Pregnant King

by Devdutt Pattanaik

cut it out

  Then it moved. A kick. Then another. The king woke up with a start. ‘Come here quickly. Feel this,’ he called the ghosts. They saw the excitement in the king’s eyes. They liked it.

  The queens were called for. Simantini felt the lump which was now the size of a gourd. It had immobilized the king totally. It had been weeks since he had attended court. Simantini felt the kick. It made her feel happy. Then she was afraid. ‘Send for Asanga,’ she said.

  Asanga felt the moving lump. There was no more doubt. How was he to tell this to the queens? Embarrased, he decided to first inform Shilavati.

  ‘What is wrong with my son?’ she asked, looking the other way towards the lotus pond. A line of crows stood at the edge of her audience chamber where the sun stopped and the shade began.

  ‘He is with child,’ he replied. What else could he say? It sounded absurd. There was no way he could make his answer reasonable.

  Shilavati did not know how to react. ‘How can that be?’ she asked without turning around, trying hard to be dismissive.

  ‘I think your son accidentally drank the magic potion produced by Yaja and Upayaja. The potions of the Siddhas are powerful. They can have such effects.’

  Shilavati got up immediately and rushed out of her audience chamber. The servants watched as the mother, who had kept to herself for many months now, walked briskly towards her son’s chambers. Something was wrong, they told themselves. They had never seen Shilavati look so worried. What was wrong with the king?

  Shilavati looked at her son lying in bed. He looked so helpless, sleeping with his legs spread apart. That lump making it impossible for him to sit or stand comfortably. The queens were around him. Comforting him. Fearing he was sick. Fearing that the boil might kill him. His vomiting, his retching, his huge appetite, his swollen legs over the past six months now made sense.

  ‘Do they know?’ asked Shilavati, softly, looking at her three daughters-in-law.

  ‘No,’ said Asanga, who walked behind her, his head bent.

  Shilavati saw the nervousness of Simantini. Should she tell them that there was nothing to fear. What was growing in Yuvanashva’s thigh would not kill him. Or would it?

  ‘What if it is a monster? A parasite?’ Shilavati asked.

  ‘It could be, but I don’t think so,’ replied Asanga.

  Shilavati imagined a huge tadpole with fangs sucking her son’s blood and growing fatter by the moment. ‘It could be some worm. Something that slipped into his blood when he was out hunting in the swamps.’

  ‘No, my queen, it is a child. You can call the midwives and confirm this.’

  ‘No, no midwives. I don’t want anyone to know this.’ Shilavati withdrew from the king’s bedchamber and returned to her courtyard.

  ‘The queens must be told,’ said Asanga, following her in. He saw the crows were restless. They flapped their wings. Shilavati ignored them.

  ‘Why?’ asked Shilavati, sitting on the rug of black-buck. She pointed to the other blackbuck rug on the floor inviting Asanga to join her. A servant walked in with a reed fan. Shilavati raised her hand and indicated that she did not want to be disturbed.

  ‘They need to know at least that the king is safe,’ said Asanga. ‘That there is nothing to fear from the lump. It is not a disease. It is a new life.’

  ‘It is a disease. A child in a man’s body. How do you explain this? It is an aberration, a disease, a curse.’ Shilavati took a decision. ‘Cut it out.’

  ‘What?’ said Asanga, not sure if he had heard correctly.

  ‘Cut it out. Get the monster out of his body. Throw it into the river. Or bury it under a rock so that it does not haunt us.’

  ‘Devi, it is a child we are talking about.’

  ‘Women carry children in their bodies. Not men. What men carry can only be monsters. Kill it.’

  the secret revealed

  The next day, the king was removed to the corner room of the women’s quarters. The queens were told to leave him alone. ‘No assistants. I will help you myself,’ Shilavati told Asanga. ‘I don’t want anyone to know of this.’

  ‘My queen, killing an unborn child is equal to killing a cow or a Brahmana,’ said Asanga.

  ‘Don’t worry. It was my decision. My karma.’

  ‘That was not why I brought it up. My queen, do you realize you are asking me to kill your grandchild?’

  ‘It is not my grandchild. It is a monster who threatens everything I hold dear. I have to destroy it for the sake of my son.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Asanga, not sure what the queen meant. He felt suffocated. The inner room where the king had been moved had just one window. Lamps had to be lit to bring in light. The air in the room was still and stale. Incense had to be burnt to purify the space. The king was given a potion to sleep. Asanga saw the mats on the floor and the games of dice. He looked at the walls. All around images of women dancing, singing, laughing, seducing sages and flirting with each other. This was the secret space of the palace woman. He was perhaps the first man to see it.

  ‘If it is a child, as you say it is, then what will Yuvanashva be after he gives birth to it, that is if he survives the childbirth? A woman? A half-woman? What? Who will accept such a man as a king? It will be end of his kingship. And that child, a man born of a man. Everybody will consider it a monster. Nobody will accept him as a king. If this child survives, I will have a son and a grandson but Vallabhi will have no king. I cannot let that happen. Kill that thing in my son’s thigh. Do it, Asanga, or I will do it myself.’

