Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment Thirteen

The palace of Panchala was too big. Drona had to crane his neck to see the standard of the King that flew from the ramparts of the surrounding fortress. The palace was nestled inside, a building that seemed to occupy as much space as his entire village.

The palace was built almost entirely of stone that had been polished so much that it shone like gems. Beautiful gardens surrounded it. The path leading to the palace was flanked with shady trees. The path was crowded just then, full of people going to meet the King's ministers or the council and to submit their grievances. Drona felt superior to them.

The guards looked at him with contemptuous sneers, but he did not mind that. He was above all that. He was the King's own friend. He chuckled inwardly as he thought of the expression on these guards' faces when Drupada would embrace him as a friend. Of course, he would tell Drupada he did not need half the kingdom. Revenue from one or two villages would be enough. And with the knowledge acquired from Parasurama, he could start a Gurukula where he could train Kshatriya princes. He would become famous all over the world as a teacher par excellence.

He was asked to wait a while when he said his business was with the King. He did not mind waiting. He refused to give his name to the heralds. He would go in unannounced, like an unknown Brahmana. How surprised his friend would be! He would probably jump up from the throne and come to embrace him!

He smiled to himself as a courtier beckoned him forward. The hall was very long and he paid no heed to the condescending, pitying or sneering glances by those who were seated there. He felt no shame about his patched clothes or beggarly appearance. He was in his friend's presence!

Drupada gave him a disinterested glance.

"Speak, Brahmana," said he, politely. "What do you wish from me?"

Drona smiled widely. "My friend," said he, "I am Drona. Do you not recognize me?"

Drupada's gaze turned cold. "Friend?" His voice was like a whiplash. "How is it possible for there to be friendship between one such as you and one such as me? Friendship is possible only between equals. Do you not know this yet, Brahmana? Now tell what it is you desire! I have weightier matters to attend to!"

Drona stared at his friend, stunned. Was Drupada serious? Was he testing him, perhaps? How could he speak so to him?

"But," he stammered, confused now. "We were in the Gurukula together! You said you would give me half the kingdom when you become King..." His voice trailed off as he saw Drupada's gaze becoming fiery.

"For uttering such words," spoke the King, "I ought to throw you in prison! Had you been of any caste but a Brahmana, I would have you beheaded for that!" Drupada controlled himself with an effort. "However, I am generous. I forgive you. If you require alms, state it. I shall be happy to provide such!"

Drona felt his face burning. Blood was pounding in his ears. Unbidden, came to his mind the mantra to invoke the most destructive weapon he knew, but he thrust it away. He could destroy this entire kingdom if he so wished, but that was no fitting punishment for the arrogance of Drupada.

"I do not come as a beggar!" Said he. "I come as a friend and you have seen fit to insult me! So be it, Drupada! But a day shall surely come when you shall be too glad to accept my hand in friendship!"

He turned around and walked away, trying to ignore the guffaws by the courtiers. He would show them! The outline of a plan began to form in his mind. But he needed a powerful patron. And students. And not just any students. Kshatriya students.

The solution came to him just as he was crossing the threshold of Drupada's palace. Hastinapura! His brother-in-law, Kripa was the teacher of the princes of that kingdom.

His eyes were blazing with joy as he left Panchala.

Fragments from a Shattered Image: Fragment Twelve

Drona was panting by the time he reached the abode of Parasurama. It was the rumours that sped him hence. He had heard that the warrior sage was giving away the wealth he had amassed over his life time to Brahmanas. And he had come there in the hopes of getting something, at least a cow or two. His face twisted as he thought of his abortive attempts to gain a cow till then. No one in their part of Bhatatavarsha seemed able to gift a poor Brahmana with a cow. All were too poor! His lips curled in contempt. The advent of Kali was too near if this was how Brahmanas were treated!

He wiped the sweat of his brow, catching his breath. The area was quite deserted. He wondered if he'd been hoaxed. Surely, if the sage was giving away his possessions, there ought to be a crowd of Brahmanas there? Had he been made a fool of?

Just then, a man came out of the hut. Even though Drona had only heard tales of the great sage, he could recognize him. The warrior-like stance, the scars on his arm, the fierce gaze, all told him that he was in the presence of the great Parasurama himself. He hurried to the sage and greeted him with folded palms.

