Pregnant King Read online

  DEVDUTT PATTANAIK

  The Pregnant King

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  About the Author

  Key Characters

  Chronology of Events

  PROLOGUE

  BOOK ONE

  BOOK TWO

  BOOK THREE

  BOOK FOUR

  BOOK FIVE

  BOOK SIX

  BOOK SEVEN

  BOOK EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  THE PREGNANT KING

  Dr Devdutt Pattanaik is a medical doctor by training, a marketing consultant by profession, and a mythologist by passion. He has written and lectured extensively on the nature of sacred stories, symbols and rituals and their relevance in modern times.

  Devdutt’s books include Shiva: An Introduction (VFS, India), Vishnu: An Introduction (VFS, India), Devi: An Introduction (VFS, India), Hanuman: An Introduction (VFS, India), Lakshmi: An Introduction (VFS, India), Goddesses in India: Five Faces of the Eternal Feminine (Inner Traditions, USA), Indian Mythology: Stories, Symbols and Rituals from the Heart of the Subcontinent (Inner Traditions, USA), Man Who Was a Woman and Other Queer Tales from Hindu Lore (Haworth Publications, USA), Shiva to Shankara: Decoding the Phallic Symbol (Indus Source, India), and Myth=Mithya: A Handbook of Hindu Mythology (Penguin, India). The Book of Kali (Penguin, India) is based on his talks.

  The unconventional approach and engaging style evident in Devdutt’s lectures, books and articles also extends to this, his first work of fiction. Devdutt is based in Mumbai. To know more visit www.devdutt.com

  Key Characters

  Yuvanashva, the pregnant king

  his great grandfather, Chandrasena

  his grandfather, Pruthalashva

  his father, Prasenajit

  his mother, Shilavati, princess of Avanti

  his first wife, Simantini, princess of Udra

  his second wife, Pulomi, princess of Vanga

  his third wife, Keshini, the potter’s daughter

  his first son, Mandhata

  his second son, Jayanta

  his teacher, Mandavya

  his friend, Vipula, son of Mandavya

  his doctor, Asanga, son of Matanga

  his sorcerers, the Siddhas, Yaja and Upayaja

  his foster children, the ghosts, Sumedha and Somvati

  his daughter-in-law, Mandhata’s wife, Amba

  his daughter-in-law’s mother, Hiranyavarni

  his daughter-in-law’s father, Shikhandi

  his daughter-in-law’s aunt, Draupadi

  Chronology of Events

  In the Mahabharata In this story

  Pandavas and Kauravas, the Kuru princes of Hastina-puri, defeat Drupada, king of Panchala, and give one half of his kingdom to their teacher, Drona Birth of Prasenajit, prince of Vallabhi

  Drupada gets his son, Shikhandi, married to Hiranyavarni, princess of Dasharni Prasenajit marries Shilavati, princess of Avanti

  Pandavas marry Drupada’s daughter, Draupadi, and demand from the Kauravas one half of their inheritance on which they establish the kingdom of Indra-prastha Shilavati gives birth to Yuvanashva

  Kauravas defeat Pandavas in a gambling match and send them into exile in the forest for thirteen years Yuvanashva’s first marriage

  After the priod of exile, Kauravas refuse to part with Pandava lands and wage war against them at Kuru-kshetra Yuvanashva invites Yaja and Upayaja to conduct a yagna

  Birth of Parikshit, grandson of the Pandavas Birth of Mandhata

  Renunciation of the Kuru elders The marriage of Mandhata

  Prologue

  They came like ants to honey. Warriors. Hundreds of warriors. Every self-respecting Kshatriya in Ilavrita, led by conch-shell trumpets, followed by a vast retinue of servants, wearing resplendent armour, bearing mighty bows, on elephants, on chariots, on foot, through the darkest nights and the coldest days of the year, along the banks of the Ganga, the Yamuna and the Saraswati, to the misty plains of Kuru-kshetra.

  They came, the young and the old, the adventurous and the inexperienced, to fight the Pandavas, or the Kauravas, or for dharma. Drupada came because he wanted to settle old scores. Shikhandi because he could not escape destiny. Some came obliged by marriage. Others because death in Kuru-kshetra guaranteed a place in Amravati, the eternal paradise of the sky-gods.

