would give her eye teeth for one night. Just one night with the King; was it too much to ask?
Her other sorrow went back to her childhood. Having to leave her family, especially her mother had preyed on her for many years. It still made her heavy hearted at times.
“Come on, where are you, lost?” her friends urged her out of her reverie.
Vishkanya followed them to the music room with a heavy step. This was an extraordinarily strange day. She yearned for something unknown.
Her friends wanted her to play the Veena. Picking up the instrument she held it close to herself and plucked at the strings mournfully. The sounds were sad too. Pulling herself together Vishkanya smiled with determination.
A village song from childhood came to her and she began to sing. The gaiety of the tune and lyrics soon lifted her spirits. Her friends joined in and sang with her. A few girls gathered around to listen.
The song ended to loud applause.
Vishkanya excused herself and went to her room to lie down. Soon a fitful slumber seized her. She woke to the sound of a knock. Barely had she sat up and straightened her clothes when the door opened.
“Vishkanya, I have come to you with the mission of your life.” It was the Prime Minister himself. Usually he summoned them and they went to him in the ornate hall where he spoke to them in the company of one or two of his advisors. This time he was alone.
She stood, eyes averted, as she was expected to stand, waiting for him to speak.
“Bindusara.” The Prime Minister stopped short and looked at her, gauging her reaction. Vishkanya was the best and he knew the King had a soft spot for her. If anyone could succeed it was her.
Her face jerked up. Not a word, she told herself, I can’t betray any emotion, or the King is a dead man.
Lowering her eyes in a fraction of a second, she nodded her head in understanding, praying that the wily man in front of her had missed her initial reaction.
“The time has come for you to prove your loyalty,” he said, his eyes searching her face as he spoke. “There is no one else I would entrust this task to… you are my best poison-maiden. Only you can do this. I am sure. I have seen him look at you with longing and he keeps away only for fear of your poison.”
“When?” She asked softly.
“Tonight, Vishkanya. It is a moonless night and the King sleeps in his own bed, away from his queens. He considers it an inauspicious time. Wear your sheerest attire, be your most fragrant, and I do not doubt that you will succeed. He will not be able to resist you. To add to your allure he will be fed an aphrodisiac mixed in his food.
Do this for me and I will give you anything you want, except of course the kingdom,” the stately man smiled at his own joke and walked out, sure that a mere Vishkanya would never dare disobey him, drunk with the thought that the next morning would see him on the royal throne.
Vishkanya reeled in reaction and slumped to the ground. Tears spilled out. For herself, for the love that could never be, the life she hadn’t lived, and most of all for the act she now had to commit. Draining herself fully she stood up. With leaden hands she washed herself with perfumed water.
So, this was his little plan, was it? He was a wily man, the Prime Minister. The King had immense faith in him as he had always used his cunning to protect the King and his interests. Up until now. Greed for power had taken over obviously, Vishkanya surmised. Agitated and trembling, she wondered how she could protect both herself and the King.
It was dusk, the sky bloodshot. She slunk to the stables, discarding the protocol of taking a guard along. They seldom went out alone.
An accomplished rider, Vishkanya rode her steed to the outskirts of the city. It took her an hour. Having made her purchase at a dingy little shop in an obscure lane, she rode towards the palace. At a distance she jumped off the horse and set it free, knowing it would return to the stables.
••••
A figure covered in a black veil walked towards the palace. On reaching the main gates the figure stopped to whisper to the guards and entered unhindered.
The guards had received clear instructions, and at every point Vishkanya was let in without any of the usual checks.
Reaching the King’s chambers, she stopped, her nerve failing her. Would she be able to carry out her plan? She was an expert hand, she reminded herself. There was no place for her in heaven or in hell in any case.
At last I’ve been granted my wish. I can spend one night with him. The King is mine, to do with as I please. The irony made her smile grimly.
She knocked softly.
“Enter,” said the King.
He was writing something. He looked up at her unhurriedly after completing what he was busy with.
She stood waiting, drinking in the way he looked. Locks of hair fell around his face wildly. It was the first time she had seen King Bindusara without his crown.
The look of calm focus on his face changed to one of surprise.
“My favorite Vishkanya,” he smiled, still looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”
No poison-maiden was allowed a private audience with him ever, for his own safety. No one had even come to take his permission before Vishkanya was sent in. Something was amiss.
She walked to him, her silver anklets dripping sweet sounds and sat down in front of him. She looked at him with unblinking gaze, drinking in his appearance without a word, an audacity at any other time.
Her heart expanded. This was as close to heaven as she could get. This was heaven.
He was waiting for an answer.
Vishkanya tilted her head slightly and looked at her silvery waist belt. She placed one hand to her waist, pulling out something small that flashed and shimmered in her hand.
By reflex the King reached for his trusty sword that lay on the seat beside him.
Before he could even pick it up he saw that the girl had plunged a small weapon into her chest.
Vishkanya fell, an ornate handled dagger sticking out of her breast.
“Why did you do this Vishkanya? Why so desperate?” He asked her gently placing her head on his lap.
She looked up at the dear face, her eyes large and full of light. “Beware the Prime Minister…Bindusara. He sent me to kill you. He wanted to use a weapon from your own arsenal against you…,” she tried to smile at him. As life slowly ebbed out of her, Vishkanya tried to stretch out her last few breaths.
“But why kill yourself? You could have simply warned me and left. I would have given you protection.”
“That wouldn’t have helped me very long,” she looked at him lovingly, blessing him with every good thing on earth, “my life was pointless anyway and…,” her lips froze mid-sentence as she exhaled her final breath.
*****************************************************************
Bio-
Sunila lived in Australia for twelve years and all over India as a child. Today she lives in Bangalore, India with her family. She is a lecturer of Communication to MBA students and is a practising Yoga teacher.
Sunila was introduced to books by book-loving parents at an early age and devoured them at every opportunity. Nature, music, and art mean a lot to her and she loves solitude and noisy fun in equal measure. She expresses herself through a variety of creative channels-singing, pottery, sketching and writing.
Sunila writes fiction and poetry both in English and Hindi. Her debut collection of short stories in Hindi, Nirjharr, was published by the Karnataka Hindi Sahitya Parishad. She is a post graduate in English Literature from Kuvempu University.
Connect with Sunila on: Facebook www.facebook.com/SunilaVigAuthor,
her blog www.sunilavigauthor.blogspot.com,. or follow her on Twitter https://twitter.com/whitefielder.
