Fairy Tales + Indian History Challenge, (1/?) Bindusara & Dharma, Bluebeard
The King bears a blue spot at the corner of his eyebrow, they tell Dharma as she is prepared for her wedding, and she must take care never to mention it. It is, after all, the consequence of the poison that murdered his mother and almost killed Bindusara himself, all before he was even born. To remind him of such misfortune would only displease him.
They speak too, of the women Bindusara takes to wife; of how they might be laughing and kind when they enter his palace, but after only months, emerge cool and cruel. “In every way that matters, “ a stout matron informs her, “they die. See to it that you don’t share their fate.”
Dharma tries. Truly she does. She makes no enemies; she is always helpful and hearty, no matter how her fellow wives might mock and meddle in her affairs. She does not protest when she is considered the poorest and least important among them; she asks no questions which ought not to be answered.
They will not change her. She will not allow them to.
But one can endure indifference and insults only so long, and Dharma begins to yearn for more. If only she might be noticed, might matter to anyone at all...
No, she reminds herself, no, no, it is not so, and it is not so, and the gods forbid it should be so--
The King speaks to her at last, one sultry afternoon when she is meant to be massaging his scalp with oil. “I know what they say about my wives. About me.”
Dharma goes very still.
“The living dead, who lose any spark and vitality they once had.” He takes her limp hand as he speaks, traces the blue veins at her wrist. “A monster who ought to have died alongside the mother who bore him.”
She dares not agree. She dares not disagree.
“And yet they stay by my side, never dreaming of escape. Do you know why it is so?”
She does not.
“Because they seek something only I can give them.” Bindusara bares his teeth. “A son to someday sit upon my throne. A son to bring an end to all their sadness.”
Ashoka, Dharma translates in her mind. Suffering’s end.
“So now that you know, dear Dharma, will you prove wise enough to resist? Will you leave my house in peace and honor, to be comfortably forgotten? Or will you do as you ought not, and join them?”
He releases her wrist at last, but does not pull away. Dharma knows all too well that whatever she decides today cannot be changed; whatever she decides will change everything. Ambition runs throughout her veins--she wonders if it was just so for every woman before her, lost forever like her.
“Make me your Queen,” Dharma whispers, “and I will give you a prince the likes of which the world has never seen.”
