Fragments from a Shattered Image

Fragment 4

Her eyes were dry now. She was past tears. What more could fate have in store for her! First her husband had died, leaving her widowed and with two small sons, not yet old enough to take the reins of the Kingdom.

But Bheeshma had been there. In spite of her tearful pleading to be King, he had refused, choosing to be regent instead. He respected her and sought her advice and it surprised her to no end when he started following her advice.

Satya had bloomed under her husband’s love and affection and when Chitrangada was born, she was content. Vichitravirya was an added blessing. She had contemplated a happy and contented old age when she and her husband could leave the Kingdom in Chitrangada's able hands and leave for the forest. With Bheeshma to guide and advise him, she had no doubt her son would lead the Kurus to even greater glory than before.

But all those dreams had been dashed to pieces when her husband had died so unexpectedly. Though he was very much older than her, she had never paid much attention to the difference in their ages. But at the moment of his death, she had noticed how worn and tired he looked. She had stopped her tears till his death, because he had always wanted to see her happy and smiling.

"Devavrata," he had whispered. He was the only one who still called Bheeshma by his given name. Devavrata had knelt by the bedside.

"I will take care of my brothers, father," he had said. "Chitrangada shall be a worthy successor."

Satya had seen the flash of anguish in her husband’s eyes as he gazed at his eldest son. Instinctively, she knew that Shantanu wanted Bheeshma to be King after him, and she too felt that it was the right decision. She had pleaded with him, even ordered him, but he was adamant. His vow was no light matter. He would not break it.

Then had come her father's death. He had sent for her from his deathbed. It was Bheeshma who took her to him. She had also taken her sons along.

"They are fine boys," Dasharaja had wheezed. "That elder one will make a fine king."

"Why, father?" She had asked him. "I would have been content even if my sons had to remain as princes. Bheeshma deserves to be king. He is worthy in every way."

"Maybe," he had said. "But it was my right to demand that for you. They could have refused."

"I don’t deny you had the right. But why such an ambition? Why King?"

He had looked at her, "I had the right," he had said finally.

She had sighed. "I do not," she had said.

He had fidgeted and then said. "You are the daughter of a King. I am only your adoptive father."

She had stared at him in consternation, believing his words and yet disbelieving.

"I am not going to tell you who your real father was. But you are a Princess. You have the right to be queen and your sons have the right to be Kings!"

She had turned from him, her thoughts in turmoil. Daughter of a King! Adopted by a fisherman. That spoke volumes for her status! She might have been a King's daughter, but there was no doubt that she was illegitimate. She was suddenly infinitely grateful to her father, not the unnamed King, but to the man she had called father all her life.

He had died the next day and she had returned to the palace after the funeral, not revealing the truth to anyone, not even to Bheeshma.

She had thought all her travails over when Chitrangada was crowned King. She had also seen the palpable relief in Bheeshma's normally impassive face. He had felt he too could relax his vigil.

And now this. Satya sighed. She had no more tears left to cry.

"Mother," Bheeshma walked in, still dusty and disheveled from his journey. He had not stopped to change. He had rushed in to see her straightaway.

She held out her hand and he took them, kneeling before her.

"If you had been there, he would not have died," it was not an accusation, but a simple statement of fact. Bheeshma was invincible in battle. Had he been in Hastinapura, the Gandharva would never have dared challenge her Chitrangada to a battle.

Bheeshma's hands tightened over hers. "Shall I get the Gandharva’s head for you?" His voice was even.

She shook her head. She had had enough tragedies, enough fighting, enough death. Revenge would not bring her son back. "Your brother needs you. Hastinapura needs you. Till Vichitravirya is old enough to be King, you should be here, by his side. And afterwards too."

He had gone to put down a rebellion in the eastern provinces. They both knew he had had to go. The rebellion had been crushed and he was on the way back when the news of his brother’s death had reached him.

"Chitrangada died in battle, as befitting a Kshatriya," Bheeshma said. "Be comforted, mother."

She nodded. It was cold comfort to a mother, but her son had not shamed his heritage, fighting valiantly till the end.