Usurper

Part-1: The Plan

The furnace burnt brightly in the center of the room as the soldiers departed early that twilight. A grim discussion had taken place in the palace, and Harati Devi felt as though the entire world’s burdens rested on her shoulders. She also felt a pang of guilt for feeling that way- was she entitled to this burden? But why wouldn’t she be? She thought she had as much right in the country's affairs as her older brother, Avaya Raj. That very afternoon, she had asked her father, the King if opening a library in the city center would be a good idea. “Nonsense! Establishing a library is not as harmless as you think it has implications beyond your understanding.” said her father. His response and his ignorance hurt her immensely. She felt tears welling in her eyes. But she knew she wasn’t going to listen to her father. Was that question alone the first sign of rebellion?

Her father was a sickly man, bedridden for years. He hadn’t performed kingly duties since he was crowned. Harati didn’t admire her father; she was disgusted by him. She was disgusted by his inability to do anything, be it physical or even intellectual. What she hated most was that she despised her brother more than she despised her father. He who was loved by all, the sweet boy with the charming smile, the sweet boy so skilled at archery, also well-read in history. He was the next in line to the throne and the most anticipated king of that era. She thought it unfair that it was he who would sit on the throne and not her, even though she was older and much wiser, or so she thought. Her former lover, Sridhar Bir, who was well-traveled and well-learned, had told Harati about Queen Victoria, Queen of Great Britain who ruled unwaveringly and did not bend to the men in her court. He described to her  Britain’s libraries, schools, and gardens. Though she rarely saw Sridhar anymore, she continued to hold him close to her heart, he had given her the idea of a new world, a new life, a new country she was willing to build. She wrote regularly about what this new country would look like. A glistening country so beautiful and well-revered, a country filled with libraries, schools, and gardens for all.

As twilight darkened and night fell, Harati walked toward her chambers, mulling over the meeting she held with the nightguards. They were fond of the princess, and they had agreed to the discussion assuming her life was in danger. But when they heard what the princess demanded of them, they were baffled by her bold, and dangerous, plan. She had ordered the assassination of her sweet brother Avaya, the most beloved prince in the country. She had learned that Queen Victoria was crowned sovereign because she was the only heir of William the Fourth, which simplified her path to power. Her father did not marry after Harati's mother was sent to Banaras (non-italicized), her offense had been treason. She was a hysteric woman, they said. They called her mad for she had attempted the murder of her sick husband in his sleep. A vile woman indeed, even her name swept bustling rooms with silence. Was Harati’s plan also hysteric? Had she inherited the madness of her mother?

As  Harati walked toward her room, she found something unusual at her door. Her feet were covered in blood as black as grime, and the creature’s feathers were scattered in the hallway. An ungodly sight. Feathers of blue and white had settled on her hair, those were the feathers of a pigeon. Aghast, she shut the door to her room and scrubbed her feet as hard as she could. She couldn’t stop crying. Was what she was planning to do right at all? 

Part 2: The Dilemma

She couldn’t wake up that morning. Her body was experiencing an unusual cold, a cold to the heart, a cold that froze her throat and rotted her stomach. Should she do it? She was paranoid that one of the soldiers might be disloyal to her and accuse her of treason, she was afraid that she was not well qualified to carry out the plan, she was afraid that she wouldn’t be a good queen, she was afraid she would never meet Queen Victoria. Her fear froze her and there she lay in her cold bed, burdened by her cold heart.

She went to the pond that afternoon and gazed at the sky in thought." or you can use stare pensively but best to mirror the tense of the first verb "went" and say "and stared pensively. Avaya Raj came running to her, blissfully unaware of the thoughts that tormented Harati. “What has made you look so miserable on such a pleasant day dear sister?” he prodded innocently. She smiled at the pointless question, pointless not for its curiosity but because she wouldn’t give him an answer, not a sincere one anyway.“There was a dead pigeon at my door last night, I wonder how it got there,” remarked Harati as her brother painted his arrows a bright red. 

“Are you accusing me of putting a dead pigeon on your door?”

“I am not, I would insist that I am merely suggesting it”
“What makes you think I would do something so ghastly? What have I against you?”

“Never you mind”

She stood from where she sat for she could not bear the sight of Avaya. Everything about him frustrated her. He had stolen everything from her, and for that, all he needed to do was to be born a prince. She needed to steal it all back, but for that, she had to accept that in the process of her plan, she might die. The world works in funny ways for a woman. 

What is the point of carrying out the plan if she is to die? Was she motivated, in fact, by a fervid hatred for her brother and not the noble cause she convinced herself of? The fear of degenerating as her mother, dark and mad, terrified her. The fear of decaying as her father, stagnant and useless, horrified her all the more. To execute was a gamble. Was she truly brave enough?

She plotted to poison Avaya on the night of the Purnima, after the grand feast. She instructed the soldiers to seize the palace from the east and the south, so she could conquer it and become queen by brute force. She did not care for the opinions of civilians, she knew she would win them over by assuring them of her noble cause. 

On the night of the Purnima, she dressed in blood red. She was ready for any outcome. Her blood was boiling, she felt driven, and she felt strong. She prayed to Maa Kali, she prayed for strength, and she prayed for justice. She also prayed for death, unclear about whose. 

Part-3: The Death

Harati’s heart was racing, she felt as if it could burst any minute. She had never felt this way before. Is this what the war generals felt? Is this what the conquerors felt? Or was she only feeling what a woman feels? Endless apprehension, endless hesitation. She sat right across Avaya at dinner, he smiled at her wryly. She felt as if something was wrong, but what? “Devi Kali Maa, protect me from the unexpected”, Harati prayed.

She heard sounds, music. Music otherwise beautiful, but unsettling as of then. The medley of the flute and the madal filled the halls. The bells of the palace rang, sounds so loud they almost deafened her. Soldiers from all directions filled the halls but wait, that wasn’t her scheme. She orchestrated her coup to be quieter than this. She felt as if something was undeniably and deeply wrong. 

Avaya’s smile widened. “What might be the cause of this chaos, dear sister?” Harati looked at his face, horrified. Avaya smiled wryly, the smile of the plotter. Harati was frozen in her seat, she had underestimated her brother, way more than she should’ve. She was afraid and humiliated, her shame stronger than her fear. 

She could not face him, she ran to the door. She could not bear the feeling of failure, the feeling of being outsmarted by the one she thought most timid. All around was slaughter, and all around was chaos, but none compared to the one in her heart.  She could not stop her tears.  She bellowed a scream from the top of her lungs, no moment in her life felt as painful as this.

Avaya’s troops had seized Harati’s. There was nothing in the world that could’ve stopped him from being King. He smiled at Harati’s naivete. “Poor sister and her ambitions,” he muttered to nobody in particular as the chaos in the room settled.

It was dawn, and the bells of the palace rang. This time, the sound was more pleasant. At the exit of the palace lay the body of Harati Devi, on her chest was an arrow with a scarlet tip, glowing as if it were the rising sun. 

Maa Kali had answered. The answer was doomsday, the answer was death.