Himmat ate the hay the old woman had collected for it, taking in small bites at a time. It was hungry but it was also cultured and of noble birth. Moreover, it was accustomed to this practice, it knew it had plenty of time as its master usually stayed at the old woman’s hut for at least a few hours.
The clay fireplace inside the old woman’s hut was lit. She stoked the wood gently and the flames increased, her blind grey eyes could only see the warmth suffused into the usual darkness. The pot fuelled by these flames cooked the rice porridge. If the city gates had been open the old woman would have had travelers stopping by. She would sometimes play host and serve the weary travelers food, sometimes barter goods with them. One of her more popular dishes was the pongal, a rice, and lentil porridge. Her lentil supplies were long exhausted, only the rice bags remained. She stirred the porridge from time to time.
The prince sat on a mat not far from her, at the very end of the hut the girl lay on another mat, covered by a thin tattered blanket.
“Thank you for taking us in, avva,” said the prince earnestly. “I knew I could count on you.”
“This avva is always happy to help you, child,” said the old woman, as she looked in the general direction of where the prince was, her grey eyes shimmering mildly in the dimly lit room. She did not question about the girl. “I have not had a visitor since many days.”
“The curfew is still in place,” the prince said. “I do not know how long it will last. The matter of the demons and the corpses is yet to be solved.”
“Hmm,” said the old woman. She now served the freshly cooked porridge to the prince in an earthen bowl. “You must get it resolved soon if you want pongal instead of this.” The old woman said in jest.
The prince smiled. “Yes, avva,” he said digging into the food at once not showing any restraint. He finished the bowl in under a minute and shamelessly asked for a second helping. The old woman filled the bowl to the brim this time.
“You never eat slow,” she remarked as her lips curled upwards hitting the prince lightly on the head with a fan she had been holding.
“Avva must think I’m uncouth,” said the prince, grinning. “But why should I save face with avva, she knows me the best!”
The old woman chuckled lightly. The prince was a smooth talker. She felt the prince’s spirited energy permeate the bleakness of her hut and fill it with some much-needed warmth. As the prince was finishing his second serving, the old woman thought about the girl. Your eminence, this humble one will save you.
“Tell me the story of the Peerless Princess,” said the young man. “It’s been a while since I heard it.”
“The young one likes that tale the most, doesn’t he?” said the old woman. “As you wish.” And the old woman began the tale.
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“Long long ago in the kingdom of Kishanagara, the beautiful queen gave birth to a girl. As the only child of a benevolent ruler, the princess was brought up with much love and freedom. She was bestowed with the best teachers. She learnt the arts of governance and warfare along with poetry, painting, and music. Those who saw her were spellbound by her beauty and her skills. And soon she was given the epithet peerless – her beauty was unmatched, her grace was unmatched, her intelligence was unmatched, her sword skills were unmatched.
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When the princess reached marriageable age, her father found himself in a fix. Who could match this impeccable daughter of his? He consulted the princess regarding the same. The wise princess came up with a suggestion.
Let us hold a swayamvara, father, the princess said. Among all of my skills, the ones I hold the dearest are my sword skills. If anyone can surpass me in a duel, I will accept them as my husband. Our kingdom would also get a competent ruler.
The king agreed with the princess's suggestion heartily. Soon the swayamvara was announced and princes from far and wide came to win her hand. The duel was held in a public arena and the crowd cheered their princess. One by one, all of these princes from distinguished royal families faced defeat. Several days passed like this and the king started to feel tense. Until one day, a young prince matched the princess in combat. Each time their swords faced, it resulted in a draw. Finally, after a long duel, the princess accepted her defeat. This young prince was indeed better than her.
The king was overjoyed and the crowd cheered.
You have indeed surpassed me, noble prince, said the peerless princess. But I cannot marry you and you know the reason why.
The prince was stunned for a moment and collected himself.
You are right, princess, he replied. He bowed to her to show his respects. Truly, you are peerless. And he left relinquishing his claim.”
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The old woman finished her tale thus.
“Do you want me to ask you the questions, child?” She said. This was the part the young man liked the most.
“Please, avva,” said the prince.
“Why did the princess refuse the prince who defeated her?” asked the old woman.
“Because he watched the princess duel with the other princes,” said Aryaman, the same way he answered her the first time he had listened to it. “He studied her techniques and practiced them in order to defeat her.”
“Why did the prince relinquish his claim when he won?” said the old woman.
“When the prince studied her skills, he inadvertently became the princess's disciple. So, he was her disciple first and her suitor next. The most sacred bond is the one between a guru and their disciple. Realizing this, the prince knew it could not be violated and understood why the princess was truly peerless. Since, the princess is his guru, he could not claim her hand. Realizing this, he accepted her judgment and gave up his claim.“
The old woman smiled to herself. She did not quite know why the young man liked this tale so much.
“I wonder what you would if you were in the prince’s position?” said the old woman.
“I wouldn’t put myself in such situations in the first place,” replied Aryaman grinning. “There’s no winning in such cases. Gaining such sword skills and losing such a person - can the both compare?”
The old woman nodded thoughtfully, “Indeed.”
The preta, now back to its formless self, watched and listened to the whole thing with an unusual level of patience. Pfft! He thinks he is so smart, it thought to itself. As if he would not do the same thing in such a case. It shook its make-believe head and looked at the girl. Don’t you worry, No-god God, I will rescue you.
“Why doesn’t avva ask about the girl?” Aryaman asked after some time.
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Under the dark sky, the village burned as the Kapala Army ransacked it. This was their modus operandi. Burn. Pilfer. Decimate. This night, they accomplished the task in a swift manner. The village yielded without much fight. The Kapalas did not fill their special baskets, which hung on one side of their sturdy horses. They did not consider a mere village worthy of producing any war trophies. The riders in black cloaks, covered with black masks watched the village smouldering, embers flying into the night sky. Their eyes were emotionless. One of them returned from the village.
“All done,” he confirmed.
Their chief nodded and turned his horse towards a hill far away. The rest of the riders followed him. They weren’t in a hurry. A steady pace was better than tiring the horses. The chief kept gazing at the silhouette of the hill. The Northern Mines were finally within reach.
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pongal – there are two kinds of pongal, a sweet one made with milk, rice, and sugar/jaggery and a savory one that is a type of rice and lentil porridge.
avva – informal way of addressing an old woman, word translates as “grand mother”
swayamvara – a practice in ancient India where a young woman could choose their husband from a group of suitors. Sometimes, competitions are held for her hand.
The Peerless Princess is a tale adapted from one of the stories Betaal tells King Vikramaditya in Baital Pachisi, a popular mythological folklore.