  Many came for the glory. For this was no ordinary war. It would be the greatest battle ever fought over property and principle in the land of the Aryas. A battle of eighteen armies. Bards would sing of it long after the last warrior had fallen. This war would make heroes of men.

  Soon banners of every king and kingdom fluttered along the horizon. Banners of Yudhishtira and Duryodhana, Bhima and Bhisma, Drona and Drupada, Karna and Arjuna. Banners from Gandhara, Kekaya, Kosala, Madra, Matsya, Panchala, Chedi, Anga, Vanga, and Kalinga.

  Alas! There was no banner from Vallabhi.

  Yuvanashva, the noble king of Vallabhi, son of Prasenajit, grandson of Pruthalashva, great grandson of Chandrasena, scion of the Turuvasu clan, wanted to come. ‘Not for glory, not to settle any score, not out of a sense of duty either,’ he clarified to the Kshatriya elders, ‘but to define dharma for generations to come is why I wish to go. Long have we have argued: Who should be king? Kauravas or Pandavas? The sons of a blind elder brother, or the sons of an impotent younger brother? Men who go back on their word, or men who gamble away their kingdom? Men for whom kingship is about inheritance, or men for whom kingship is about order? What could not be agreed by speech will now finally be settled in blood. All the kings of Ila-vrita will participate. I must too.’

  Yuvanashva had raised an army, filled his quivers, fitted his chariot and unfurled his banner. He had then gone to his mother, the venerable Shilavati, to seek her permission.

  Widow since the age of sixteen, Shilavati had been the regent of Vallabhi, and custodian of her son’s kingdom for nearly thirty years. She sat in her audience chamber on a tiger-skin rug, dressed in undyed fabrics, no jewellery except for a necklace of gold coins and tiger claws, and a vertical line of sandal paste extending from the bridge of her nose across her forehead. She looked as imperious as ever.

  Placing his head on his mother’s feet, his heart full of excitement, Yuvanashva had said, ‘Krishna’s efforts to negotiate peace between the cousins have collapsed. The division of the Kuru clan is complete. The five Pandavas have declared war against their hundred cousins, the Kauravas. The sound of conch-shells can be heard in the eight directions. It is a call to arms for every Kshatriya. This is no longer a family feud; it is a fight for civilization as we know it. Grant me permission so that I can go.’

  It was then that Shilavati’s affectionate hand on her son’s head stilled. ‘Go, if you must,’ she said, her voice full of disapproval. ‘Noble causes are noble indeed. But that is their story. I am interested only in yours. Should you die in Kuru-kshetra, my son, fighting for dharma, you will surely go to the realm of the Devas covered in glory. There, standing on the other side of the Vaitarni, you will find your father, your grandfather, your great grandfather and all the fathers before him. These Pitrs will ask you if you have done your duty, repaid your debt to your ancestors, fathered children through whom they hope to be reborn in the land of the living. What will be your answer then?’

  Yuvanashva’s heart sank. He had no answer. Thirteen years of marriage, three wives and nothing to show for it.

  All dreams of a triumphant return faded in the winter mist. His mother was right: what if he died? Behind him would be an abandoned kingdom, an abandoned mother and three abandoned wives. Before him would be unhappy ancestors, like cawing cro
ws, refusing to let him enter the land of Yama. What would be actually achieved? Glory? Dharma?

  So he took a decision. ‘I will not go. Not until I father a son.’

  ‘But this is what you have always wanted: your one chance to be like your illustrious ancestors—like Turuvasu, like Yayati, like Ila before him,’ said his friend, Vipula, when Yuvanashva returned to his mahasabha, his disappointment evident. ‘You could return alive, triumphant, with the courage to march to every corner of the world, be lord of the circular horizon and declare yourself Chakra-varti.’

  ‘What kind of a Chakra-varti will I be, what kind of dharma will I establish if I let myself be driven by desire? I have a duty towards my subjects, my wives, my ancestors, and my mother,’ said Yuvanashva, trying hard to convince himself.

  ‘Can’t you see what your mother is doing? You have been consecrated as king by the Brahmanas. It is your destiny, your rightful inheritance. Yet she will not let you rule because you have no children. She will not even let you fight because you have no children. Your mother has turned your masculinity against you and clings to the throne like a leech.’

