Pregnant King Read online

  his brother’s breath

  Two years passed. The Pandavas completed their thirteenth year in exile, having spent the final year disguised as servants of Virata, king of Matsya, stripped of their identity and dignity. Now it was time to return to Indra-prastha. But the Kauravas went back on the terms of the agreement. They refused to give Indraprastha back. Krishna tried to negotiate peace. Five villages for five brothers, he offered. ‘No, not a needlepoint of territory,’ said the Kauravas, declaring war. Invitations were sent by the two sides to all the kings of Ila-vrita to join them in Kuru-kshetra.

  Yuvanashva wanted to go. But when he saw his mother’s look of disapproval, he said, ‘I will not go. Not until I father a child.’

  Later, he opened his heart to Vipula, ‘I cannot pretend any more. The fields are fertile. It is the bull who is at fault. It is time to consider niyoga.’

  Vipula was very familiar with niyoga. When his younger brother had expressed his wish to join the Angirasa, their father had said, ‘First you need a wife.’

  ‘No need for a wife,’ Vipula had said rather magnanimously, knowing how his brother yearned to be free of all family fetters. ‘All he needs to do is father a child. For that he can go to my wife in her fertile period when I am away on pilgrimage. Then, when she bears him a son he can walk away as Kardama did when Kapila was born.’

  Vipula went on a pilgrimage. When he returned a year later, his wife was with child and his brother had left to join the Angirasa. ‘My son,’ he said with a smile when the child was born. ‘Fatherhood,’ he informed his mother, ‘is kindled in the heart, not in the womb.’

  But later, when he was alone and he saw the child in his wife’s arms, all erudition vanished. He felt a deep resentment against his brother. Anger. A sense of violation. The field was his but the fruit was not. It strained forever the relationship between him and his wife. They were strangers. When he kissed her, he felt his brother’s breath on her lips.

  ‘Easier said than done,’ said Vipula to Yuvanashva. ‘Would you really like a stranger to touch your wives?’

  ‘Perhaps a friend,’ said Yuvanashva, looking at Vipula.

  ‘Even a brother is a stranger when it comes to your wife,’ said Vipula bowing to his friend, honoured by the suggestion.

  ‘They accept me when I go to other women,’ argued Yuvanashva.

  ‘Are you sure, Arya?’

  Yuvanashva thought for a moment. He remembered the look of despair in Simantini’s eyes. The envy in Pulomi’s. ‘I guess, they have got used to it.’

  ‘Will you get used to the idea that your wives have been with other men?’

  ‘No,’ said Yuvanashva, ‘I cannot bear the thought. I am frightened. What if they feel humiliated, violated? But do we have a choice, Vipula? I am not allowed to rule Vallabhi. I am not allowed to fight in Kuru-kshetra. I spend all day playing with my wives. All night making love to them. What kind of a life am I leading? I feel worthless, useless, a burden. I need that child. Find me a man who can perform niyoga as it should be performed, dispassionately.’

  ‘There is no such man,’ said Vipula.

  ‘Maybe the Angirasa? Rishis are not supposed to have such feelings.’

  The image of his younger brother, now of the Angirasa order, flashed before Vipula’s eyes. ‘Oh really,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Why then do they shun the company of women?’

  yagna

  Unable to bear Yuvanashva’s anguish, Vipula rallied the younger members of the Kshatriya and Brahmana councils. ‘Who says a king must father children before he is allowed to rule? Ajaputra was king of Ayodhya before his three wives bore him four sons. These are just excuses that enables Shilavati to cling to power. The Pandava exile is over but the widow’s reign continues,’ he said.

  The words stung. Shilavati was angry. Widow? Was that all she was? ‘If they want to change the rules then even I can demand the changing of rules. Have I not earned the right to have the ivory parasol over my head, the golden bow of kingship in my hand, and the yak-tail fly whisks by my side?’ she told Mandavya.

  ‘Please don’t let anyone hear these thoughts,’ advised Mandavya. ‘There are many who resent you. They are convinced that you are using sorcery to make your son sterile.’

  ‘Do you believe them?’ asked Shilavati.

  ‘No one believes them. But I really think your ambition is getting the better of you. Your son’s inability to father a child serves you well. It is time for you to step down with grace,’ said Mandavya, his heart going out to the girl he had brought to Vallabhi from Avanti. Her purpose had been served. She had to let go.

  ‘No,’ said Shilavati, her voice as firm as her resolve, ‘I will enter vana-prastha ashrama only when my son has a son. To retire earlier will be against dharma.’

  At long last Vipula came up with an idea. ‘It has come from the bards,’ he told Yuvanashva. ‘You see, even niyoga may fail. But this cannot.’

  Shilavati’s throat went dry when Yuvanashva shared with her Vipula’s idea. The crows cawed. The Pitrs raised concerned voices, ‘Beware. Beware of what is being suggested. That path is fraught with danger. It involves manipulating many forces of the universe, tossing of many elements, rousing reluctant spirits, compelling the gods to do man’s bidding, using the arrows of Kama to rewrite the account book of Yama. Such an action has many repercussions. One error and everyone involved could end up paying a terrible price. It could kill the queens, or worse, the king. Stop him, Shilavati. Stop him. Even we fear this bridge.’

  ‘I forbid it,’ said Shilavati. ‘I will not let you put your life in danger.’

  ‘You can stop me from ruling Vallabhi, mother,’ cried Yuvanashva. ‘You can stop me from fighting at Kurukshetra. But please do not stop me from creating a child.’

  ‘What is being suggested is sorcery.’

  ‘If it was good enough for Drupada, it is good enough for me,’ shouted Yuvanashva. Then he bowed his head and spoke apologetically, ‘But if you forbid it, then it shall not be done.’

  Shilavati’s heart wept. Her head screamed. How could he be so dutiful when she was so cruel? She thought of her brother, the songs he never sang after he became king. And her husband who so loved to hunt. And her father-in-law who could not wait to give up the throne. Obedient brothers. Obedient sons. Unhappy brothers. Unhappy sons. From across the Vaitarni, Prasenajit admonished his wife, ‘Let go. Let our son be father. Let our son be king.’

  ‘Oh Yuva, do as you wish,’ said Shilavati finally. ‘In your happiness, lies mine.’

  Book Three

  the invitation

  Yaja and Upayaja were two Siddhas. Magicians. Alchemists. Sorcerers. Yaja always sat under a banyan tree and sought truth in stillness. Upayaja always sat before a waterfall and sought truth in movement.

  Yaja said, ‘By observing the flow of rasa, one can train the mind to accept destiny. This is the purpose of life.’

  Upayaja argued, ‘By manipulating the flow of rasa, one can change the world and fructify all desires. That’s the true purpose of life.’

  Both were students of Adi-natha, the teacher of teachers. Yaja had sat to the right of the teacher of teachers, Upayaja to the left. For Yaja, Adi-natha was an ascetic, a man, who sat on the northern mountain. For Upayaja, Adi-natha was an enchantress, a woman, who swam in a southern river.

  The two agreed on nothing.

  And yet, they always took the same decisions and did the same things, as they had thirty years earlier when they both agreed to perform Drupada’s yagna.

  Together they chanted the hymns, together they churned the fire, together they created the potion, and together they created the twins, who Yaja claimed were the spawns of destiny and Upayaja claimed were the offsprings of desire.

  ‘Help the king of Vallabhi become a father too,’ said Vipula when he came to the banyan tree next to the waterfall.

  ‘Yes, we will,’ said Yaja and Upayaja in unison, without a moment’s hesitation, as if they were waiting for the invitation.