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Authors: Sharath Komarraju
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use of it to grow paddy.’
‘I sent Bhargava last week to Shurasena to get some nuts and pulses, and they said they did not have enough to give away. They offered us elephants loaded with sacks of rice, but what shall I do with them?’
‘Your grace,’ said Jarutha.
Parashurama took another sniff of the substance in his hand. As he inhaled it fully, his nose and head shivered with what Amba could only call ecstasy, and his eyes, when they reopened, looked at peace with the world.
He looked at her, and the brow again creased with a frown. ‘I do not care for your like either, princess. Oh, how much simpler life would be if the world was populated just by Brahmins?’ He looked up at the sky and said, as though he were speaking to someone, ‘Lord, give me strength.’ He picked up the tiny painted container by his side and fingered the contents. He applied it to the edges of his nose, inhaled again, and reopened his eyes, peaceful and happy.
‘I know who you are,’ he told her. ‘You are the princess of Kasi who got married into the royal family of Hastinapur.’
‘I did not, your grace,’ said Amba, inclining her head. ‘I got sent away to Saubala where King Salva rules.’
‘Is that by the foothills of the Western Mountains, where River Saraswati is said to flow?’
‘Indeed, my lord.’
‘I have not been there in a long time. The last time I passed by, the mountains were not as high as they are now, and the land beyond them was greener than it now is.’ His mouth twisted, and his face turned grim. ‘I see hard times ahead for the kingdoms in the far west. River Saraswati will dry up completely in the years to come, and the land will crack and be covered with sand.’
Amba said, ‘What do you see in my future, your grace?’
Irritation spread on Parashurama’s face. ‘Do you mistake me for an astrologer on the streets of Hastinapur, Princess? I do not tell people’s futures, because I do not see them. No one can see the future, not even the people on the Meru that we call gods.’
‘But you just saw the future of the Western Kingdoms.’
‘One can predict the futures of kingdoms with certainty, girl, because one knows the factors that will come to pass. But the fortune of a single person has too many things entwined with it. It cannot be foretold.’
‘But your grace,’ said Amba, joining her hands and falling to her knees, ‘King Drupad said you will be able to help me.’
‘Help, I can offer, yes,’ said Parashurama, raising his hand to bless her. At once his voice became kind. ‘I sense in you a great anger, my girl, and I see in you my own self when I was your age. Even now, my anger triumphs over me too often for my liking.’
Amba bent her head. ‘That is so, my lord. I feel my anger is so strong that it can burn me alive.’
‘Then you know what you must do, child. You must conquer your anger first. For that you must first conquer your vanity.’
‘My vanity?’
Parashurama turned to Jarutha and said, ‘Tell me, Jarutha. Tell me this maiden’s tale, and we shall see what we can do to assuage her fury.’
Jarutha sat down at the sage’s feet, by Amba’s side, and began to narrate. Amba corrected him whenever he went wrong, and all the while Parashurama listened, now stroking his beard, now frowning.
After Jarutha had stopped, Parashurama said to Amba, ‘You have suffered in the hands of men, have you not, my child?’
Amba bent her head and said nothing. She thought of Salva, who had seduced her, taken her, and left her to the whims of Hastinapur. She thought of her father, who first raised no murmur of protest when Bhishma abducted her and her sisters, then spinelessly attended the wedding to bless his daughters, and then made his displeasure felt at her for choosing her own path. She thought of Vichitraveerya, who failed in sowing in her his seed in spite of one whole year of amour. And last of all she thought of Bhishma himself, the lynchpin, the one man who
‘I sent Bhargava last week to Shurasena to get some nuts and pulses, and they said they did not have enough to give away. They offered us elephants loaded with sacks of rice, but what shall I do with them?’
‘Your grace,’ said Jarutha.
Parashurama took another sniff of the substance in his hand. As he inhaled it fully, his nose and head shivered with what Amba could only call ecstasy, and his eyes, when they reopened, looked at peace with the world.
He looked at her, and the brow again creased with a frown. ‘I do not care for your like either, princess. Oh, how much simpler life would be if the world was populated just by Brahmins?’ He looked up at the sky and said, as though he were speaking to someone, ‘Lord, give me strength.’ He picked up the tiny painted container by his side and fingered the contents. He applied it to the edges of his nose, inhaled again, and reopened his eyes, peaceful and happy.
‘I know who you are,’ he told her. ‘You are the princess of Kasi who got married into the royal family of Hastinapur.’
‘I did not, your grace,’ said Amba, inclining her head. ‘I got sent away to Saubala where King Salva rules.’
‘Is that by the foothills of the Western Mountains, where River Saraswati is said to flow?’
‘Indeed, my lord.’
‘I have not been there in a long time. The last time I passed by, the mountains were not as high as they are now, and the land beyond them was greener than it now is.’ His mouth twisted, and his face turned grim. ‘I see hard times ahead for the kingdoms in the far west. River Saraswati will dry up completely in the years to come, and the land will crack and be covered with sand.’
Amba said, ‘What do you see in my future, your grace?’
Irritation spread on Parashurama’s face. ‘Do you mistake me for an astrologer on the streets of Hastinapur, Princess? I do not tell people’s futures, because I do not see them. No one can see the future, not even the people on the Meru that we call gods.’
‘But you just saw the future of the Western Kingdoms.’
‘One can predict the futures of kingdoms with certainty, girl, because one knows the factors that will come to pass. But the fortune of a single person has too many things entwined with it. It cannot be foretold.’
‘But your grace,’ said Amba, joining her hands and falling to her knees, ‘King Drupad said you will be able to help me.’
‘Help, I can offer, yes,’ said Parashurama, raising his hand to bless her. At once his voice became kind. ‘I sense in you a great anger, my girl, and I see in you my own self when I was your age. Even now, my anger triumphs over me too often for my liking.’
Amba bent her head. ‘That is so, my lord. I feel my anger is so strong that it can burn me alive.’
‘Then you know what you must do, child. You must conquer your anger first. For that you must first conquer your vanity.’
‘My vanity?’
Parashurama turned to Jarutha and said, ‘Tell me, Jarutha. Tell me this maiden’s tale, and we shall see what we can do to assuage her fury.’
Jarutha sat down at the sage’s feet, by Amba’s side, and began to narrate. Amba corrected him whenever he went wrong, and all the while Parashurama listened, now stroking his beard, now frowning.
After Jarutha had stopped, Parashurama said to Amba, ‘You have suffered in the hands of men, have you not, my child?’
Amba bent her head and said nothing. She thought of Salva, who had seduced her, taken her, and left her to the whims of Hastinapur. She thought of her father, who first raised no murmur of protest when Bhishma abducted her and her sisters, then spinelessly attended the wedding to bless his daughters, and then made his displeasure felt at her for choosing her own path. She thought of Vichitraveerya, who failed in sowing in her his seed in spite of one whole year of amour. And last of all she thought of Bhishma himself, the lynchpin, the one man who
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