  Yuvanashva defended his mother, ‘My mother is doing what she was brought to Vallabhi to do: rule the kingdom after becoming a widow….’

  ‘Only until you were ready to be king,’ interrupted Vipula.

  ‘I am not ready. I am not yet father. A king must provide proof of virility before he can rule.’

  ‘Who says so?’

  ‘My mother says so.’

  Vipula’s heart went out to his friend. ‘Love for your mother blinds you, my king. You could have been great. But you settle for being good.’

  ‘I have no choice, Vipula,’ said Yuvanashva, a wistful smile on his lips.

  And so for eighteen days, while eighteen armies would spill blood on the plains of Kuru-kshetra, Yuvanashva would stay in Vallabhi with his wives, struggling to win a battle he had fought for a long, long time. Until he fathered a child, his mother would not let him rule Vallabhi and his ancestors would not let him cross the Vaitarni.

  Book One

  vallabhi

  Vallabhi was a small but prosperous kingdom that stood between Hastina-puri and Panchala on the banks of the Kalindi, a tributary of the Yamuna. It encircled the temple of Ileshwara, established long ago by Ila.

  Ila was a much revered ancestor whose descendants ruled most of the kingdoms lining the banks of the Ganga, the Yamuna and the Saraswati. That is why the vast plain watered by the three great rivers was known as Ila-vrita, the enclosure of Ila’s children.

  Before Ila, man gazed skywards for directions and solutions. In rituals known as yagnas, altars were set up, fires lit, hymns chanted, and oblations of butter made to invoke the sky-gods known as Devas and compel them to grant divine favour.

  After Ila, man’s gaze became more earthbound. He was no more content to wander across the earth with his cows in search of pasture land. Goddesses known as Matrikas rose from the earth in forests, beside lakes, atop mountains and inside caves, nurturing settlements around them, demanding adoration or appeasement with flowers, food and the waving of lamps. This ritual was known as puja.

  ‘Let us pray to everyone,’ said Ila. ‘To the Devas who live in the sky and the Matrikas who spread themselves on the earth. Let us also pray to the Kshetrapalas who watch over villages. Let us pray to the trees and to the animals and to the rocks and the rivers. Let us pray to the Pitrs, our ancestors across the river Vaitarni. Prayer earns merit. Merit makes life predictable. Keeps away accidents and surprises.’

  Brahmanas, responsible for connecting man to God, divided themselves into Ritwiks who performed yagnas, Pujaris who conducted puja and Acharyas who became teachers. Kshatriyas, responsible for organizing and protecting man, patronized the rituals that had the power to change destiny and fructify desires. Vaishyas, responsible for feeding man, provided the butter, the grain, the fruits and the flowers. Shudras built altars for the sky-gods and temples for the earth-goddesses. They wove the cloth, baked the pots, drew the metals and designed the jewels.

  The most magnificient of all temples built was that of Ileshwara. It was unlike any other structure known in Ila-vrita then and since. Carved out of red sandstone, its walls, gateways and pavilions were full of images of all creatures imagined and unimaginable: gods and kings, sages and nymphs, flowers and fruits, animals and serpents, demons and the strangest of monsters. ‘An expression of the mind of God,’ said the artisans. ‘Displaying all that man can fathom and more.’ Atop its pyramidal roof was a great flag that fluttered proudly in the wind.

  In front of the temple stood the palace of the Turuvasu kings of Vallabhi. To the cows grazing at a distance the palace looked like waves of thatched roofs. The mynah bird that flew over it could see the spaces created within by courtyards and bathing tanks and lotus ponds. A serpent slithering in would realize there were no clearly defined rooms in this vast structure which housed over a hundred people. There were mud walls that rose from the earth but never reached the ceiling and sheer reed curtains that hung from the roofs but never touched the floor, elaborately carved pillars, huge brass lamps that stood in the corners or in wall niches or hung from the rafters. In every room spread out on the floor were skins of tigers, leopards and deer, shot by generations of Turuvasu princes. The walls were covered with paintings of rice flour, telling tales of warring gods, flirtatious nymphs and serene sages, establishing through complex geometrical patterns the power that draws in benevolent forces and keeps out malevolent ones.

