City of Victory - A Novella
City of Victory, set in 16th century India, is the
story of four women:
Jehaan, lovelorn gypsy, rebellious till her fiery
death by 'sati' on the king's funeral pyre;
Queen Nagala Devi, who seeks to avoid the same end;
Meherbanu, who from humble origins becomes spiritual
mentor to the women of the harem, and thereafter,
prioress of a convent, having escaped the
death-dealing carnal embrace of the king;
and Damayanti, the beautiful venomous spy whose only
alternative to her ongoing murder of men, is to become
a Buddhist nun.
City of Victory, originally broadcast on BBC Radio 4
in 2004, the short story about the gypsy, Jehaan
trapped in the royal harem of King Krishna Deva Raya
in 16th century Vijayanagar, has now become what it
originally was - the story of three women:
Jehaan, who remains the incandescent, lovelorn
outsider, a rebel till her fiery death by 'sati', on
the king's funeral pyre; Tirumala Devi, the
accomplished, sensuous, worldly queen, who must face
the same end as the gypsy, and seeks to avoid it; and
the spiritually inclined Meherbanu, who from humble
origins becomes mentor to the women of the harem and
thereafter, prioress of a Buddhist monastery, having
escaped the death-dealing carnal embrace of the king.
The victory is Meherbanu's, not the city's, which,
despite its name (Vijayanagar-City of Victory), must
fall in the end.
CITY OF VICTORY
Chapter 3
Before King Krishna Deva Raya rescued me, Meherbanu,
from my life of hell, I was the wife of a wealthy
Egyptian, Thanata. I was only fifteen when I married
him, he, fifty two. My parents, indifferent to a child
that did not bow before Allah, had sold me to him for
the price of fifty bulls.
I chanced upon the king in the fruit market of the
Moslem quarter. It was nearing noon, and waves of
heat undulated above the rocks. Dressed in a long
gold embroidered jacket and white muslin leggings, his
chest laden with gold and jewels, he stood by the
stalls which were bursting with pomegranates and
oranges. Six richly dressed nobles with rings on all
their fingers and toes surrounded him. A tall, blonde
Cossack woman in a short
white shift with a dagger at the belt, held a
pearl-encrusted parasol over him. Still, I did not
know it was the King I was looking at. He lifted his
head from a conversation with the stall owner, and
smiled at me. He was very agile and slender, his
shoulders broad, the wheatish skin of his face faintly
marked with the pox. Turning to face him, I bowed to
him, for I noticed the owner of the stall prostrating
at his feet. He gestured to him to rise and then
turned back to me, a look of surprise in his eyes.
"Who did that to you?" he asked, pointing at my left
cheek.
"I did it to myself," I answered and felt the ridges
of the scar that cut from the corner of my eye to my
lips. A bitter laugh escaped me, but I did not bother
to cover the scar with my scarf. Suddenly I heard
cries of 'The King! The King!" and thought, oh my
God, it is the King I'm talking to. I knew then that
there was some purpose to our meeting, and that I was
blessed by The Mother of All Creation. Here was the
man who could rescue me from my hellish life with the
two young cousins of my dead husband. The King smiled
at me again, but did not ask me why I had mutilated
myself. Perhaps he understood I could only do that to
myself in order to appear less beautiful. That I was
trying to run away from some man.
"Would you like to work for me?" he asked.
The nobles glared at me.
"That depends," I said, for I did not wish to please
him in bed, if that was what he meant, despite my
disfigurement. When he only smiled in answer, I said,
"I could serve the women of your 'zenana'."
"I could put you in charge," he said. "I am moved by
your candour and courage. What is your name?"
"Meherbanu."
"Meherbanu, come and see me tomorrow at the royal
enclosure."
I was amazed at this sudden change in my fortune. I
would tell no one of my decision, except my dear
friend, the Buddhist nun, Akira. I would go to the
Monastery and offer a prayer of thanks.
What can I say of that strange, nightmarish marriage?
