Menaka’s Choice

244 Pages·2015·1.15 MB·English

by  Kavita Kané

MENAKA’S
CHOICE
Kavita Kané is the best-selling author of Karna’s Wife: The Outcast’s
Queen and Sita’s Sister. 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 teenaged daughters
and currently lives in Pune along with Dude, the overfriendly Rottweiler,
Chic the friendly Spaniel and Babe, the unfriendly cat.
MENAKA’S
CHOICE
KAVITA KANÉ
Published by
Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2016
7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj
New Delhi 110002
Copyright © Kavita Kané 2016
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 author’s 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.
eISBN: 978-81-291-3903-0
First impression 2016
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 publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published.
To my Prakash
Contents
Prologue: Menaka’s Daughter
Creation
Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
War and Defeat
Revenge
Call to Challenge
Clash and Confrontation
Heaven and Earth
Plan and Proposal
Hunt and Hunted
Love and Lust
Love and Lies
Man and Marriage
Game and Gamble
Birth and Worth
Mother and Child
Virtue and Entitlement
Crime and Confession
Hating Love
Heaven and Home
Hope and Resurrection
Rivals
Fury and Fate
The Father, the Mother and the Daughter
Ignorance and Enlightenment
Failed and Fulfilled
Epilogue: Menaka’s Legacy
Prologue:
Menaka’s Daughter
The frightened deer disappeared into the thick darkness of the woods. King
Dushyant gave a small sigh of exasperation as he realised that he would have to
get down from the chariot and follow his prey on foot. But the King of
Hastinapur was a determined young man; a nimble-footed deer certainly would
not be able to defeat him. Tall and imposingly built, he was lithe enough to rush
quickly through the thick glades, so as to not lose sight of the frisky deer. He
heard, rather than saw, some movement behind a thick, thorny bush a little
ahead, and swiftly drew his arrow and shot at the rustling sound. The deer gave a
small whimper and crumpled down.
Before he could reach his fallen prey, the king saw a slight figure rush
towards the moaning animal. It was a girl. He quickened his steps, drawn by a
curious pull. She was a beautiful girl, her face hidden by a thick swathe of her
ebony mane. She heard his footsteps and turned to look at him. Dushyant held
his breath, finding it difficult to exhale. She was exquisite, her fair skin almost
translucent, her dark and thick hair, tied in a loose bun, the way hermits do but
some tresses had come loose, framing her oval face. Her large, deep eyes were
luminous and were filled with rising distress. For the first time in his short,
young life, the king felt a qualm of guilt; not for hurting the deer, but for hurting
this lovely girl instead.
‘What pleasure did you get by hurting this innocent deer?’ she enquired, her
eyes gleaming with annoyance. ‘Is this proof of your great valour, o famous
king?’ she taunted.
Dushyant was rendered speechless by the maiden’s beauty, but he noticed
her proud nose and decided chin.
‘You are a king, aren’t you?’ she spoke with controlled anger, making no
attempt to smile or be gracious to his regal presence. She was vaguely dismissive
of his royal stature and showed it.
‘Yes, I am Dushyant, the king of Hastinapur,’ he breathed in a hoarse
whisper, ‘and I am sorry that I have hurt your pet.’
‘It’s not my pet,’ she corrected him tartly. ‘But yes, all the animals in these
woods are looked after with great love and kindness. We do not hurt those who
live amongst us.’
Her curtness surprisingly made him bristle. He wanted to salvage the
situation, and not just his pride. He tried to apologize again.
‘In my exuberance I have hurt this innocent animal,’ he started. ‘Fortunately,
it’s not a fatal arrow, and can rectify the damage. I’ll take it upon myself to nurse
it back to health. Pray, fair maiden, where can I take this injured animal for
further care?’
The girl looked at him suspiciously, not impressed by his request. ‘He’s
bleeding horribly. I hope for all your changed, most kind intentions that he won’t
die,’ she grimaced, openly critical. ‘But yes, right now, you can carry him to my
home. My father’s ashram is close by.’
Taking the bleeding deer gently in his arms, the chastened king followed the
girl, quietly. The woods soon cleared into a green expanse of a neat hermitage,
studded by a cluster of thatched huts of various sizes. Roaming within them were
animals of all types ranging from the wild bear to the gentle doe, each unmindful
of the other. Fear ceased to exist here; and peace prevailed in the gentle rustling
leaves of the thick trees, swarms of the kakar birds gliding over the banks of the
River Malini and the shimmering waters where Dushyant could glimpse down to
the riverbed from where he stood. He did some quick thinking. This idyllic
corner within the woods was obviously the home of the revered Rishi Kanva,
who resided in this forest. He had heard about it, but the famed ascetic-scholar of
law and philosophy was nowhere in sight.
‘Where is Rishi Kanva?’ he asked.
‘He is gone away for a few days for some work in the city,’ the girl replied.
‘Did you venture so deep into this forest to seek his blessings, o king?’
‘No, I had come to hunt,’ he admitted sheepishly, reddening at the pointed
look of stern disapproval the girl threw at him, ‘and since I am here, I would not
miss the opportunity to meet the great man,’ he added reverentially. ‘But pray,
maiden, who are you?’
‘I am his daughter,’ she replied shortly, looking slightly mollified at the
contrite tone in the king’s request.
‘My name is Shakuntala,’ she added graciously, with a slight smile.
‘Welcome to our ashram, though we do not welcome hunters here!’
Dushyant’s embarrassment at her reprimand quickly gave way to disbelief
and before he could stop himself, uttered an exclamation of swift surprise. ‘His
daughter?’ he repeated. ‘But Rishi Kanva is unmarried, revered for his single-
minded pursuit to seek knowledge, and so …’ he finished lamely, suddenly
aware how rude and tactless he sounded.
The girl did not seem to mind his apparent thoughtlessness; she looked
distinctly amused at his discomfiture, her smile gradually widening. ‘Your
information serves you correctly, sir. My father is unmarried, and he is a
brahmachari. I am known to be his adopted daughter,’ she explained.
The young king looked flushed. He was desperate to know more about this
girl, but he found himself suddenly afraid that he would sound obtuse. The
young, powerful king, famous for winning the bloodiest of battles, found himself
battling with a surge of newly discovered emotions.
‘Known to be?’ he iterated, polite but uncertain.
‘Yes, as almost everyone here knows I am not his daughter,’ she said with a
wry smile. Her bright eyes suddenly dulled, clouding with an unread emotion.
He couldn’t fathom the reason, but he wanted to wipe the momentary grief
darkening the girl’s large, luminous eyes.
‘I am the daughter of the most beauteous apsara, Menaka, and the greatest
and the most powerful of rishis, Vishwamitra.’
‘Rishi Vishwamitra?’ repeated the young king, awestruck. ‘The mortal king,
who defied the devas as well as the rishis to attain supreme knowledge?’
The girl gave an imperceptible nod. ‘He was known then as King Kaushik
though, the mightiest king in the empire. But he gave up all for his great quest
and ambition to become a Brahmarishi, the only mortal rishi to do so. He will
become one eventually, courtesy my mother,’ she said, her tone laced with pride,
admiration and something else Dushyant could not decipher—anger,
resentment?
‘Today he is famously known as Rishi Vishwamitra,’ she stated in courteous
explanation.
King Dushyant stood speechless, too shocked to respond. This girl, dressed
in simple bark clothes was the daughter of Vishwamitra, the venerable rishi who
was feared and respected the world over; and Menaka, the most beautiful,
bewitching being on Earth and Heaven, the celestial courtesan whom none could
resist. She has her mother’s entrancing looks, Dushyant thought, his eyes slyly