The Lost Princess

Two

Nectar can turn into poison.

Dhai maa always told me this. It all began when she told me the story of how the gods lost everything because of a curse. How they and their brothers, the auras, had to churn a mountain to get nectar and celestial gifts. What they got first however was poison.

The nectar was an elixir of life. A chance at immortality. All the gods got a drink but their brothers apparently did not. All the asuras who tended to have devilish designs never got a chance at eternal life. There was just one who did. Even though the nectar brimmed in his mouth, changed his life and body, it became poison when his head was cut off by a god in guise of a charming enchantress. He got what he wanted by trickery but it cost him his body.

Dhai maa always told me, if you are wary of poison don't be in awe of nectar. Everything has its bad sides.

As vikram and I walked down the corridor to my father's chambers, there was a tremor in my bones, a warning song sung by my blood as it thrummed in my marrow. Something was definitely off. Something was out of place. Just two chambers before his, vikram suddenly stopped and turned around. He had a softer look now, painted in pity and slight worry.

'Whatever happens princess, you must be strong. Sometimes things happen for better and after today I hope that you never falter.'

It was odd, such words and sentiments coming from vikram. Why was he saying such things? He quickly turned around before the question could take shape on my tongue and began to walk forward. Giving the nagging feeling a shrug I followed him down the path. The chamber was oddly, dimly lit. Father loved the light of lamps, then why did he not glow all of them? It even helped his failing sight. As I walked in my heart almost stopped. He was sitting in the arm chair that belonged to his first wife: Malika, who passed away while giving birth. Unfortunately she took the beloved child along with her. He never sat in her chair for some reason. I thought it was grief of lost love. As vikram bent down and touched his feet as a sign of respect, my father came out of his trance. He looked down and smiled at vikram, looked at him the way he looked at skanda, like his own son.

'Arise, commander.' And then his vision fell on me. His smile widened but there was trace of grief. As if he would never see me again.

Vikram lit a lamp that cast a warm glow on my father's face. His age shown in lines and tired fading gleam in his eyes. In the slump of his shoulders and the way he stooped. With a wave of his hand he beckoned me forward. I didn't walk. I ran. Suddenly seeing the old age that had blossomed but had been unseen made me emotional. After all human life is just like a wisp of smoke. It's feeble no matter how strong we think it is.

'My how you've grown.' He poke as if this was the first time he'd seen me.

'My, how old you look.' I added in a jest.

He threw back his head and laughed but his laughter fractured into bouts of cough. I reached out and kept my hand on his shoulder.

'There, there papa. You must rest.'

He smiled back again and sadness in it made me uneasy to a whole new level.

'Neela, forgive your father.'

'Why do you say that? You have done nothing wrong.'

'Forgive me child. Old age has its own ways of dulling a human. You're nineteen now and its time you know something.'

I sat down by the foot of the chair on my favourite antique emerald coloured rug. He had gotten it from a raja in Persia and I always loved it.'

'You have always been special neela. You might not believe it, but you are.'