TEN
The next morning, Draupadi went out to the little pavilion in the garden to plan how she would entice Keechaka to the dance hall that night. She stood there, wondering if she should send a messenger or go to him herself. Suddenly the man appeared, startling her.
He wore a smile on his face and said, "Malini, you saw the king is afraid of me. There is no one in Virata to stop me from having you. Won't it be wise for you to come to me yourself?"
She smiled sweetly at him; she let her hand brush his arm. He quivered at the fleeting touch and thought his heart would burst for joy when she said in her husky voice, "My lord, I refused you only from fear of my husbands. Which woman would spurn a man like you? Your strength makes me faint with desire. I have found a way for us to be together. Late at night, my gandharvas do not watch me, believing I am asleep. Meet me at the king's dance hall at midnight. There is a couch of silk there."
The blood roared in his body; he was speechless. She whispered, "I will wait for you at midnight, come to me in the dark. But remember, don't tell a soul about our tryst. For my husbands can read men's minds."
Keechaka said hoarsely, "I am mad for you, Malini! I could pluck the sun out of the sky, for midnight to come at once."
She said, "Go now, my lord, lest we are seen together. I will meet you in the night."
Keechaka went off with a song on his lips. Draupadi came to find Bheema in his kitchen, before the other cooks arrived. Flushed with excitement, she said to him, "He will come to the dance hall at midnight. Don't fail me, Bheema."
"He will not live to see the dawn."
Malini went back happily to her tasks of the day. Sudeshna was surprised to see her flower girl so completely recovered. She marveled that those lovely eyes, which had wept such tears, now shone with some mysterious joy. The queen did not mention the previous day and neither did her sairandhri.
It was a long day for three souls in the palaces of Virata. To Keechaka, the hours seemed like weeks, to Draupadi and Bheema, also. At last, the sun sank in the west and twilight fell on the city of the Matsyas. It was the hour for drink and food. The king remarked that the dishes Ballava had conjured today were exceptional, even by his own lofty standards. He summoned the cook to commend him.
Then, the day wound down and the city turned in for the night. Lamps were put out, as the people turned to love and sleep. But Keechaka was awake. It was ten, then eleven and at last, almost midnight. A slim moon had risen into the sky. Shrouded in a long cloak, so no one recognized him—if anyone was about in the forbidden hour, when the souls of the dead roam the earth—Keechaka crept out to his secret assignation, like an unquiet spirit himself. He stalked into the garden and down its central pathway, toward the dance hall where Brihannala the eunuch gave her lessons by day.