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Name: Jeevansaathi
For: Roya's Character Contest
Word count: 2453
Prompt: A bride/groom the night before a wedding
Tomorrow he would take a new wife into his home. Tomorrow he would gain the undying loyalty of another ruler. King Chandrasekhar sat in repose under the stars on the portico extending away from his bedchamber. The great Jatjin king’s eight hands performed their own mudras in order to conduct more happiness and luck so that blessings of great fortune would come to him from gods and spirits. His beige shift hid where his torso melted into an enormous serpentine tail which was coiled neatly underneath him. Staying perfectly still, he deeply drank of the mountain air; his chest swelled and shrank like a blacksmith’s bellow. The stone still radiated warmth of the day which seeped into his scales like fresh milk slipping into the crevasses of parched skin. A breeze flowing up from the valley’s farmlands caressed his black hair. In each of his palms, he could feel his pulse slowing. If he could stop his heart for one beat, then he would be one step closer to enlightenment. It would make him a better husband and ruler.
A female figure stood in the doorway. “Come inside.” Queen Sarojini folded her two arms across her breasts which had grown from suckling their second son. Only piece of clothing on her was the nursing blanket draped over her shoulder; she needed it even in her own home for the sake of modesty.
Opening his eyes, he dropped his eight arms to rest at his sides. “I was very close this time.” He looked over his shoulder at her, straightening up as his tail uncurled. “You ruined it.” His voice held no anger toward her. He was merely stating a fact.
She glided out into the moonlight, and he saw the smooth scales of her own giant tail glinting. “My voice still takes your mind away from your meditation.” She kissed the top of his chest. Kissing his face would require her to rear up because he was so tall, and she was much too tired for that effort. “You have meditated and prayed for hours. Now your flesh needs sleep. The gods will only grant so many blessings to you.”
Chandrasekhar followed her into their chamber, closing the glass door behind them. Next to their low marriage bed stood their son’s crib in which he soundly slept. Together, they pushed their lengthy bodies onto the soft stacks of mountain moss atop a wooden base. They pulled the knitted blankets up to their chests before clasping each other close, their tails intertwining underneath the blankets.
Even in the darkness, her brown skin contrasted with the alabaster white of his body. “The priests talked cheerfully of the union. That means great fortune.” She stroked his neck with the back of her hand, his skin instantly heating in reaction to her touch. “And your son is so big now. Soon, he will need no more suckling.”
Diplomacy with his bride’s father and legislation for the state had eaten up his time. He spent the little time he had as of late with his queen. “And my first?”
“He hardly understands why his father takes another wife.” The gaze of her dark yellow eyes prodded him knowingly because she understood quite clearly the reasons. “He will call her ‘Miss’ or anything else she prefers. But never ‘Mother.’” He could ravage every woman in the kingdom on their sanctified marriage bed, and still she'd be assured of his love for her. But not one person would replaced her as mother of her own children while she was still alive.
“So be it.” With the queen near, Chandrasekhar’s heart went from the deliberate rhythm of an elephant’s walk to the frantic fluttering of a caged bird. “As long as you affect my flesh so strongly, I can never be enlightened.” It had been as such since the day they first consummated their love behind the grand courthouse. There was no shame; that grassy and secluded place was a common pleasure spot for magistrates and state officials.
Her head rested on his breast where she could hear his heartbeat. “You want me to affect your flesh as such.”
He allowed his heart to flutter and hammer. “How often have you met her, my bride?”
Sarojini suggested an approximate number. “I approve of this woman, Hatefeh. She is genteel and modest as well as wise. She understands her place in our house. She understands my place in our house. We will be good friends, I believe.”
“I have only seen her with her father. It is a shame that she must remain virginal even after we wed.” While he exercised supreme restraint, his self-control did nothing to lessen his licentious tendencies and appetite for other women whether a virgin or a harlot. Chandrasekhar would not lay an unchaste hand on his bride as stated in the marital contract, but he bemoaned that she was untouchable to all. He turned to rest on his back, loosening his hold of her as the snake tail flattened slightly on the bed. “If I had been able to speak with her in private, I would be at ease.”
