Through twelve evocative tales of longing and loss, Exiles Incorporated depicts a volatile world of hostile landscapes, where humans strive to belong amid the cruelty of conquest, the madness of desire and the transience of love. In the fifth story Amrita, set in 10th century India, a memorial banquet for a dead princess unleashes demons from the past.
Springtime in Karnataka awakened the appetites of the gentlest souls. Nature’s sweet light planted tender kisses on the earth’s upturned cheek, drawing lusty colour from a pallid world too long cooled. On the Krishna’s banks new life stiffened to the sky in shoots of green and yellow, as the holy river tinkled in the rays of the blessed sun.
Regeneration’s fragrance caressed all, inclining budding lovers to lay their noses together and inhale the finest pleasures of the turning world. Those at the beginning of life’s rotation thought it would last forever. The old, broken by fortune’s wheel, knew otherwise. While nature’s palette sent the young blind, aged souls saw through the haze to the pain of loves past. Listening to the Krishna hush and hiss, elderly wanderers contemplated their imminent return to the source of all things, dreaming of rebirth in a kinder world.
Beside the river, deep in the wrestling trees, lay the warlord Bhaavik’s palace: an intimidating lair which rose through the mangroves in columns and domes of brooding grey marble. Bhaavik was the region’s most venerated ruler, renowned for lavishing goodwill on loyalists and the ruthless oppression of foes.
Nestled above his stony face was a disorderly mane of black hair; below it an extravagant beard reaching his barrelled chest. Bhaavik was greedy and impulsive. On the battlefield, in the banqueting hall and on his bed, the chieftain consumed all before him, swallowing acquaintances into his body politic and spitting out scraps for swooping cormorants.
His wife Amrita was the only creature who could tame him. A gentle zephyr of ghostly blue eyes, polished skin and chestnut hair, she invigorated every room she swept with her sweet tongue and generous manner. Jealous ladies searched behind her opulent saris of brown, olive and gold for a blemish to her body or character. They found only frustration: a pious lady, skilled dancer and accomplished musician with a zealous conviction in the healing power of fine food. Romantic to the deepest wells of her heart, Amrita vowed to immolate herself on Bhaavik’s funeral pyre when the time came, so their ashes would burn in a union no monsoon could extinguish.
Then one spring Amrita withdrew into her chambers, refusing food and water. Meek and sallow, she seemed unable to articulate the source of her pain. Medicine men were summoned to no avail. Her emaciated decline culminated in tragedy. One evening, after an unexpected walk in the palace grounds, she entered the kitchen, stole a bottle of snake poison used to kill vermin and locked herself in her bedroom. Bhaavik broke down the door and ran to his lifeless queen, his howl was heard in the Himalayas.
While Amrita’s corpse lay in a white marble mausoleum in the prettiest part of the gardens, her spirit was said to possess the palace’s food and furnishings. For the name ‘Amrita’ meant eternal life, and many prophesied their beloved lady would one day return to bathe the community in grace.
Exiles Incorporated is available to buy on Apple Books, Amazon and Google Play as an e-book, plus on Amazon and Barnes & Noble as a paperback.
PHILIP PARRISH 