THE COURTESAN OF JAIGARH (Complete)

Part 15-Catastrophe!

 The eastern sky was marked with the faintest of red streaks. The morning star was still shining, its light dimming by the minute. Mist rising from the ground was shrouding the surroundings. Menaka's mansion was in the process of waking up, and activity could be glimpsed inside.

"We'll bathe in the river, then make our offerings in the temple, before we rehearse finally," said Menaka, to Valli and her daughter, then frowned, her gaze searching the hall.

"Where's Neelu? She's never late," Menaka queried, picking up the basket of flowers and offerings.

"I'll go call her. Maybe she overslept due to tiredness," assured Valli, making her way to the stairs.

Neelanjana's door was slightly ajar. Valli called out from the landing but got no answer. Worried, she peeked inside. A scream left her lips at the sight that greeted her eyes. The others came running.

"What happened, Valli?" Menaka asked, trying to catch her breath.

The royal palace at Reshamgarh was abuzz with activity. It was time for the spring festival in a few days, and the children were excited. Priyadarshini, along with her cousins and Lalita, was busy making garlands of flowers and leaves. They were also making banners to fly high on the ramparts, using cloth and pigments made from various flowers. There was charcoal and terracotta too, to draw.

"No, no, princess, that's not how you string the flowers. Let me show you," said Lalita to Roopmati, the daughter of Somdutt's brother.

The children gathered around attentively, as Lalita strung the roses and marigolds, jasmine and champak, to make a spectacular garland. Oblivious to all this, Priyadarshini was busy painting, her little pink tongue showing a bit, as she concentrated. She finished her work and held it up proudly, admiring it.

"What's that?" asked Lalita, frowning.

The girl had drawn two dark, ferocious figures, with horns and red eyes, and breathing fire.

"I'll ask Father to send this to Jaigarh," she said, defiantly.

"Why? Who're these monsters?" asked Roopmati, studying the artwork closely.

"The king and the prince of Jaigarh. I know all about how they kill innocent people and make children orphans. I asked Father, and he said that they're monsters. So, I have drawn them," Priyadarshini explained to her companions, who nodded sagely, agreeing with her.

The cloth bearing the precious artwork was carefully folded and the group made its way to the grand audience hall where the king was likely to be at that hour, busy in consultation with his ministers. It was presented to him with a great show of ceremony.

Somdutt burst out laughing, forgetting for a moment, the serious nature of the discussion. His daughter was really precocious, he mused, smiling at the idea of sending the gift to Jaigarh. Would serve them right, they were no less than monsters, for raiding his territory and killing his subjects.

Hassan opened the door lock and entered his shop. It was the biggest establishment in the little town that was no better than a trading outpost. He lit a lamp and drew back the curtains of the only window in the shop, throwing it open and calling out a greeting to the old man next door, who sold shoes. He pulled out the accounts book and went through the pages, taking in the sales and stocks. The figures gladdened his heart. His business was in profit. He had been a young lad when his father had died, leaving the business in his hands. He had worked day and night, incurring losses on the way, but he hadn't given up. It wasn't in his nature to accept defeat easily. He was intelligent and quick-witted. His decisions were well thought out, and he displayed the courage needed to take risks. These qualities made him a well-respected merchant in the small town and even beyond.

As he grew older, he became the most sought-after bachelor in town. With his tall, well-built physique and classical good looks, his wise, hazel eyes, that sometimes shone with mischief, and his gentle nature, he was admired by many who wanted him to marry their daughters. Miriam, his mother, was suddenly invited a lot by the neighbors and other traders of her clan, all wishing to make an alliance, although nothing came out of it except that Miriam enjoyed various delicacies with which she was plied by mothers eager to see their daughters married off to her son. The reason being, that Hassan had loved Salima for as long as he could remember. He had vowed to marry her and so he had, breaking many hearts in the process.

Now, she was expecting their first child and Hassan could not wait for the day when he would hold his newborn in his arms. He gave a proud look around the neatly arranged shop. It was full of valuable goods. Black pepper brought from the far south vied with cinnamon from the island of Sinhala. Ivory and salt from the dark continent held pride of place with glass beads and handcrafted wooden items. Silk and cotton cloths lay in bundles, imported because they were in great demand.

He was checking an order of green raisins when the old man ambled into his shop. Taking out a lighted clay pipe, he took a swig from it and then offered it to Hassan. Taking it with a word of thanks, Hassan invited him to sit.

The old man gave a friendly pat on his back, before taking his seat by the window to keep an eye on his own shop.

"I knew your father well," said Karim. "We had started out together in business. Of course, your father had the acumen to increase his business manifold."

Karim's old eyes seemed to be looking inward, to the past, when he had started as a young man. Hassan nodded. He had seen him many times in his childhood, sitting with his father.

"I see that spark in you, young man," Karim observed. "You have made a better work of it. It makes me proud to see you prosper. You have taken the family name to the top in the town."

"I....I...try my best," replied Hassan, embarrassed at the praise. He was a bit shy by nature, not brash like his younger brothers.

"Of course, one day soon your sons would join you, to take your legacy forward. I hear that your wife is expecting a child."

"Yes, Uncle Karim. Salima is supposed to give birth within a month or two," he said, going red in the face.

The old man smiled, congratulating him on his good fortune. They sat there, smoking the pipe and discussing the trade.

"Brother, you are needed at the house urgently," Hassan's youngest brother rushed into the store, panting and wiping his brow. He had run the whole way and was clearly agitated, his eyes wide with fear.

"Take a breath, brother, and then tell me what the matter is?" Hassan asked, frowning. What was so urgent that he was needed there at this hour? He had just opened his shop.

Two fat tears rolled from the boy's eyes. Gathering all his courage, he spoke in a trembling voice.

"Your wife has fallen from the stairs and is in great pain. Mother is beside herself with worry."

Hassan felt the world whirl around him, as dizziness assailed him. His legs started shaking and he sank down on the seat with a thud. Salima had fallen from the stairs? How did it happen? What about the baby, and most importantly, what about her? His heart thudded sickeningly, as he realized the enormity of the situation. What was he to do now? What would he find waiting for him there?

Hassan gathered the remnants of his courage and got up, took a deep breath, and followed his brother. His lips moved in a silent prayer. Would his prayers be answered?