She used his chest as a counter for her to rest her arms on. “She seemed mildly pleased to be your wife. This ceremony is for her protection and her father’s allegiance, little more.”
He sucked in his breath sharply when he felt her weight. “I asked you to never press me like this.” Fallen trees conjured up before his mind’s eye. Half-eaten Jatjin soldiers lay strewn like forgotten toys, their weapons either gone or driven through. The metallic smell of gore overpowered his nostrils. Scaly coils constricted his trunk and chest. When she lifted herself, the scene dissipated into darkness although he still saw flickers.
Sarojini sat up as she drew away from him, her gaze falling on their infant son. She swallowed hard. The Laoii had altered her husband in ways that time could not fix. Her expression offered a silent and mournful apology for what he had witnessed.
The king brought her back into his many arms, sitting up as well. When he embraced her, the ghosts went away. “It was a mistake. You merely forgot.” Thirty-two digits curled around her curves. “We should worry about what to do if the music sounds terrible during the feast.”
The mention of such a mundane detail brought a smile to her full lips. “Or what to do if Hatefeh’s father dislikes our food.”
He returned with a simper, but inwardly that was one of his many concerns. He canted his head when their child sighed in his slumber. “She reeled when she first saw me. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t believe her eyes or was merely disgusted.” Even though she would never lie with him, the king was self-conscious about his appearance.
“Many act as such out of pure surprise when they see you.” Often, the couple heard diplomats beg forgiveness for their actions. Someone had told them the stories, but the diplomats rarely thought the gossip true.
“Were only my flesh not so feeble, my form less grotesque.” His arms tensed as he spoke. Upon arriving in Hatefeh’s kingdom, he requested very simple chambers in an attempt to display consideration and detachment from material luxuries. “My diplomacy would exact whatever I desired for the state with little trouble.” When he woke in that simple chamber the next morning, he found his skin covered in large, pink welts with more starting to sprout under his thoracic scales. They itched so much that whenever he scratched them, he raked his fingernails over the bumps too vigorously and they would bleed. Only when he was wrapped in a cocoon of medicinal salve and cotton gauze did he find out that the bedding had caused his affliction. He needed many days to heal completely, and he only forgave himself for the blunder when King Gulzar agreed to give him Hatefeh’s hand in marriage. Still, the king would tease Chandrasekhar in private about the mistake.
“You are still young and beguiling.” She beckoned that they lie down once more, her dark hair falling over her breasts when their heads rested again on the thin pillows. “Your charm and sound wisdom distract them from whatever strange form they see.”
The mohair over-blanket, softened by frequent use, brushed up against one of his wrist. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and incense. Whenever he touched it, he thought of the shaggy goat which the hair had come from. He groped for his words. “Why did the people elect me as their king?”
“In you they trust.”
“No.” He was too jaded for that simplicity. “I was supposed to be a puppet.” The day that the newly-crowned king executed his puppet masters for treason was sunny and blessed. Heavily scented garlands and bouquets filled the air as people shouted joyously in the streets of the capital. Those men with their bank accounts fat off the dead king’s reign had no heirs. The paupers ravenously snatched up the goods, and the citizens proclaimed indebted gratitude to Chandrasekhar. After that, neither a general nor an adviser dared impose their opinions unless asked.
She shifted, twining her tail around his. “But they trust in you now.”
He nodded, a smile hidden by the shadows coming to his lips. “It was wise to abolish the laws on depictions of royalty and high-ranking officials.” For as long as he could remember, he saw only state-approved sculptures and art dedicated to the sovereigns as part of propaganda. With those laws abolished, anyone could create any kind of art they wished on the subject of the state, and they could display the art wherever they wished without penalty. “The people can create new reasons to praise me.” He was more proud of that law than any other because he had done what no other ruler before him had done: he turned his nation in an obedient propaganda machine. The exhortations they shouted drowned out the complaints they muttered.