My husband could not arouse in me love or desire, and
yet he desired me. He drenched me in jewels and fine
clothes, built me a magnificent house three storeys
high, facing the Tungabhadra River. But after six
years, sick and dying, longing for his homeland, he
returned to Egypt, leaving me in the care of his two
young cousins. It was their excuse to do with me what
they pleased. Under their hands and lips, I woke to
the pleasures of the bed, despite my will. They seemed
to have hearts of stone, for although they clothed and
fed me, they did with me as they wished, as often as
they wished. I hoped for a little love and affection,
but all I received was their lust. In my mind I was
repulsed by them, yet I found my body responding to
their caresses. How I hated myself! After Thanata's
shriveled skin that had made me shudder with disgust,
their skins were supple and smooth, their arms,
muscular, their thighs powerful. I knew it was not
right. Tongues wagged, fingers pointed at me when I
ventured from the house on rare occasions. I heard
women call me a prostitute, but where was I to go,
what was I to do? If they threw me out of my own
house, as they often threatened to, I would have had
no other recourse but to turn into what they called me
in the streets.
My only haven was the Buddhist Monastery I had come to
know as a twelve-year-old.
It was usual for me to complete the household chores
assigned to me, and then, in the evenings, leave the
house to wander out from the Moslem quarter. It was on
one of these adventures that I had come across the
walled-in monastery.
Walking around it, I spied the tops of mango trees
full of raw fruit peeping over the walls. A gigantic
'peepul' with shiny heart-shaped leaves leant its
branches against the wall, and this I climbed, being a
skilled climber of trees.
The peepul leaves rustled in my ears, the wood was
smooth beneath my hands and bare feet, the top of the
wall wide enough to hold a little girl. From the
summit I looked down at an orchard, and my mouth
watered at the thought of raw mangoes with salt and
chilly powder. I climbed the thick gnarled branches of
the mango tree and filled my cotton satchel with the
fruit, my fingers growing sticky with the white milk
they oozed at the severed stems. I could have gone
back then, but I was hungry for an evening snack, and
had some spiced dry fish, wheat pancakes, and a flask
of lemonade with me. Besides, the leaf-strewn earth
beneath the umbrella of trees looked inviting.
I climbed down, skinning my shin, but it did not
matter. I sat back against the comforting tree trunk
and began to eat. Pale green mango blossoms fell
about me, their scent faint and pleasing.
A crackling of leaves, and I heard a woman's soft
voice from somewhere above my head.
"What are you eating, little one?"
I looked up and beheld the kindest face I had ever
seen. Her head was shaved, her eyes slanted, and she
seemed to shine with an inner light nothing could
extinguish. She smiled as a bright blue butterfly
with dark eyes on its wings settled on the long wide
orange sleeve of her robe. My first thought was
whether the mangoes belonged to her, and shifting my
weight, I sat down on the satchel bulging with the
fruit. Her smile grew wider. I stopped eating and
waited for her to scold me.
"What are you eating, child?" she asked.
"Fish, and .."
She sat down beside me and the butterfly flew away.
"All living creatures are like us,"she said gently,
her eyes looking into mine. "They all have souls, and
these souls are born many times. Just like you are,
and in different forms. Some day you too may have
been a fish. Or could be in the future, depending on
how you live your life."
"It must be nice being a fish," I said. "I'd swim all
day long, and see all the wonderful things under water
that humans can't see."
"Ah, but it won't be so nice being eaten," she laughed
softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. "That
fish you are eating could have been your grandfather
in a previous life, or a parent, a sister."
I turned my head away and spat out the remnants of the
spicy dry fish. She laughed and I laughed too.
"You understand fast," she said. "The animals we eat
or pet are all connected with us from other lives.
And we must not cause suffering. The fish will
remember it, and next time we're around, who knows
what the fish will be, and what we will be? Whatever
we are, the fish will certainly take its revenge on us
for eating it."
"So we are born many times?" I said.
"Hundreds of times."
I moved uncomfortably on the mangoes.
"I see, you are not very comfortable," she smiled.
"Oh, I.." I felt my cheeks grow warm.
She put a gentle hand on my arm. "It's all right. I
know. Just ask when you want mangoes next time."
I nodded.
"And your parents.do they know you climb monastery
walls?"
"They don't care."
Her eyes seemed to grow darker with sadness. "They
do. They just don't realize how much."
"No, they don't." I held up my red, roughened palms
for her to see. "They make me wash dishes, scrub
floors. Mother beats me because I refuse to pray with
them. But why should I? Does their prayer make them
nicer?"
She took my hands in hers, my sticky hands, and
stroked them.
