by Kavita Kane
Bhishm nodded perfunctorily. ‘Yes, of course. But I repeat, I do not concur, and I never will,’ he said cautiously. ‘Please prepare the girls. Let them know what they are in for. They are too young. . .’ his voice dragged into a weary sigh.
She replied tartly, ‘As always, I will do the dirty deed. I shan’t allow anything, oh noble Bhishm, to tarnish your spotless image.’
His words were echoing in her mind as Satyavati hurried to the other wing of the palace, but she did not give them the power to hurt her. It was upon her to do this task; wicked or wise, only time would tell. It was best that it was Vyas, more importantly, her son, who was going to perform niyog with her daughters-in-law, not some roaming rishi or unscrupulous king. It had not been just caution or discretion that prompted her to take this decision. It would be her blood that would inherit the throne. It would be the same, she thought rationally, as Chitrangad’s or Virya’s son occupying the throne. All three are my sons.
The two young queens were still in mourning, and she could hear them sobbing when she entered their chamber. Satyavati knew her two daughters-in-law well. From their birth, they had been spoilt. At their swayamvar, they had been curious and eager, but with enough intelligence to realize that the various young princes who swarmed around them had a calculating eye on the riches and kingdom that would eventually be theirs. She, Satyavati, had ruined their plans, their dreams, and had them whisked away by Bhishm straight into the arms of an eager Virya. In spite of having everything that wealth could buy, they had led a life of unadulterated merrymaking with Virya. They were not just his queens, but also his lovers, his constant companions in a promiscuous pursuit of wanton pleasures. But now he was dead, leaving them bereft. They had no one but each other.
Her son’s cloying affection had pampered them, and without it now, they were wilting like flowers under a hot sun. She was that hot sun. Satyavati had quickly realized this, soon after Virya’s death. They regarded her as the reason for their unhappiness and misfortune.
Satyavati had tried her best to understand them, or rather, make them like her. But her eager interest in everything they did or planned only infuriated them. Her suggestions on ways that they could relieve their ennui were received with scorn. Her attempts to make them escape their sorrow had made matters worse between them. She did what she thought was best for the two girls, but she did not see that she was spoiling them by showering everything on them, whether they wanted it or not. She had become to them an officious meddler. She knew they sneered at her behind her back, and offered her nothing in return.
But now they will have to, she promised herself fiercely. It is time they gave something to Hastinapur.
Instructing their handmaid, Parishrami, to leave the chamber, Satyavati approached both the girls. Ambalika got up swiftly as soon as she entered the chamber, but Ambika, lying listless in bed, only reluctantly sat up.
‘I have an urgent matter to discuss,’ informed Satyavati, nodding to her elder daughter-in-law to sit and listen. And in swift, succinct words, she explained her intention. The girls looked at her with mounting horror, their eyes round and alarmed.
‘No!’ whispered Ambalika, her face bleached white from horror.
‘Never!’ hissed Ambika vehemently, her tears drying up in surging anger. ‘How can you give us away to some stranger?’
‘He is your brother-in-law, not a stranger,’ replied Satyavati briefly.
Ambika gaped. ‘But. . .’ she turned to look uncomprehendingly at her younger sister.
Ambalika looked as dazed.
‘We are not courtesans, to be presented to a stranger for one night,’ persisted Ambika fiercely.
‘You are queens, and one of your duties is to provide heirs,’ retorted Satyavati, cutting short Ambika’s protests. Her voice became cold and firm. ‘You will have your child, if not from my son, then from another!’
Ambika inhaled harshly. ‘Don’t you ever feel fear or pain or compassion, Mother?’ she raged. ‘All these days, I haven’t seen you shed a tear, or mourn for your son. . .’ her voice broke. ‘All you can think of is Hastinapur and its heirs?’ she sneered through her thick tears—not sad, but bitter, angry tears. ‘You ruined Amba’s life, and now it’s our turn. What gives you that right?’ she fumed, her steady brown eyes livid.
Satyavati threw Ambika a hard look. ‘You say you were born a princess, so you should know the royal rules well by now, dear. You are now a queen, a widowed queen, and you know your royal responsibilities well.’
