Recap:

Valli reveals the deep-seated pain and anger Parvata Vardini harbors due to Narobha’s betrayal and favoritism towards Neeli and Jeyasinghan. A confrontation ensues where Parvata Vardini accuses Narobha of breaking his promise to make Pasupati the heir. Their rancorous exchange leaves Parvata Vardini feeling trapped and alone. Seeking solace, she confides in Valli, who offers a cryptic and ominous warning about the inevitable consequences and the “thirsty” cursed keris.

Chapter 19: Seed of Subversion

Part 2/2 of the novella ‘The cursed keris of Taravati’

On her way, Parvata Vardini inquired about Valli, who remained unconscious since the previous night. After their intense encounter, Parvata Vardini felt a sense of detachment from her burdens. Problems seem huge up close, clouding judgment; distance brings clarity for better decisions.

Her steps led her to Pasupati’s quiet residence, his wife and children having left for their palace duties. Inside, Pasupati was pacing back and forth. He paused upon seeing his mother.

“How are you feeling now?” Parvata Vardini asked. He appeared recovered.

He tried to answer, but words failed him. Anger made his lips tremble, his breath heavy. He resumed pacing. Parvata Vardini waited, then asked him to sit. He complied.

“I know what troubles you. Jeyasinghan?”

“No. It’s you. You and your husband,” Pasupati stated, his voice steady like hers. Despite the unease, children confront parents eventually, often with lasting consequences.

“Are you truly my mother? Or am I adopted?” Pasupati asked, meeting her gaze directly.

“Do you seek to shame me? Why do you wish to wound me?”

“I hope you’re here as my mother, not as queen of the great king of united lands of Taravati and Durgavati, Narasingha Sudan. Let me be blunt. Fine, I’ll be the bad son, unworthy of the crown. If not me, shouldn’t Bharatan Parameswara, my younger brother, be your choice? Why do you both favor a concubine’s son so greatly?”

“…”

“Do you know what they said about you? As your son, I was angered. Is it wrong? But wasn’t it more your husband’s duty to silence such insults? Did he do so?”

“…”

“He confronts those who threaten his throne. Yet, Neeli‘s villagers continuously slander you, and he does nothing. Instead, he tries to suppress me and give the crown to his favorite’s son. He is fond of his power and his concubine, not you, your kids or grand kids. How can you permit this?”

“…”

“Besides being your son and his, what wrong have I done, Mother? Tell me?”

Despite his sharp words cutting deep, Parvata Vardini maintained her composure. “You are my son. Without question. Yes. That is the only ‘sin’ you committed,” she began, her voice steady. The pressure within her mind began to release, pouring years of pent-up tension. She recounted the past, a history she never intended to share, explaining the true reasons behind Narobha’s treatment of him as a lesser son.

He looked as if he’d been struck. His breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes widened, mirroring the enormity of her words. A tremor ran through his hands, though he pressed them firmly onto his knees. “What happened to my father?” he asked, his voice a strained whisper, looking at the floor.

“Your father… he was not a man of virtue as you are,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, a flicker of ancient sorrow in her eyes. She paused, as if the words themselves were a bitter taste on her tongue. “He was murdered.”

Pasupati’s self-restraint started to crumble.. “Who was the murderer?”

Parvata Vardini’s gaze hardened, a steely resolve replacing the earlier vulnerability. The name, when it came, was clipped and precise. “It was your foster father, Narobha.”

Pasupati jerked as if struck by a physical blow. “Whattttt?…” His head shook slowly, a gesture of utter disbelief. Then, a dawning horror spread across his face, his earlier composure finally fracturing. His eyes, wide with shock, met hers. “Now I understand, Clearly, Mother. Very clear.” he whispered, the words laced with a chilling clarity. “How did he kill my father? How did that happen?”

“Using the keris in the palace hall,” she said, her voice heavy with the regret. “The cursed keris, the one whispers the tales of betrayal and death of this kingdom. You may wonder why I agreed for.. for.. everything? Oh my god, why you put me in this difficult position to discuss this with my kid? At that moment…” Her voice caught, a flicker of pain crossing her features. “I had no other choice, then. Pregnant with you, carrying the weight of my sinful beauty, where could I have gone? But I’d been given promise back then: you were going to be the one to take over the throne later.”

Parvata Vardini held his head to her shoulder and gently patted it. The soft sea breeze, carrying the scent of spice spice garden, drifted into the house, making the screens on the wooden beam sway slightly.

Night had fallen. Nambi, Pasupati’s loyal assistant, was organizing the manuscripts and palm leaf scrolls. When Pasupati returned from his evening visit to the temple and monastery, he summoned Nambi upstairs.

“King, the manuscripts are ready. You can begin reading the new epic, Civaka Cuntamani, from distant Tamil land. It was written about a century ago. This is the first copy to reach our lands, dear Maharaj, It may be a solace for your mind, as you are sick.” Nambi informed him, his usual respectful tone evident.

“Alright. Set them aside. We have a crucial task to complete,” Pasupati began, his words and eyes blazing with intense vengeance. The redness in his eyes thrilled Nambi.

When the innocent are convinced they wield great power, they remain in that illusion, ready to obey any command. Pasupati retrieved something from behind his back, concealed by Chinese silk. It was the cursed keris, the very one Narobha kept in the palace court as a symbol of his fortune.

Pasupati had made encouraging gestures, a silent command of “Go and do it.” His eyes wide with anticipation and obedience, Nambi took the cursed keris, concealing it against his back beneath his anka-vastra, the shawl.

The sun had fully dipped below the horizon in the west. The moon had yet to ascend. A thick blanket of darkness enveloped the land.

—

Mindmap (Click to zoom)

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Note:

• This fiction is a retelling of a mythology.
• Images generated with ImageFx of Google Gemini.
• Awkward sentences are removed by AI for a smoother reading experience.