She chuckled because she was equally proud of such a well-calculated act. “Taking my advice to invite that human diplomat and discuss the allegiance between you and his nation was such a kind birthday gift.” Sighing dreamily, she nuzzled his throat to show that her gratitude, like the gratitude of the people, was everlasting.
Tambourines rattled in the street below, and even with the window closed he could hear the racket of drums and flutes. A group of dancers and musicians wanting a little extra money. He exhaled, feeling his muscles and sinew relax. Tambourines were one of the last things he had heard in the forest before the attack. “The Laoii,” he sighed, idly tracing a white finger over the dark nightingale pattern down his wife’s back. “They are…elegant.”
Sarojini seized up in his many arms, wishing that he would not talk about disturbing memories the day before a joyous occasion. She had worked hard even while carrying and caring for their child to insure the pleasant outcome of this wedding. Her wrath would be merciless whether he was a king or a pauper should he ruin everything she can constructed by negligently bringing bad luck. And yet…. “How many of them are in our city?”
“The only reason we know of their existence is because they allowed us to know.” In his greener days as a magistrate, he had watched in abhorrence as a foreign man before him twisted into himself, the flesh of the arms dissolving into the body as bones crunched and shifted audibly. He watched the neck widen as the body grew like the trunk of a tree. The gigantic cobra beast stared with transfixed yellow eyes, the creature still wearing a face that was almost human. “They will be at the wedding, and they will spread the news of the union to others.”
“Then let them. We are powerless against them.” Taking her husband’s nearest hand, she squeezed it such that her fingernails purposely dug into him.
“For now.” In an instance, he seemed to forget the subject altogether and he watched her hand loosen. “There is a good fortune in this marriage. Hatefeh is not a jealous woman because she has nothing to be jealous of. The prophetic god is her lover.” King Gulzar’s daughter had devoted herself to celibacy and religious worship at a young age. She had divine visions and the gift of prophecy, making her a queer novelty among the Jatjini.
“I told you that I approved of her. Did you not think that was one of the reasons?”
He saw the visage of himself in her. A very bright person mistakenly labeled dull on account of her peculiarities. “She would be a good mother if divinity allowed it so.”
“She can settle for being a good nurse and mistress,” declared Sarojini firmly.
Chandrasekhar rolled his eyes when she wasn’t looking. “I am certain that she will.” Although he had ignored it before, the ever-present fragrance of tea tree and lavender oils in his wife’s hair seemed more pungent mixed with his own unusual body scent. He realized then that his wife had purposely rubbed his two favorite scents on her person.
A pitfall of having a husband like hers was how easy it could be to lose track of all those hands. Sarojini felt eight hands massaging eight parts of her body from her shoulders to the fatter part of her serpentine tail. His long fingers crept into the secret crevasses of her body which no one else knew yet he could find through tactile sense alone.
His long pink tongue delicately tasted drops of milk which their infant son had failed to drink for himself. He knew that her heart fluttered in rhythm to his own. His trail of kisses was making its way up her neck.
Stopping his lips, she firmly grabbed her earlobe because she knew what he meant to do. When he tried for the other one, she pinched her fingers over it as well.
He glowered, almost pouting like a child. “You are my wife.” He meant that indulging each other was a legitimate act; he also wanted to placate any fears she might harbor.
The near glow of her white teeth indicated Sarojini's cheeky grin. “As the woman who sanctifies Hatefeh’s marriage bed, I am not your wife until tomorrow night.”
He unceremoniously let go of her, allowing her to separate herself and lie with her back toward him. Silently grumbling, he assumed the same position such that no portion of their skin touched.
The Queen’s voice chimed merrily in the night. “Good night, Jeevan.”
The King’s voice murmured with indignation. “Good night, Saathi.”
 Persephone13 · Mon Jan 14, 2008 @ 04:40am · 0 Comments |
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