Pregnant King Read online

He waited for the king, who was personally overseeing the punishment, relishing this moment of absolute power no doubt. The smell of burning flesh disturbed the Danda-Nayak. A soft moan reached his ears. Startled, he stood up. ‘Are they still alive?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said the Chandalas. ‘They are barely bones now. It is just the wind. Why don’t you go home? You look tired. I assure you the boys are dead and cannot run away. I will give you the bones tomorrow.’

  ‘No. I have been ordered to perform the shraadh before dawn. Otherwise these boys will haunt the city as Brahma-Rakshasas.’

  The Chandalas’ eyes widened. ‘Are you saying these boys were Brahmanas? We did not see the sacred thread. Why were we not told? Before a Brahmana is burnt alive we have to make offerings before Bhairava, god of the crematorium. He protects us from the crime of participating in the death of a Brahmana. We earn no demerit. We are doomed. In Yama’s book we will be recorded as Brahmana-killers.’

  ‘Don’t worry, the king will compensate you handsomely. You can get someone to do a rite of purification. The threads were removed by the king’s new guru. Vipula, son of Mandavya. He said they had polluted their bodies and their minds and hence were unfit to wear them. They were lower than Chandalas. Lower than animals. This made the decision to execute them easier for the king.’

  ‘We will be purified, Arya,’ said the chief of the Chandalas. ‘But who will purify the king? With or without the sacred threads, they were children of Brahmanas, hence Brahmanas. The two boys, as you claim they were, were not married. They had no children. They were killed violently. They were not cremated properly. No one mourned for them. They are bound to return as Brahma-Rakshasas and haunt their killer. For they are lost between the land of the living and the land of the dead, unable to make their journey across the Vaitrani. We fear for our king.’

  the potion

  They had been all but forgotten. The two brothers, Yaja and Upayaja, busy with their chants and charms in the special precinct within the palace walls. The potion was almost ready. The Siddhas felt its throbbing power.

  But then they noticed a shift in the energies. A distraction. A commotion. They realized no one was paying attention to the ceremony. There were crows flying over the altar. ‘The Kshatriya guards posted outside the precinct are looking elsewhere,’ said Yaja. The Brahmanas were conspicuous by their absence. Even the seat in the elephant stable reserved for the queen was vacant. ‘Where is everybody?’

  Upayaja shut his eyes and opened up his mind. He said, ‘They are out there peeping out of windows, standing on rooftops, leaning out of gateway, lining the streets. Men and women. Priests, warriors, farmers, traders. Young and old. Everyone. They are watching a spectacle. Yuvanashva is asserting his royal authority. Flesh is burning. A village is wailing. I hear screams. No, not two boys. A young couple. Man and woman. No, wait, I am not sure. But I feel pain. Regret. Guilt. Suffering. Anguish. And the outrage of a city. I can feel Shilavati’s horror and resignation to her fate. Order is being established. A new king’s order. But beneath the order festers something deep, dark and terrible. A rage. A frustration. Yaja, something has happened in Vallabhi that has made Yama tremble and Kama frown. Our potion of life has been contaminated by death.’

  Yaja looked around, ‘The seed of Yuvanashva is ready but where is the soil. Where are the queens? Do we pour it into the fire-altar?’

  ‘No, let us not. Agni will spit it out. There is confusion in the air. A disruption of order. Who is the true patron of this ritual? The king of Vallabhi. Only now it is Yuvanashva. Before it was Shilavati, without whose permission we would not have been allowed through the city gates. To whom does this potion belong then? Is it the seed of the son who begged or the mother who allowed? No, brother. Something does not feel right. The flow of rasa is turbulent. There is no rhythm. We don’t know who is king and who is not. Who is man and who is not. Who is father and who is not. The blood of the old order has seeped into the ground in Kuru-kshetra. But the new order still has to establish itself. There is flux. The account books of Yama are unclear. Kama’s tears have caused the ink to smudge.’

  Yaja grasped the rim of the pot containing the magic potion using his right hand. Upayaja did the same using his left hand. They stood up and left the precinct, the pot between them. They walked through the palace corridors. The paintings on the wall seem to come to life as the potion splashed around in the pot. The birds flapped their wings. The trees swayed. The lion stalked the elephant. Yaja and Upayaja did not care. They saw a palace deserted. The lamps and torches lit up lonely empty corridors. For thirteen years this palace yearned for a new life. And now they were all smitten by death.

  The Siddhas finally reached the maha-sabha of the Turuvasu kings. The pillared hall. The empty throne with its red cushions and ivory parasol. A single lamp burning next to it. They kept the pot next to the lamp. ‘Let the king decide whose seed it is. Let the king decide which soil it should be. He knows best, who should be man and who should be woman.’ So saying the brothers slipped out of the palace and returned to the forest.

  the ghosts

  Yuvanashva rode into the palace late at night. He was tired. Thirsty. His body was covered with sweat and dust. As he passed through the gates he saw the guards. They stood up and saluted him. He saw fear in their eyes. And respect. His royal authority had been clearly established. Now he was truly king.

  Alighting from his chariot, he went straight to the queen’s courtyard. It was empty. No woman was there to greet him. Not even his wives. They were all in the inner chambers, quivering, silent, nervous. They had seen Yuvnashva lose his temper and get his way. They did not want to cross his path. Yuvanashva liked the feeling. The rush of power. He felt more like a man than ever before.

  Yuvanashva then decided to go to the maha-sabha. He wanted to sit on the throne for some time. Then he would bathe. And eat. And then go to one of his queens. Any queen. Maybe all three of them together. He could do anything tonight.

  As he fell back into the cushions, he imagined the room crowded with all the Kshatriya elders saluting him. His warriors cheering him. Flowers being showered on him. He saw the Turuvasu banner held high up fluttering against the sky. He saw adoration reflecting in his mother’s eyes. Awe in the eyes of his wives. It felt really good.

  Even the crows were happy. Soon the potion would be ready and his queens would give him sons. Three sons from three wives. This was the glory he craved. What he could not obtain from Kuru-kshetra had come to him in Vallabhi. He thanked the gods for it. He thanked the Angirasa for constantly telling him to be patient. Yes, good things do come to those who wait.

  His throat was parched. He wanted water. Or milk. ‘Is anyone there?’ he shouted. No one came forward. The hall was empty and dark. ‘I want water. Is anyone there?’ No one responded. Yuvanashva felt his temper rising once more. ‘I will flog the servants tomorrow. There must be someone here at all time.’

  Then he heard a familiar voice. ‘Father,’ it said. ‘Father,’ it said again.

  Then another voice. ‘Father.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Yuvanashva.

  ‘Your sons,’ said the two voices in unison.

  ‘I have no sons,’ said Yuvanashva, as he tried to shut out the voices and go to sleep.

  ‘We are your sons. You created us.’

  Yuvanashva turned around startled. Beyond the light of the flickering lamp, in the shadows, he saw a man and a woman.

  ‘Come closer. Show me your face.’

  ‘No, father. You will not like what you will see. It is all burnt. Scarred beyond recognition.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Your sons.’

  ‘Stop this. Who are you?’ said Yuvanashva, his temper rising as it had done earlier in the day. The two retreated back. They were scared. Yuvanashva did not want them to go. ‘Don’t be afraid. I will not harm you. But I have no children. Tell me who you are. Don’t mock me. It hurts when a childless man is called father.’

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