Kavita Kané - Lanka’s Princess

LANKA'S PRINCESS

Kavita Kan is the best-selling author of Karnas Wife: The Outcasts Queen, Sitas Sister and Menakas Choice. She started her career as a journalist and is now a full-time novelist. She is a post-graduate in English literature and mass-communications and a self-confessed aficionado of theatre and cinema. Married to a mariner, she is a mother to two daughters and currently lives in Pune with Chic, the friendly Spaniel and Cotton, the unfriendly cat.

LANKA'S PRINCESS

KAVITA KAN

Published by

Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2017

7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj

New Delhi 110002

Copyright Kavita Kan 2017

This is a work of fiction. All situations, incidents, dialogue and characters, with the exception of some well-known mythological and public figures mentioned in this novel, are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. They are not intended to depict actual events or people or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-81-291-XXXX-X

First impression 2017

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publishers prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

To my Aaji

Loved by all as Kaki aaji.
And the one who first introduced me to Surpanakha and the later stories to follow.

Miss you.

Contents

Prologue:
Kubja

He spotted her immediately. He could not tear his eyes away from her distant figure. Leaning against a roadside tree, she stood out in the thronging crowd on the streets of Mathura. Krishna stared at her for a long, thoughtful minute before he started to move towards her.

Where are you going? asked Balram, perplexed. He looked at his younger brother, a darker version of himself. We will be late. King Kamsa is waiting to meet us at his palace.

Just a moment replied Krishna, his eyes still seeking the woman. She was still standing near the tree, watching the bustling crowd around her, as if enjoying the street scene. She ignored the young street urchins giggling at her. One attempted to throw a stone at her.

She looked distinctly surprised as she saw a young, dark, handsome boy approach her. He could not be more than seventeen, his face boyish, with a wide, warm smile but there was a quaint air of maturity about him. It was his eyessmiling yet mocking in their solemnity. He looked eerily familiar but she could not place him. Not that she could have forgotten such a good-looking face, she reflected, feeling a strange emotion rise within her.

Do you live here? asked Krishna politely, smiling.

She was taken aback at the unabashed familiarity of his question.

Do I know you? she asked coldly instead, but not looking away. The boy had an immediate amiability about him: you could not help but like him.

No, I am a stranger here, he replied cheerfully. I have just arrived from Gokul and am on my way to the kings palace.

She gave a start at the mention of King Kamsa.

You are to meet the king? she asked curiously.

Yes, he said briefly, almost cryptic. I am Krishna, he flashed his deep smile again.

I am Trivakra, she said. But I am known as Kubja, the hunchback, she added tonelessly.

So I noticed, smiled Krishna looking long at the young girlbent almost double, her hands and feet gnarled, her face looked aged, stamped with a lifelong pain.

Kubja would have otherwise bristled. But she again felt a faint stirring ofwhat? Why did this young man make her feel like a woman and not an ugly hunchback which she was cursed to be? She turned her face away, as if to end their conversation.

You seem to have the most fragrant sandalwood in the city! he commented, looking at the array of sandalwood pastes around her.

Her eyes flared with animation. She nodded brightly.

Can I have some, please? he said.

How much do you want to buy?

No, could you apply that paste on me. Please? he asked, his smile reaching his eyes, which softened them with a certain tenderness.

Kubja swallowed, staring at him blankly. That paste out there in the bowl, he urged, pointing to the brass container. Could you please apply some on my forehead? Its really very hot. Some sandal paste would be cooling!

He lowered his head so that she could follow his request.

Its meant for the king! she snapped. I have to take it to him now.

Just a little? he begged, his winning smile not slackening.

Kubja hesitated. I am a maidservant, she said in a low tone. A hunchback. A pariah.

Never mind, but your sandalwood is heavenly! he dismissed airily, thrusting his face closer.

She quickly dipped her hand in the paste and raised it to his face, gazing straight into his twinkling eyes, smearing his forehead tentatively, her hands shaking.

She heard him sigh in satisfaction.

It is cool! he exclaimed, swiftly stretching out his well-muscled arms in front of him so that she could apply some of the paste there as well. She was surprised that she obliged him, not unwillingly. She felt a cold shiver of pleasure run through her as her calloused fingers touched his skin. She could not refuse him, and she was strangely drawn to this handsome stranger.

Gratitude! grinned the man. I feel like a new man now!

Kubja blushed. Yes, my sandalwood is the best in town.

Ill come back to you once I am done with the king, he said. Where do you stay?

Overwhelmed, she pointed a shaking, twisted finger at the house across the road.

Ill meet you soon. I promise! he smiled, waving at her.

She watched him walk down the street, away from her, not believing his words which were still floating back in her mind.

She sighed. She knew she would not see him ever again.

It was almost a fortnight later, the sky had dusked to a deep purple, when she heard a knock on the door. Kubja frowned. Who could it be? Certainly not some call from the palace. After all, King Kamsa is dead now. The city was rife with rumours and jubilation that he had been killed by his nephew, Krishna. The name sent a shiver through her again. Was he that young man she had met on the street some days back?

She heard the knock again. It was louder and more persistent.

Kubja hobbled to the door, opening it impatiently. She was greeted with an unexpected sight and a jovial voice.

I said I would come back! said the young, handsome man, standing with his arms akimbo.

Krishna!

Before she could recover her breath and senses, he had stepped inside her small room.

What do you want? she spluttered.

You.

Kubja gasped, her face drained of colour. I have heard you are a kind man, sir. Dont make fun of me so cruelly! she said angrily, tears of hurt shining in her sullen eyes. You are a prince, a hero. A handsome young man. What does he want with a poor, ugly hunchback like me? Why are you here?