Her tone softened. ‘Please, just this one time, for this one night tonight,’ she pleaded. ‘The future of this family, of this kingdom, lies in your hands.’
‘Both of us?’ croaked Ambalika, in a stricken whisper.
‘Ideally, yes,’ said Satyavati. ‘We need to have two princes, at least.’
Ambalika steadied herself. She looked at her sister, and nodded numbly. Ambika drew in a quick, startled breath. She remained very still, staring at her younger sister, whose pallor was as white as the silk she was wearing, courage and colour drained from her.
They would have to agree; their consent did not matter.
‘Then who would be the heir?’ asked Ambika, in a stilted tone.
‘Yours; the older one from the older queen,’ returned Satyavati with a reassuring smile.
Ambika felt a strange sense of jubilation. For once, she would win. She threw her younger sister a sidelong look of envious resentment. Virya had always favoured the soft-spoken, voluptuous Ambalika. Now it will be my turn to preen, she thought elatedly, a flare of hope kindling within her.
She noticed the gold pot her mother-in-law had placed on a table.
‘What is that?’ she asked curiously, her fears deferred for a short second.
‘Ghee,’ said the older woman. ‘In niyog, the bodies are to be covered with ghee, so that there is no lust or desire in the minds of the participants; only the facilitating of the actual act to make way for conception.’
Ambalika shuddered, close to tears.
‘The act is seen primarily as a duty,’ continued Satyavati, her voice soft and reassuring. ‘And while doing so, the appointed man and the woman will have only duty on their minds, and not passion or lust. The man does it to help the woman in the name of obligation, whereas the woman accepts it only to bear the child for herself and her husband and family. Think of it as an allegiance you owe to the throne of Hastinapur, which lies vacant without a king.’
‘It is cold-blooded!’ muttered Ambika. But there was a glint in her eyes. She squeezed her fingers into small fists. She was ready for anything to give Hastinapur the heir. Her son, the first born, would be heir. . .
The Other Son
‘There is a young rishi waiting for you, Queen Mother,’ declared Vibha. ‘Should I lead him inside?’
Satyavati nodded.
He was as she had expected him to be—a dark, thin, young man, with matted locks, his face largely obscured by a long, shaggy beard and overgrown moustache. My son, the words stuck in her throat. He was a square-shouldered man of medium height, a definitive jaw and a straight narrow nose. But she looked into his dark brown eyes and she saw the man within—a gentle soul with passionate eyes, alight with the glow of knowledge. Parashar had groomed him to be a revered rishi, as promised, while she had erased him as a momentary episode in her unstoppable life, and moved on.
She stood gazing at him wordlessly for a long time, drinking in the sight of him. He had never been hers, and this was the first time she had felt a sense of possessiveness for him. Vyas was her son, after all.
He smiled slowly, the same glorious smile of his father. Her heart somersaulted.
‘It must be for some urgent matter that you called for me; not because of a surge of maternal love,’ he smiled. ‘It had been promised to you by my father, Ma. Whenever you think of me, I shall be there.’
She detected the taunt in his soft voice. She did not give herself time to feel more anxious, but began immediately t
o tell him everything—about herself, Hastinapur, and what she wanted out of him, for the sake of the throne. He sat pale, with a grave, almost stern face, his lips compressed. He did not even bat an eyelash, but simply sat listening to her keenly. His attitude, and his fixed, expressionless gaze reminded her of Parashar and their incredibly intimate, icy-cold memories.
When she had finished, Vyas looked at her gravely, without a trace of judgement or the condemnation she had been secretly dreading.
‘Do you know what you are doing?’ he said eventually, his voice soft. ‘Such decisions don’t augur well. Adopt a child, as Bhishm suggested.’
‘Whose?’ she shrugged. ‘And what assurance do I have that it won’t lead to torn loyalties?’
‘You can assure yourself of nothing, Ma. Even gods can’t control their future!’ he smiled. ‘But these children you so desire from me won’t be of the royal Kuru bloodline,’ he warned.