  Between the palace and the temple was the city square around which radiated the city like the discus of Vishnu, the divine king of the universe. The sacrificial halls of the Brahmanas were located close to the temple. Closer to the palace were the gymnasiums of the Kshatriyas. The cattle sheds and granaries of the Vaishyas were located next to the city gates. At the far end of the city were the workshops of the Shudras.

  All through the day, in every corner of the city, one could hear women singing as they tended the kitchen gardens, put the children to sleep, pounded the grain, cooked the vegetables and waited for their fathers, brothers and sons to return home.

  On one side of the city was the Kalindi on which plied many boats, some with vast sails, taking traders and pilgrims up, down and across the river. On the other side stretched the fields, the pastures, the orchards, where the city bulls were allowed to roam free. Then came the frontier marked by terrifying images of the guardian god Aiyanar, a Kshetra-pala who brandished a scimitar and rode gigantic clay horses. Beyond lay the vast forests.

  Highways and pathways cut through these forests connecting Vallabhi to the other kingdoms of Ila-vrita. On these roads wandered the bards from village to village, temple to temple, singing, dancing, telling stories, entertaining all when the day’s work was done. They were the guardians of Ila-vrita’s history, the keepers of secrets and the carriers of gossip. Some were also spies in service of the kings. Others dreamers and riddle-makers.

  ‘Was Ila the son of Prithu?’ asked the children of Vallabhi, who chased the bards, eager to know tales of their forefathers.

  Prithu, who they referred to, was the first to establish the code of culture known as varna-ashrama-dharma that gave direction to mankind and ensured harmony with nature. Pleased with this code, Vishnu gave Prithu the title of Manu, leader of the Manavas, creatures who think.

  ‘No,’ replied the bards.

  ‘Whose son was he then?’

  ‘Why do you presume he was a son?’ asked the bards, smiling mischievously.

  The children demanded an explanation. The bards chuckled, plucked the strings of their lute and distracted them with the tales of Ileshwara by whose grace the most sterile of seeds became potent and the most barren of wombs became fertile. ‘If Ileshwara wishes,’ sang the bards, ‘mangoes can grow on banyan trees and eunuchs can father sons.’

  ileshwara blesses drupada

  The streets and squares of Vallabhi were always crowded with men who
sought to be fathers and women who sought to be mothers. They poured in each month, men on full moon days and women on new moon nights, men dressed in white, women in red, men with garlands of white dhatura flowers and women with garlands of red jabakusuma flowers. Each one returned without exception a year later, with daughters on the eighth day of the waning moon or with sons on the eighth night of the waxing moon.

  It was this power of Ileshwara that had drawn Drupada, king of Panchala, to Vallabhi, forty-five years before the war at Kuru-kshetra. He wanted children who would destroy the Kuru clan.

  The Kuru princes of Hastina-puri, which included the hundred sons of Dhritarashtra, known as the Kauravas, and the five sons of Pandu known as the Pandavas, lived under the same roof then. They had, without provocation, swooped into Panchala like hawks, taken Drupada and his six sons hostage and released them only when Drupada had agreed to relinquish control over one half of his kingdom in favour of their teacher, Drona.

  A furious and humiliated Drupada had sworn, ‘I will father a son who will kill Drona, the teacher who demanded from the Kurus one half of Panchala as his tuition fee. My son will also kill Bhisma, grand-uncle of the Kuru princes, who gave Drona employment and allowed this to happen. And I want a daughter too who will marry into the Kuru clan and divide their lands as they divided mine.’

  ‘So many children!’ his wife, Soudamini, had exclaimed then. ‘You will surely need the help of Vallabhi’s Ileshwara for this.’

  It was a new moon night when they arrived.

  The then king of Vallabhi, Pruthalashva, Yuvanashva’s grandfather, received them at the gates. He found it hard to believe that the man on the golden chariot with an ivory parasol over his head was a king. Drupada had dark circles round his eyes, unkempt hair, unwashed clothes and foul breath. Mercifully, beside him stood Soudamini, his youngest wife, wearing gold anklets and waving a yak-tail fly whisk, both much prized symbols of royalty. ‘Come to my palace, treat my house as your home,’ Pruthalashva had said in keeping with the laws of hospitality.