Pregnant King Read online

  A crowd gathered outside the potter’s house. Everyone wanted to see the village girl who would be queen. The village elders said, ‘When the great flood devastated our village fourteen years ago, the queen of Vallabhi rushed to our rescue like a mother running towards an injured child: she helped us rebuild our homes and repair our temples, she gave us cows and bulls and seeds and tools to restart our life. Now one of our daughters will go to her palace. What better way to repay our debt to her. A daughter who will keep the royal lamp aflame. May the seven goddesses of Tarini-pur bless her, make her womb rich and fertile.’

  ‘Praise be to Shilavati,’ shouted the priests of Tarini-pur.

  ‘Praise be to Shilavati,’ shouted the rest of Tarini-pur.

  When Keshini emerged from the house, everyone’s eyes widened in delight. She was so different from the Keshini they knew. Covered in gold, painted with sandal paste, she looked like a goddess. There was no sign of the tattoos. The jewellery was so heavy that she could barely walk. Fine patterns of flowery creepers were painted on her forehead with sandal paste by the palace maids.

  Keshini’s mother put a betel nut leaf in her hand and her father picked her up and put her on the palanquin. The wives of weavers draped over her a sheer red cloth. The Brahmana women sang songs of parting. The Kshatriya women blew conch shells. The Vaishya women gave the palace maids baskets of fruit and grain to take back with them. ‘So that food of our village becomes part of the royal kitchen,’ they said.

  As the palanquin rose the entire village wept.

  But nobody wept as much as Matanga. For by prescribing this marriage, the royal doctor had broken his own son’s heart.

  ‘For his own good,’ Matanga’s wife kept repeating but it did not seem so.

  For months, Matanga and his wife had watched Asanga stand at the gate of their house impatient to see Keshini who accompanied her father when he came to deliver the pots specially designed to pour medicated potions. He was clearly in love. He had even refused to go to Panchala and fetch his bride despite many messages from his father-in-law informing them that she had matured. ‘Not until you let me marry Keshini,’ he told his parents.

  ‘A Shudra daughter-in-law? Never,’ said his mother.

  Matanga had tried to make peace between mother and son. He told her that her disdain towards Shudras was against dharma; it would unravel the social fabric eventually. ‘No varna is higher or lower than others. Let our son marry the potter’s daughter, if that makes him happy.’

  ‘Keep your speeches to yourself,’ screamed his stubborn wife, determined to have her way. ‘If all varnas are the same would you let your daughter marry a potter’s son?’

  When Matanga was summoned to the palace, his wife insisted he take Asanga with him. ‘Distance may be the cure for his love.’ But distance only intensified Asanga’s longing.

  It was while talking to Vipula that Matanga realized that he could, with one stroke, help the king and restore peace in own household. That is why he had prescribed the anuloma wedding, with Keshini as the bride.

  But when the wedding plans were announced, all joy left Asanga’s face. His face wrinkled in sorrow. Matanga felt like a monster. He remembered the small terracotta images of a goddess called Lajja-gauri found in the kitchen gardens and fields across Ila-vrita. Spread-eagled as if to receive a lover or deliver a child, Lajja-gauri’s face was always covered with a lotus.

  ‘Beneath the lotus is a flirtatious eye with which she enchants and sharp fangs with which she kills. She is the forest, wild and free, life-giver and life-taker. We have to control her, gag her blood-soaked mouth with a lotus. Bind her hair, turn the naked Kali into bedecked Gauri. How else will we make her accept only our seed and give the harvest that will feed only our children?’ the Vaishyas sang every time they burnt down a forest to establish a field or ripped a riverbank to make a canal or castrated a bull to make a bullock.

  Matanga felt he had created two Lajja-gauris. Asanga and Keshini. Beneath the lotus were the tears of a loveless marriage. A Brahmana boy’s body would be offered to a Brahmana bride of his mother’s choice. And a Shudra girl’s body would be offered to the king on his doctor’s advice.

  keshini in the palace

  After a long and giddy journey through forests, orchards and fields, the royal palanquin raced through the city gate of Vallabhi, its streets and squares, past the temple of Ileshwara and the lion-gate of the palace. It then crossed the elephant-gate reserved for queens of the Turuvasu household and stopped in the courtyard of the queens.

  As Keshini stepped out, she was received by more palace maids. They washed her feet, and took her to the audience chamber of Shilavati. The queen looked magnificient on her tiger-skin rug. She gave her new daughter-in-law many gifts. Then asked her if she had eaten. Keshini shook her head. The queen glanced at the maids who immediately led Keshini to an adjacent room and fed her all her favourite dishes. Keshini had heard many things about the mother of the king. She was not like that at all. She is rather nice, Keshini concluded.

  As the sun was about to set, Keshini was then taken to a vast chamber where hundreds of lamps descended from the ceiling. ‘They will make your gold sparkle when the king looks upon you,’ said one of them. On the floor over a cane mat was a bed covered with red cloth. Next to it was a pot of water, flowers and a plate of betel leaves and betel nuts. She was made to sit on the bed. Two of the maids who had come to her house sat beside her on the floor. They massaged her tired limbs with perfumed oils. She could not believe she was in the palace. Was this a dream? The fragrance of camphor and champaka flowers filled the room. Yes, this is a dream. Let it not end.

  The door opened. Keshini looked up expecting the king. Instead there were two women. One tall and graceful, the other short but extremely beautiful. ‘Your husband’s other wives,’ whispered one of the maids who then bowed her head reverentially before the two queens.

  Keshini was about to do the same when the other maid held her back. ‘No, not you. You too are queen.’

  The beautiful one held her chin and said. ‘So this is the one with the superior womb?’ Keshini did not understand. No one replied. Keshini smiled. The queen did not smile back. Keshini felt like an unwelcome guest.

  ‘Here, for you,’ said the taller queen, A leaf shaped box made of silver containing lamp black and mixed with aromatic butter. ‘To line your eyes,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘Don’t be afraid. The king is very considerate.’ Keshini noticed her eyes were kind. She felt welcomed once again.

  When the queens left, she asked the maids, ‘Where is the fire altar? Who is the priest? When will the ritual be held?’

  ‘No ritual needed. A consecrated king does not need the permission of the gods,’ explained the maid.

  Keshini waited and waited. She dozed off.

  ‘Get up, the king is here,’ she heard the maid shout. She opened her eyes. The maids pulled her up, arranged her clothes, put a fresh garland of flowers round her neck and left the room. She remembered what her mother had told her. ‘He will ask you to point out the Arundhati star.’ She got up from the mattress and ran to the window. The sky looked so different from the sky in her village. She craned her neck looking for the star.

  the king is ‘dead’

  It was the dead of the night. The whole city slept. Keshini tiptoed out of the wedding chamber, trying hard not to let her jewellery tinkle. The lamps had died out. The sky was dark. All was quiet. Only the soft snoring of palace women filled the corridors. Keshini was scared. Everything was unfamiliar. A strange house with so many corners and corridors and walls covered with gigantic images of Kama and his Apsaras. She walked slowly, not knowing where to go. She peeped into the room across the courtyard. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she recognized the woman sleeping on the bed: it was the tall queen with kind eyes, who had given her the leaf-shaped box with lamp black for her eyes. Next to her, on the floor, were two maids. She crept inside, reached the bed and softly tapped the queen on her ankle.