A strong gale shook the temple gates as the princess of Vidarbha took feeble steps outside the grand stone complex. She turned back to whisper a last, desperate prayer to the deity that sat inside, seemingly blissfully unaware of the princess's painful dilemma. This ancient temple was dedicated to their family goddess who had proven to be as elusive as the wind that entered and left her body. Rukmini felt her eyes water as she drew in a sharp breath. She was to be married that day.
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As the youngest child after five brothers, princess Rukmini had had somewhat of a sheltered life. Her brothers had always made sure to keep her shielded from the political complications that had arisen in their kingdom in her lifetime, showering her with intricate dollhouses and expensive jewellery. Even then, news trickled in, divulged mostly by her father, especially after a few drinks. From his drunken confessions, she had learnt about Krishna, the cowherd-turned-prince from Mathura. Her brother's enemy.
Truth be told, she had been made aware of his existence a long time ago, back when she was barely a toddler. Ever since her mother had passed away, her father had become quite lenient, going as far as to allow her to attend state meetings, settled on his lap, chewing on some kind of a sweetmeat. Maybe, in the throes of grief, he had hesitated to let the little replica of his beloved wife out of his sight. During one of these meetings, the well-traveled sage Narada had mentioned the wonder-boy that had killed the powerful King Kamsa, freeing his parents from captivity. He had also recounted other tales of the boy, like how he had danced on the hood of a serpent and had lifted an entire hill on his little finger! Almost spellbound, Rukmini had begged the sage for more and more stories until the sun had set on the river Payoshni.
That evening, when she had excitedly recounted those tales to her eldest brother Rukmi, was the first time she had ever seen him angry. He had berated their father for hours, as Rukmini had stood cowering in a corner.
"Do you not know what the Emperor Jarasandha says about him? A fraud and usurper, that's what he is- a traitor to his people! And that Narada? Krishna has long bought him off! That he's a brahmin, is the only reason I don't have his head on a platter right now!" Rukmi had fumed, throwing at the walls whatever he could grab.
Already a faction of the Vidarbha army swore their allegiance to Rukmi, instead of his father, King Bhishmaka. This often fueled his audacity, and the King sometimes found himself backed into a corner, and forced to give in to his son's demands.
Rukmi then had turned to his shivering sister and yanked her close. "Just try and forget him," He had whispered to her, "He's an enemy and soon will be killed."
Rukmi's words had sent a chill down her spine, and for the next decade or so, she buried the memories of this day deep inside, focusing instead on her dolls and their love lives. Nevertheless, her bride-dolls always were accosted by snakes, and the groom-dolls always ended up dancing on the snakes' heads before marrying their lady loves.
Every monsoon, the princess looked out her window, absentmindedly imagining a dusky young boy standing with a hillock balanced on his finger, with his mother lovingly feeding him fifty-six kinds of dishes, and every autumn she shed hidden tears remembering the nameless lover the boy had left behind. Did he also sit staring into the distance, on the rare somber days, silently pining for her the same way she did for him?
However, no matter how much she tried to stay out of it, news of the cowherd prince would always find its way to her doorstep. Between wandering mendicants singing his praises outside temples, her gossiping attendants, and her brothers complaining about how much of a slippery nuisance he was on the battlefield, it felt almost like the universe itself kept knocking with a message. Every time the Emperor of Magadh attacked Mathura, Rukmini waited with bated breath for news from the front lines, brought usually by her grumbling brothers. That Krishna alone had proven to be a fair match for the Emperor's entire army!