"I am a poor Brahmana," said he. "Drona, the son of Bharadwaja. I have come on hearing that you are giving away your possessions. Please do not send me away empty-handed!"

A shadow crossed the serene face of the sage. The fierce eyes became sad.

"You have heard right, O Drona. But you have come too late. I have no possessions left in the world now."

Disappointment, starker than anything he'd known before filled Drona's heart. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

"However," the sage continued. "I cannot send you away empty handed. Therefore I offer you to choose between the only two possessions I have left in this world: my life or my knowledge of weapons. I have nothing else to give you."

Knowledge of weapons? Drona had never aspired to that. He knew enough of warfare to impart basic training to any student who might come to him. But what Parasurama offered went beyond that. It was knowledge, the likes of which, he had never even dreamed of. The sage was the student of Lord Siva himself. The knowledge he could give was going to ensure that Drona would be unique. His skills and knowledge would be coveted. He would be sought after by all.

He bowed low, "Accept me as your pupil, O great one, and impart to me your knowledge of weapons."

Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment 9

Satya sat down on a couch. Her limbs ached.

'I'm growing old,' she thought. But that was only to be expected. She grew more tired but less sleepy. She also felt less hungry these days, though her memory was still sharp.

Small mercies, thought Satya. Small mercies.

She sighed. Her tiredness and physical aches were less than the grief of her heart. The last rites of her grandson was over. His five sons were so small. She wondered if her step son and grandson would care for those.

She had no energy left to worry for them now.

She looked up as her son was announced.

"Krishna," she smiled at him. He was called Vyasa by all these days, Veda Vyasa. But to her he would always be Krishna.

"Mother," he bent down to touch her feet.

"Ayushman bhavah" she blessed him.

"Mother," he said as he sat down next to her on her invitation. "It is time you left the palace. It is time for you to leave the world behind."

She gazed at him. He was right of course. She should leave for the forest. It was the way of things, of life.

She sighed again. She had buried her husband, two sons and now a grandson. She did not want to watch more deaths. Her son was right. She should leave.

She gave him a faint smile and nodded.

"It is time," she echoed.

The Banished Secret: Chapter Six

“Hi big bro,” chorused the two in unison as they plopped in front of Aditya. Aditya looked up, somewhat bemused, from the book he was reading. Shyam and Vina gave him identical smiles.

“Big bro?” he asked. “Where did that come from?”

“When we’re in class, we do call you professor,” Shyam replied with a cheeky grin. “But here, I think we should be allowed to call you what we want.”

“Besides,” Vina chipped in, “we’ve known you for far longer before you ever became our professor, and we always called you-”

“Well, we can’t call you that,” Shyam said hastily. “So, big bro it is.”

“I’m not foolish enough to argue with your generation,” Aditya said, his lips quirking in a half smile as he thought of the twins’ nick name for him when they were younger. Big bro was good, at least it wasn’t something to make him cringe.

“Ooh! Gramps!” Vina exclaimed, her eyes alight with laughter.

Shyam and Vina were alike to look at though not exactly identical. Shyam was slightly shorter though that could be because of the inch high heels that Vina wore. He was also stocky with a round face, broad forehead, small eyes and a snub nose. Vina was leaner, and had an oval face, though her eyes and nose were the same. They both also had the same stubborn chin and thin lips, though Vina’s clever application of lipstick made hers look fuller.

“Ha ha,” Aditya said in a bored voice. “So, why have the terrible twins chosen to honour me with a visit?”

“To invite you to our birthday party,” Shyam replied. “Coming Sunday, evening 6, our place.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” pointed out Aditya.

“Yea, we know. That’s why we’re inviting you today,” Vina grinned.

“Afterthought? I should be flattered.” Aditya said drily.

“Come on, big bro,” Vina pouted. “Don’t be like that. You don’t have to bring anything. Just come.”

Aditya sighed. He hated parties. He hated crowds. He preferred books to people. But there was no getting out of this one. He had known them since they were children, had visited their home and they had visited his, their parents knew each other, not to speak of the bond Abhi had with them.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll definitely come.”

“No gifts,” Vina said, rising. “And if you really want to bring anything, I’m not at all choosy, anything would be fine.”

“I’m picky,” Shyam said. “Just reminding,”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Aditya replied.

