Fragments from a Shattered Image

Fragment 2

Satya wondered why she was destined to meet this man that day of all days. It had been a busy day for her, and she had returned from ferrying the last of her passengers across. She was still waiting, in case someone came along. No one generally came, but sometimes a stray traveler would come seeking a way across the river.

Sometimes Krishna would come, accompanied by his father. Sometimes he would come alone. He was old enough now to travel on his own. She did not resent it that he was close to his father or that he wanted to be a sage. She knew her resentment would only drive a wedge between herself and her son, so she swallowed it and learned to let go of it.

But on that day, the one who came to her was a total stranger and he was seeking, not a way across the river, but Satya's home. He was tall and majestic and she could see that he was almost as old as her father. But he was not wrinkled or stooped, but handsome still and stood straight as a sapling. He was like the Kings in the tales that the village story teller used to tell her so many years ago. He had gazed at her in wonder and then had asked her for her name and asked about her father and asked where he could find him.

She had told him, wondering if he had come to buy the new boat her father had built. Boats were her father’s passion and his boats were bought by Kings and Princes from far.

Seeing his grandeur, Satya wished he had found her in the morning before she started her work, before she became all sweaty and her hairs all blown out of the coil in which she had wound them in the morning.

Satya had forgotten all about him by the time she returned home that day.

For the next few days, Satya noticed a sense of impatience coupled with a suppressed excitement in her father. She wondered why that was; she had never seen him like that. But her questions elicited no straight answers. He made vague references to good fortune and Goddess Lakshmi from which Satya could understand that he had had an opportunity for realizing his ambitions. She always knew her father was ambitious, though what exactly his ambitions were, were a mystery to her. She wondered if some coastal chieftain or ruler had hired him to build a fleet of boats.

All speculation ended the day the chariot bearing the standard of Hastinapura came to their hut in the morning. Her father had hurried out eagerly, but had stopped with face pale as he saw the man who stepped out. Satya had looked at the stranger. He was dressed in white and was young, though she could not tell if he was older or younger than her.

Something about him reminded her of the man she met the other day. But there was an arrogance about this man that was lacking in the other one. She stood just inside the door as he looked around with a kind of surprised wonder.

"Are you Dasharaja?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant. Her father had nodded and asked him to come in. Satyavati went into the kitchen as her father led their guest to the room which served as their dining and bed rooms, spread a mat and bade him to sit.