‘The world will recognize them as such,’ she replied evenly. ‘They will be known as Kurus because their mothers married into the Kuru clan. The children thus born will always be considered as the children of the mothers and their husband’s family, and not that of the appointed man. And I am sure that even you would not seek any paternal relationship or attachment to these children in the future.’
‘No, I shan’t; just as you did not. But which my father did,’ he said pointedly.
Satyavati bit her lip.
‘How is your father?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘He passed away recently,’ said Vyas, his face remote. ‘He was walking through a forest when he and his students were attacked by wolves. He was unable to get away in his old age with his limp,’ he paused, and she noticed his hands had balled into fists. ‘They say that when a rishi dies, he merges back into nature. My father left this world, merging into those very wolves.’
She felt a lump in her throat, and swallowed hard. She touched his hand fearfully, trying to connect with the son she was meeting for the first time.
When she sat like that, with their hands tightly clasped, sympathetic and mournful, Vyas felt as if they were not strangers. Both were bound by blood, both had been abandoned in the course of life.
‘Do the queens know of me?’ he asked finally, breaking the awkward silence. ‘They are princesses who were married to a young, handsome king. How would they respond to me in this state?’ he said, looking down at his rough bark clothes and his matted appearance. ‘I have come straight from the forests, cut short my meditation for you. I am dirty and dishevelled, not fit to be in the presence of any royalty. The queens will be repulsed. . . Should we wait. . .’
‘No, it has to be done tonight, as quickly as possible,’ she cut in curtly.
Vyas immediately knew why. She wanted to hasten the heirs into the world as early as possible, for them to be known as Vichitravirya’s sons.
‘I thought you were not scared of what society has to say,’ he said softly. ‘But you did desert me for society. . .’
‘I did not. Your father wanted you for himself; what I wanted did not matter,’ she interrupted quietly.
Vyas shook his head. ‘Why did you not fight for me? My father wanted me; you didn’t,’ he accused.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I did not. Why would I? I was a child myself, too confused about all that had happened! Why can a woman not choose motherhood?’
She paused abruptly: ironically, she was forcing her daughters-in-law into motherhood as well.
She continued harshly, ‘Yes, I confess you did not stir in me the maternal emotions expected out of me. That’s why it was so easy to give you up to your father. As you rightly said, he loved you more and was more a father than I was a mother. He wanted a child and it happened to be through me; I was in no position to refuse or choose,’ she pursed her lips, feeling a constriction in her throat. ‘Was I to explain that you were born out of my acquiescence to the advances of a famous rishi?’
Vyas flushed under his dark skin.
She continued grimly, ‘I tried to make the most of a bad situation. Does that make me capricious? Conniving?’ She gave a slight shake of her head. ‘A girl often has to endure what is forced on her: be it man, marriage or motherhood.’
‘I am talking about myself,’ he said with a sad smile. ‘You did not want me until now. Yet, you are unafraid to use your forgotten son for your great royal plan. Who am I to you, Ma?’
His gentle voice almost broke her.
‘I am not ashamed of you. Never!’ she said fiercely. ‘Nor am I ashamed of what I did, if that is what you are insinuating. Parashar and you are gifts in my life; I was blessed. I have acknowledged you to the world, Son. You have been received in this palace as one, and have been accorded all the respect due to you. You are Rishi Vyas, and I am proud to be your mother. I bow to you, Son. But now I wish to employ you for a more political reason, rather than personal,’ she gave a twisted smile.
‘Ah, yes, you are the queen mother,’ he nodded knowingly. ‘One who commands all.’
‘But I am not commanding you; it’s a request. I am begging you,’ she said simply. ‘I can see no other way.’
‘The way of the world is often misleading, taking us down a path we should actually avoid,’ he said cryptically. He stood up. ‘I am ready. But are the queens?’
She nodded. ‘My maid, Vibha, will lead you to their chambers.’
She saw him leave the hall. She stood still, staring bleakly at the doorway as she listened to his heavy tread disappearing down the corridor. She stepped out on the terrace; a light evening breeze was blowing. She spotted Bhishm immediately, walking up and down in his garden below, amidst his beloved flowers. Even from a distance, she could detect the agitation in his stride, the suppressed frustration in his hunched shoulders. She gazed at him, feeling the familiar sense of belongingness. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from him and looked instead for a long time at the Ganga. There was not one sail on the horizon. On the silhouetted banks, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were mountains, gardens, towers and houses, and the sun was sparkling over them all. Yet, it all seemed alien to her; an incomprehensible tangle against the echo of a boatman’s song.
