Pregnant King Read online

  ‘If my whole life has been decided for me, then why did Prajapati give me a heart? Why did he make me dream? Why does he bring music into my heart?’ His eyes betrayed his anguish. ‘When will I live my own life?’

  Ahuka did not like his son’s whining. ‘After you repay your debts,’ he snapped. ‘That you exist means you are indebted to those who made your existence possible. That you have the fortune of being human, not a plant or animal, means you have another debt. That you are a man, not a woman, is indicative of yet another debt. Just ask your sister how lucky you are. That you are the eldest not the youngest is another debt. That you are my son, the son of a king, not the son of a priest or a potter, also indicates a debt. Debts are all around us. They bind us to the world and to each other, force us to live for others. Break the chain of obligations and you will unravel the fabric of society, my son. Remember, your destiny, whether you accept it or not, is nothing but your own debt, incurred by you consciously or unconsciously, either in this life or your past life. You must repay them. That is what being an Arya is all about. It is what dharma is all about. It is the noble thing to do.’

  So many repayments. Repayments to one’s ancestors, to one’s family, one’s caste, one’s village, repayments to the Devas who reside in the sky, to Asuras beneath the earth, to the Apsaras in the rivers, to the Rishis who keep alive the wisdom of the Veda. ‘Will I ever sing the songs of my heart and walk freely by the riverside?’ asked Nabhaka.

  ‘You can always sing in the evening, when the sabha has concluded and you are free to be with your wives,’ said Shilavati softly, placing her hand on her brother’s shoulders.

  ‘And you sister, how will you compromise?’ said Nabhaka, shrugging her hand away, his voice harsh and angry. ‘How will you rule when they force you to become a wife?’ Nabhaka did not want to hurt his elder sister. But he wanted her to feel what he felt, the pain of dreams crushed on the altar of dharma. He saw tears well up in her eyes. She knew that just as a man’s destiny is bound to his lineage, a woman’s is bound to her body. Both are determined at birth and are immutable.

  ‘It is not compromise, brother,’ said Shilavati, holding back her tears. ‘It is sacrifice. Dharma is all about sacrifice so that the rest can thrive.’

  Later that evening, as he rested on the swing with his two wives, chewing betel nut, Ahuka said, ‘She thinks clearly. She thinks deep. Life has spewed out a twisted fate for my daughter, given her a man’s head and a woman’s body.’

  ‘And what about your son’s fate?’ asked the senior queen, as she massaged the king’s forehead with warm coconut oil made fragrant with camphor.

  ‘He will be king.’

  ‘And that’s good?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ahuka, looking up at his wife, surprised by her comment. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘For whom, Arya?’

  Ahuka’s heart ached for his children. The son who did not want to be king and the daughter who would not be allowed to be king. The account books of Yama, dark and dispassionate god of death and rebirth, shaped the destiny of his children. But Kama, the reckless god of life and love, had raised his sugarcane bow and struck both their hearts with dangerous desires. Yama, who relentlessly pursued all living creatures on his buffalo, was unconcerned. The children had to repay the debts whether they liked it or not. His noose was tight around their soul. He would hook them ruthlessly if they strayed. Kama meanwhile, flying on his parrot, accompanied by an entourage of bees and butterflies, would continue releasing the flower-tipped arrows, indifferent to the consequences, combating indignation and outrage with his charm. Like all children of Prajapati, Ahuka realized his children would also have to live their lives restrained by the noose of Yama and spurred by the arrows of Kama.

  ‘Maybe I should send her to the Acharyas with her brother to be instructed formally on the dharma-shastras.’

  ‘No,’ said both the queens in unison. ‘If you do that no king will accept her as his wife.’

  ‘What do I do then? Let the sapling wither away?’

  ‘Do you have to take all the decisions, my lord? Can life not take decisions sometime? From Prajapati has come the problem. From Prajapati will come the solution.’

  The king of Avanti smiled, pleased with the comforting wisdom of the inner quarters.

  the proposal

  When Mandavya came to Avanti with the formal proposal of marriage, Ahuka’s wives were excited. ‘When a man approaches a girl’s father requesting her hand for his son it is marriage as prescribed by Prajapati, the highest form of marriage. Shilavati is the luckiest girl in Ila-vrita.’

  But Ahuka was not happy when he had heard what the astrologers had to say. ‘The price is too high,’ he said.

  ‘This is her chance,’ said Mandavya. ‘With widowhood will come the opportunity to rule. Nothing will make your daughter happier. She has the body of a woman but the head of a king. The Angirasa have told me so. Rajan, you can give your daughter to another king. And maybe he will live a long life. And for all that time your daughter will be confined to the women’s quarters. And she will spend her entire life there looking after his children and playing dice, feeling miserable and worthless. And should death strike her husband, she would be a widow, still confined to the women’s quarters with no royal status because her husband’s brothers and uncles would never give her power. Can you prevent that? Here, you are sure that your daughter will have all the powers due to a king. Pruthalashva is eager to shed his responsibilities. And Prasenajit, the poor lad, who lives in Yama’s shadow, has no heart in kingship. All he enjoys is the hunt. From the first day she steps into Vallabhi, your daughter will rule the land.’

  ‘What if she does not bear a child?’

  Mandavya sensed Ahuka’s defences slipping. ‘She will. She is fertile, I am sure. I have seen her gait. She has child-bearing hips.’

  And so it came to pass, Shilavati became the wife of Prasenajit, the crown prince of Vallabhi, destined to be its queen.

  The first time she was presented in the pillared hall known as the maha-sabha, the king insisted that she and Prasenajit sit on the turtle throne. ‘You are the future king and queen. This is how the crown prince and his bride of the Turuvasu clan have always been presented to the courtiers.’

  Shilavati sat on the throne dressed in red, laden with jewellery. Bracelets, armlets, waistbands, necklaces, nose-rings, toe-rings, hair-pins. All made of gold. She could barely walk. ‘You are the queen. You must represent the kingdom’s prosperity,’ said her maids. For the first time in her life she had an anklet of gold, a privilege restricted to the queens of Ila-vrita. She sat coyly next to her husband, never raising her eyes, enjoying the attention. Elders of the four varnas came to the newly-wed couple and offered them a betel leaf, a coconut and a gift of gold. They sprinkled rice on them, wishing them a long and happy married life.

  Shilavati felt a rush of power. This place with its pillared corridors and open courtyard was where the Turuvasus sat and held court for generations. This was where dharma was instituted and maintained in Vallabhi. For a brief moment, Shilavati dreamt of herself on the throne. Behind her sat the Shudras, before her sat the Vaishyas, to the right sat the Kshatriyas, and to the left sat the Brahmanas. The parasol above her head, the bow in her hand. Her warriors blowing conch-shell trumpets. Beautiful women seated beside her waving yak-tail fly whisks offering her slivers of betel nut wrapped with spices in betel leaf. Community elders paying obeisance. From the chambers above, surrounding the royal courtyard, the women showered flowers. The royal banner with the image of a turtle fluttered from the rooftops. Everyone acknowledged her as their leader—the supreme fountainhead of peace and prosperity.

  Later, that night, as they lay in bed, arms entwined, Shilavati placed her head on her husband’s chest and said, ‘How does it feel to sit on the throne, Arya?’

  Prasenajit replied, ‘Tiring.’

  Shilavati laughed and looked up at her husband. He was serious. She realized that he did not sha