Prologue
On that dreary day, the sea was choppy and gray. Powerful waves crashed against the rocks, spraying water in a mist. The tall, steep cliffs at the ocean’s edge loomed large and dark.
All day, her grandfather had seemed weary and distracted. Sugandha had wondered what troubled him. When he cautioned her to stay home and left hurriedly, Sugandha followed her grandfather to the beach and now stood partially hidden behind a sandstone boulder.
She wriggled her toes, wishing she could be home, eating her meal. Her fingers grazed the rough edge of the rock. She shifted to one side to view the bumps on the surface and found a carving of a boat. It had weathered in time, but the image remained clear. With the sails fluttering in the wind, she could almost imagine the raft afloat. She wondered if the sculptor had used his imagination or if a real craft had loomed in front of him like the one before her eyes.
A large ship tossed on the waves, and she could see people moving on its deck. The howling wind sounded like a cry for help from the ship’s passengers.
Her uncle cleared his throat, and she peeked around the rock to view him. “Curse them, Father,” her uncle commanded. He stood on the shore facing the ocean, tugging the sacred thread worn across his chest.
Her grandfather gazed at his son, his shoulders slumped. “These men are messengers. Cursing them is an act of war,” he said gravely.
Her uncle laughed. “Don’t tell me you have gone soft in your old age. Magadha is harboring Prince Aggabodhi. We must send a strong message that we will not tolerate their interference in our affairs.” He spread his legs wide apart and placed his hands on his hips. “I need that boy to rule this land.”
Harboring Aggabodhi? She thought the prince had died along with his father, their last king.
“Rule? Ori, we are priests, not rulers. And you know about the curse on this kingdom,” said her grandfather.
Curse? Their splintered kingdom had no ruler. Instead, several contenders clashed with each other for the right to wear the crown. Did a curse cause this ruin?
Sugandha imagined a flicker of irritation passing on her uncle’s face, though she could not see him well. He shifted to face his father. “Yes, I remember the curse. It seems like you have forgotten the past. While I am setting right the wrong committed, you continue to believe we should be passive observers. If you don’t aid me, I will find others who will.” His icy tones caused a tremor in her heart.
Her grandfather sighed. “King Jay is not a man who is easily frightened, but I will curse the ship.” He sat cross-legged on the sandy shore, facing the floating vessel. She watched him as if it were entertainment, not understanding what was about to happen.
“Spare the life of the one boy holding my message till he passes it on,” her uncle said, turning to gaze at the ship.
In a solemn ritual, her grandfather summoned the god of fire, chanting an ancient mantra that resonated through the air.
“With the essence of my life, I curse the passengers on board the ship to meet their end when they reach the shores of Magadha. The lad bearing Ori’s message shall meet his demise after the message is relayed,” he proclaimed the curse in an eerily high-pitched voice.
Then, he took water from his jug and washed his palm. An unsettling scent of smoldering wood permeated the air, though no flames appeared from the arcane invocation. An unknown dread gripped her throat.
With a pounding heart, Sugandha watched a whorl of dust depart her grandfather and reach the large craft. As she craned her neck to watch the ship, she heard a noise closer to her. Before Sugandha determined the source, silence reigned.
Peering through the fading light, she scanned the beach. She spotted a pair of feet belonging to a man lying on the sand. Her heart thudded louder as she recognized them. Her grandfather had collapsed on the beach. Childishly, she thought he would rise. But she was wrong.
“Take him home,” Ori ordered, walking away from his father without a backward glance. Two men carried her grandfather. With her stomach knotted in worry, she followed them at a distance.
The sun dipped into the ocean, and the sand shimmered gold, but anxiety shrouded Sugandha. A cart rode past on the opposite side, and a lantern under the carriage cast gloomy shadows.
In the fading light, she reached her home with a primeval fear gnawing at her bones. A dog growled in the distance. She found her grandfather lying on a cot in his room. With trembling hands, she touched his arms. Cold! She turned to fetch a blanket, but a movement caught her attention.
He flexed his right hand.
“Grandfather?”
His eyes fluttered open, and he peered at her. “Sugandha, I was waiting for you. I have enough life force left to offer you a blessing.” His breath came in gasps as if he were struggling to climb a mountain peak.
Horror struck her anew. “Grandfather, please, spare your life force,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with anguish. “The only blessing I seek is more time by your side. I fear the thought of facing this world alone without you.”
“Child, bring me my water jug.” She edged toward the shelf that held the jug without taking her eyes off him. When she handed the vessel to him, he clasped the handle tightly.
Tears flowed down her chin as he whispered a haunting mantra, invoking the river Goddess for protection. “Conceal her from Ori,” he beseeched the divine, sprinkling sacred water upon her head. “Your uncle poses a grave danger to your very existence. Depart swiftly to find Purohit Parivan, the revered priest dwelling within the temple of the moon,” he murmured, his weakening voice laden with urgency and concern.
“Grandfather,” she cried, but the god of death claimed his victim.
She collapsed on top of his chest and sobbed. Time stood still while twin streams flowed down her chin. A sound penetrated her sorrow—bells tied to oxen pulling her uncle’s cart. Something stirred inside her. Her uncle was arriving home, and her heart fluttered with uncertainty.
Her grandfather’s intentions remained veiled, yet his ominous caution echoed in her mind. Aware of the looming threat her uncle posed, Sugandha steeled herself. She rose and wiped her eyes roughly. With trembling hands, she gathered a few belongings, each holding a fragment of cherished memories. Limping across the familiar threshold for what might be the last time, she glanced back at the solemn figure of her departed grandfather.
Emotions welled within her as she bid an unspoken farewell to the sanctuary that had cradled her throughout her life. With a heavy heart and a mixture of fear and determination, Sugandha stepped into the unknown, leaving behind the comforting embrace of the only home she had ever known.
I hope you are as excited about this book as I am. After you read this tale, I would be delighted to hear your thoughts.
“Queen she will be one day, her name will be celebrated, near and far. Her son will rule the three kingdoms and beyond.”
Heir to Malla
Anna Bushi 