Satyavati practically rushed into Ambika’s bedchamber; her anxiety making her gait unsteady. She stopped abruptly when she heard voices. The sisters were in deep conversation, oblivious of her presence.
‘Whom are we fooling but ourselves, Ambalika? We lived with our husband for years and never had a child; neither of us! Did no one suspect?’
‘Virya was so ill, Ambika,’ her sister replied weakly, but Satyavati detected the hesitancy in her voice.
‘He was impotent!’ wept Ambika in anger. ‘Dead or alive, I guess we would have had to endure this torture and bear a child through niyog!’ she gave an off-key, short laugh.
‘But we might get to have a child after all these years of waiting,’ said Ambalika, hope in her voice.
‘For a child, are you ready to suffer this indignity?’ demanded her sister.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ambalika feebly. ‘But I do want a child—I have waited for years! Don’t you too? What is left for us anyway?’
Satyavati walked in at that moment, with heavy footsteps so she would be heard. The girls looked up guiltily.
One look at her hard face and the older girl burst out in a rush of words.
‘I couldn’t bear that man! I kept my eyes tightly shut!’ whispered Ambika with a visible shudder.
Satyavati absently wiped her perspiring face. It was a hot morning, but she realized she was sweating more than she usually did. She was aware of an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling of fear. Was the child conceived well, was her frantic, first thought.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she ordered.
Colour flamed Ambika’s fair face, more out of anger than embarrassment. ‘No, I shan’t! Allow me some privacy, please!’ she scowled. ‘All I can say is that it was a nightmare, and the man you sent was a revolting
monster! I couldn’t bear to look at him!’
Her sister’s words had made Ambalika shiver. ‘It is my turn tonight,’ she stammered, her face ashen as she turned piteous eyes towards her mother-in-law.
Satyavati pursed her lips, placing a fingertip on the middle of the lower one, trying to seem calm while she was raging inside, dread mingling with wrath. The foolish girl had somehow ruined it.
Looked at the frightened Ambalika, she placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and smiled.
‘Under no circumstances, dear, should you shut your eyes,’ she warned. ‘Vyas told me what you did, Ambika,’ she said nodding towards the older sister. ‘He says that this does not portend anything good. . .’ she frowned.
‘How will it be good when I was forced into it!’ cried Ambika fiercely. ‘And, moreover, he wasn’t whom I was expecting. . .’ she stopped abruptly, her face flaming.
Satyavati looked puzzled. She noticed Ambika bite her lower lip and the usually outspoken girl was unusually wordless. The girl seemed to think hard for a long moment. She studied Satyavati’s face, as if making up her mind. Then her words came with a burst, ‘He was not whom I was told to receive!’ she accused, her voice sharp.
Satyavati was taken aback, her confusion deepening.
Ambalika’s distressed voice broke in. ‘Ma, you had told us that it would be our brother-in-law who would be visiting our chamber, and we assumed it would be. . .’ she stopped, acutely embarrassed, her face coloured a bright pink.
It dawned quickly upon her. They had been expecting Bhishm in their chamber!
The sheer ludicrousness of the thought made her want to giggle, but seeing the red, tense faces of the two girls, and knowing the gravity of the moment, Satyavati shook her head in dismay.
Ambika’s eyes glittered with the flare of disappointed rage. Her mother-in-law had tricked her into believing that her handsome brother-in-law would be coming to her that night. She had been excited, though nervous, and had urged her maid to dress her up splendidly, after a luxurious bath. She had waited for him in her chamber at the appointed hour; the father of her future child, the heir-to-be. But instead, in the dimness of her chamber, she saw a dark, dirty monster with flowing dreadlocks, an ash-covered body and glowing eyes. She shuddered at the memory. Unprepared and aghast, stunned into speechlessness, she had closed her eyes in horror, as his rough body had descended upon her.