Uruvi

His daughter's swayamwara would be more grand than Draupadi's, King Vahusha of

Pukeya had promised himself. Not because he was one of the more powerful kings of the

time. Not because he was a close ally of both King Dhritrashtra and Vasudev Krishna of

Dwarka. Not because he wanted to outmatch King Drupada, the surly, rancorous father

of the dusky, doe-eyed Draupadi, now the consort of the five Pandavas. But yes, because

he wanted to flaunt his beautiful daughter at the most ostentatious swayamwara ever—to

proudly present her to the world. She would eventually marry the most eligible of all her

suitors—that fortunate one whom she favoured.

She was his little princess. Uruvi was the only daughter of the sixth King of Pukeya,

the erudite Vahusha and Queen Shubra; an heiress to her father's legacy, his intelligence,

and her mother's flaming beauty. Slender and petite, her loveliness was distracting,

speciously masking her incisive wit. Though the burning fire in her eyes, the warmth of

her smile, and the passion with which she articulated her thoughts were enticing, she

was too spirited to be restrained, too proud to be cautious, and far too forthright to think

of the consequences of her actions. She had a charming candour, a blithe audacity steeled

with a stubborn resilience, which many admired but few appreciated. Most got carried

away with her captivating beauty and her wit, and gazed at her in wonder.

King Vahusha was not apologetic about his adoration for his daughter. She was his

only child—a gift bestowed on him a trifle late in life. He loved his wife, Queen Shubra,

in an indulgent, unfussy way, as he did his mother and his various nephews and nieces,

but he clearly idolised his daughter.

King Vahusha stood tall and imposing, thinking of the object of his paternal pride.

With his spare form, his gentle eyes and aquiline nose, he looked more like a poet than a

warring king, more fit to hold a quill than a sword, mace or a spear. With skin the colour

of dull ivory and a shimmering silver mane, he looked more like a sage than a ruler.

He thought the world of his daughter. She was beautiful as she was brilliant, she was

kind as she was brutally frank, she was loving as she was tempestuous. As a child, she

had never given him a moment's uneasiness. She was naughty and defiant but never grossly disobedient; even in her mischief, there was an endearing impishness.

'She is my world,' he confessed simply to Queen Shubra whenever she gently chided

him for over-pampering their only daughter. 'There are two types of children: one,

whom you love naturally because they are your offspring and they become

unconditionally yours the moment you hold them in your arms. But there is another kind,

who besides this unreserved love heaped upon them, are enchanting because of their

striking individual traits. Very early in life, this kind of child becomes an individual who

is born to win over people by her innate character and distinctiveness. There are

qualities in the child that are so endearing, so impossibly appealing, that you

immediately fall in love with her. She completely woos you over with her charm and not

just because she happens to be your offspring. Our Uruvi is one such child. Who cannot

help but love her?'

There was truth in his statement, the mother agreed. Queen Shubra was a small,

elegant lady with magnificent eyes, a straight, delicate nose and a pale smooth skin. Her

thick, abundant black hair, tied neatly in a bun at her nape, had a silver streak. Her

smooth face was still unlined, the occasional criss-crosses emerging whenever she

frowned, which was often enough when it came to matters concerning her growing

daughter. Uruvi could be a very trying child, Shubra sighed silently, not daring to voice

her thoughts. The spirited daughter had inherited her mother's glorious beauty and her

father's sharp mind, and both sizzled in her short flashes of temper.

No one remained unaffected by the little princess's vivacity and her inherent

goodness. Even the sternest of the royal patriarchs—Bhishma Pitamaha—never hesitated

to place her on his lap, and always offered her a basket of her favourite, freshly plucked

jasmines each time she visited Hastinapur. The child was everyone's delight. 'Why do

you always wear white?' she once demanded of the grand old man as she perched

prettily on his lap. 'Even your hair is so white! Don't you like colours? See what a

brilliant pink I am wearing!' she said and promptly placed her bright stole over his

broad shoulders, which were by then shaking with indulgent merriment. Each time, the

little girl would make the otherwise grim, taciturn great-granduncle laugh uproariously

through his luxuriantly flowing beard.

Or when she had irreverently asked the blind-folded Queen Gandhari about the

piece of cloth tied around her eyes. 'Why do you wear that?' she had questioned the

queen mother, softly tracing her dimpled little finger over the silken cloth. 'Do you like

to play blind man's buff with Uncle? You should remove the fold and help him about

instead!'

Queen Gandhari had giggled and hugged the child close.

'It's not often you see Gandhari smile, forget laugh!' Kunti observed quietly to

Queen Shubra, her friend. 'Uruvi has an irrepressible naiveté about her which is so

engaging! That little angel makes the whole world smile, whatever she does!'she gushed

fondly. 'And I hope she doesn't lose that charm when she grows up! If she remains so

delightful, you will have a handful to deal with, dear! One which I am ready to take on

any time you want,' smiled Kunti. 'She is going to be my daughter-in-law one day, mind

my words!' The smile had slipped from Queen Shubra's face when she heard Kunti's

words, not wanting to think of the day she would have to part with her daughter.