"Everyone is nice, little one. Only, they don't know
it- and so, they cannot be it."
From that day, the nun, whose name was Akira, became
my best friend, my only friend. And I became a
vegetarian, further infuriating and puzzling my
parents. They called me useless, said I should have
been a boy.
Akira seemed to know I was coming, and would greet me
brightly at the tall doors of the monastery. I loved
sitting with her in the great hall where sat the
towering golden Buddha, eyes half closed, as though
admitting the world, yet seeing beyond it. Here I
learned to pray, for my best friend prayed and she had
no flaws. I learned that there was no magic formula
that would make your life perfect, that all that we
faced - good and bad- are necessary for our spiritual
evolution. And that is the purpose of life - to raise
our spiritual vibrations, escape from the cycle of
birth and death.
But how was I to escape my attachment to the pleasures
of the flesh? How could I discuss this most intimate
subject with Akira? When I saw her at the doors of the
monastery, her face radiant, I longed to look like
that, for what was my beauty but hollow? What had it
given me, that was good? Her powerful, soothing aura
enveloped me.
"You are unhappy, daughter, are you not?" she asked,
rolling the brown beads of her rosary between her
fingers.
"I am most unhappy," I answered, feeling tears sting
my eyes. "How can I be happy? I am plagued with
guilt.oh how can I tell you what I am guilty of, you
who are so pure?"
"There is nothing I cannot bear to hear. Nothing
either pure or impure."
And so she led me past the courtyard where thick blue
clouds of scented smoke rose in clouds from a huge
brass urn, into the great hall where the golden Buddha
seemed to see beyond my guilt and despair. Nuns,
dressed in orange and maroon robes sat around him,
chanting in a low hum - "O jewel in the heart of the
lotus!".
Akira took me to an empty corner where was a wooden
bench, and here we sat side by side as I breathed deep
the smell of the incense that burned before the
deity.. I was already aware of a deep blessing, for I
had heard it said that the mere proximity of the
enlightened could purge our souls. When told her of my
dilemma, she said with her hand upon mine,
"Lust is the most difficult of instincts to master, my
daughter. If there were any desire stronger than that
of man for woman, enlightenment would become
impossible.you see, it is possible for anyone to gain
enlightenment when one becomes master of one's body.
Sexual desire is perhaps the sole reason for rebirth.
Master it, and you can master all else."
"But how?" I asked.
"First of all, realize that none can blame their
tormentors. One can only blame one's own 'karma' from
previous lives for one's misery in this one. Know then
that your tormentors are your teachers. Thank them for
leading you to realize your True Self. Accept your
mistakes, and you will find your desire dropping from
you."
"Please tell me what I should do. I am willing!"
"First you must understand that 'karma' is a very real
thing, that your every thought and deed, depending on
its nature, results in positive or negative
consequences. Who knows what you must learn in this
life, from your circumstances? Where you have failed
in previous lives?"
"Please, I would like to know! I must know O
enlightened one!" I cried. "Why are we born blind to
the things we have done before, and so, not knowing,
do them again?"
"Few can carry the burden of this knowledge and live
sane lives," she answered. "But I can help you
remember. Are you prepared, daughter?"
"Yes!" I said. In answer she bade me close my eyes and
touched the area of my Third Eye gently. I saw.
Dressed in the robes of a priestess of Isis, I was
being chased by a young man round the tall columns of
a great Egyptian temple. My nipples were taut with
desire. The man's face was a younger version of
Thanata's!
And then the scene changed. I saw that I was at the
head of a ceremonial procession in a vast desert. I
wore the same robes as before, upon my head a head
dress - the empty throne, symbol of the Goddess Isis;
in my hands the belled sistrum. The Great Pyramid
loomed before me. Suddenly there was a shout and a
young man stood before me, blocking my path. It was
Thanata. "You will never overcome!" he cried. "You
carry my child in your belly. A priestess of Isis!" he
spat upon the sand. "You are not worthy!"
I knew then that I was banished from the temple for
breaking my vows of chastity. I heard Akira's gentle
voice calling me daughter, and once again the
butterfly touch of her fingers upon my forehead. I
opened my eyes. I was about to tell her what I had
seen, but she said she said:
"I know. You see daughter, lust led to your downfall
as a priestess. And now you must overcome it."