He watched as they walked away and shook his head, looking regretfully at the half finished book on the table. The cafeteria at the college was always deserted at this time since classes for the day were over. Aditya always stayed an hour or so after hours in the cafeteria reading unless he had grading to do. He did most of his grading in the staff room after hours, but he also took assignments and papers home for the weekend. He glanced at the watch. It was barely thirty minutes after classes had ended, but if he was to go shopping for gifts, there was no way for him to finish his book today.

While Aditya went shopping, Shyam didn’t waste any time in calling Abhi and telling him about inviting Aditya to the party.

"You what?" Abhi was surprised.

"Invited your brother for our birthday, so be sure to bring him when you come."

Abhi looked at the phone, wondering if Shyam was pulling his leg. "I was planning to come over early, and help you with all the arrangements."

"Nah, you relax, we have it all under control. You be on time with our professor Aditya." Shyam sounded amused.

"Is this some underhanded trick to get on his good side to improve your grades? If so, I must warn you that you're wasting your time."

Shyam laughed. "Don't impute underhanded tricks, Abhi. Not to your best buddies anyway. Would we do something like that?"

"Without any shame and without any doubt," Abhi snorted.

"This is just an attempt to have a social contact with your brother." Shyam said in an injured tone.

“Yeah, right.” Abhi scoffed.

“I’m serious.” Shyam sounded offended now.

"My brother hates social occasions. Just thought I'd let you know." Abhi said, grimacing a bit as he thought of how much Aditya was going to hate this.

"Why the hell did he become a teacher, then? Not that he's bad at it, but it's hardly the kind of job for an introvert." Shyam sounded surprised.

"Why don't you ask him?" Abhi asked. “I don’t know how you couldn’t know when you’ve known him as long as you have.”

“Well, I wasn’t, I mean, we weren’t the most observant of children and once we grew older, he was so- grown up, you know, and it’s not as if we ever hanged out with him.”

“Fair enough,” Abhi said, sighing. “He’s going to hate this, is all I’m saying.”

Shyam chuckled. "Sounds like you didn't like us inviting him."

Abhi sighed. "It's not that. It’s just that Aditya is really, really, uncomfortable in social gatherings. He avoids them like the plague. I know the kind of games you guys get up on your birthday. I don't want Aditya embarrassed." Abhi could never explain how protective he was of his elder brother who was a full ten years older than him.

"Oh," Shyam said. "Point noted and taken. Don't worry. We'll see to it that your brother has a good time and nothing else."

"Where's Vina?" Abhi asked, changing the subject. It was pointless expecting Shyam to fully understand. He’d just have to keep an eye on Aditya.

"Gone to invite boyfriend number-I don't know, what is the number right now?"

Abhi laughed. "You're asking me? She's your sister!"

"Yea, and I do have better things to do than count the number of boyfriends she's had till date." Abhi could hear Shyam’s eye roll and he chuckled again.

"She does run through them, doesn't she?"

"Yes, and she's quite happy doing it. As long as that remains, I don't care. Bye for now, Abhi. I need to make a few other calls."

"Bye," Abhi said as he hung up.

Book Review: False Colours

False Colours is one of Georgette Heyer's later works and deals with the Regency period that made her so famous. The story revolves around the lives of the Fancot twins and their beautiful and devoted, but reckless mother. Christopher Fancot or Kit, the younger of the twins and the more sober one, is the protagonist of the story, though his more volatile older brother Evelyn, the Earl of Denville is an equally important character. The story deals with Kit's efforts to extricate Evelyn out of a difficult situation by masquerading as him.

The book, like Heyer's other works are rich in period details. Everything from the evening dresses of the ladies and gentlemen to their houses and chariots and boudoirs are described in perfect detail, which makes the places and people come alive for us. The people in False Colours from Kit and Evelyn to their mother, the hapless Sir Bonamy Ripple, the hedonist who fancies himself in love with her to Cressida Staverly and her grandmother to the miserly Cosmo and his son, Ambrose are all depicted with so much humour that we find ourselves chuckling as we read.

The plot may sound complex since it involves a masquerade, but Georgette Heyer makes it look simple. The book is one of the best reads and Heyer's mastery of her craft reads the reader spellbound.

The book has its laugh-out-loud moments, and moments that reduce us to helpless giggling. It has few anxious moments, but the undercurrent of humour makes even those light-hearted. And the romance is enough to satisfy even the most demanding of romantics.  The ending is superb and leaves us contented enough to want to read through it again.