  Asanga hesitated. ‘Let me sit down and think.’ Asanga sat on the floor and leaned against a pillar. He covered his face. He was being asked by the queen to do something that was forbidden. Killing an unborn child is the most heinous of crimes. His father had told him how it had to be done. It involved inserting into the womb herbs that would force the baby out prematurely. The baby would shrivel, melt and ooze out as a clot. Matanga had warned him to use this knowledge with caution, and rarely, only when the unborn child is defective and if it threatens the well-being of the mother. To kill an unborn child is to deny an ancestor the chance to be reborn. But this was different. There was no womb to put herbs into. He would have to slice out the baby. Force it to breathe air before its lungs were fully formed. Basically, smother it with air.

  Shilavati watched Asanga sitting against the wall, covering his face with his hands, breathing deeply. Shilavati wondered if the decision taken was right. It was. It had to be. For the good of her family and her kingdom. For the good of her son. Why had this happened? What had she done wrong? she wondered. This calamity. This terrible accident.

  And then doubts crept into Shilavati’s heart. What if this was the only grandson she was destined to have? What if this was the child that the astrologers had foretold? What if the only way Yuvanashva could create a child was within himself and not in a woman’s body? Maybe, the child should live.

  ‘I will do it, Devi,’ said Asanga standing up. ‘But will you be able to assist me? There will be a lot of blood.’

  There was a knock on the door. Asanga unbolted the latch and found the three queens outside. Simantini spoke up, ‘Mother, I don’t think the king should be left alone.’

  ‘He is not alone. I am with him,’ said Shilavati.

  The women looked over the shoulders of Shilavati and Asanga. Yuvanashva was sleeping but it was apparent the sleep was disturbed. Simantini said, ‘Mother, I know Asanga is here to remove that thing which is growing in his thigh. We would like to be with our husband when he is doing this. The pain will be unbearable.’

  Keshini stood silently behind the two senior queens. She looked up. Her eyes met Asanga’s. He looked afraid. Something was not right.

  ‘Kshatriyas do not fear pain,’ said Shilavati. ‘My son is strong. He does not need the help of his wives to go through this mild operation. Don’t worry, all will be well.’

  ‘We have a say where our husband’s life is concerned,’ said Pulomi. ‘If something happens t
o him, we will be widows. We will not leave his side. We will watch as the doctor removes the boil.’

  ‘It’s not a boil,’ said Asanga.

  ‘Quiet,’ hissed Shilavati.

  ‘Devi, the queens have a right to know,’ said Asanga lowering his eyes.

  ‘Right to know what?’ asked Pulomi, raising her voice. Shilavati gave her second daughter-in-law a cold stare. Pulomi lowered her eyes. She feared Shilavati.

  ‘That is no boil in your husband’s inner thigh.’

  Simantini sighed, ‘I thought as much. It palpitates. It throbs. And the rhythm does not match the king’s pulse. It moves like something alive. It is a parasite, right?’ Simantini sounded like she was hoping against her deepest fears.

  ‘No, it is not a parasite,’ said Asanga. His throat felt dry. He gulped nervously and looked towards Shilavati.

  ‘It’s a child,’ said Shilavati. A tear rolled down her cheek as she said those words. A child. A child of the Turuvasus. She turned around. Through the window she could see the tamarind tree. The cradles on its branches tinkled in the wind as if protesting against her decision.

  ‘Finally, we admit the truth,’ said Pulomi, pushing her way into the corner room. ‘How long were we to continue this charade?’

  the operation

  Asanga covered the lump with a paste of turmeric. Then made an incision lengthwise with a sharp bronze knife. Blood oozed out. The bed was red in no time. He cut the layer of yellow tissue beneath. He dipped his hand in oil and pushed his fingers into the sides of the incision.

  The queens watched keenly. Simantini placed the king’s head on her lap. Shilavati held his legs. Pulomi stood next to Asanga ready to offer him assistance. Keshini sat on the bed next to the king fanning him.

  The king squirmed. ‘Pour some more of the potion in his mouth. He must sleep. If he awakens he will scream. The pain will be unbearable,’ said Asanga without looking up. He was negotiating his fingers around the ball of flesh located between the king’s skin and muscle. When he finally succeeded, he pulled it out. It was soft and wet and covered with slime. ‘There is an umbilical cord. Pull it, Keshini,’ he said.

  Shilavati raised her eyebrows. The doctor had addressed the queen by her name. Such familiarity. Then her attention returned to her son. He was still. His feet were cold. ‘His limbs are limp.’

  Keshini pulled out the cord. A small lotus-like placenta slipped out of the incision followed by a gush of dark red blood. ‘Quickly, hold this,’ said Asanga, handing the ball of flesh to Simantini. Simantini looked at it. It was a tiny ball of flesh. It moved. Her hands trembled. She screamed. ‘Don’t drop it. It’s alive,’ shouted Asanga. Simantini froze. Pulomi dropped the bronze knife Asanga had handed her. Keshini dropped the placenta. They all looked at what was in Simantini’s hands.

  Asanga ignored the queens. Blood was pouring from the incision. With the help of Shilavati he raised the king’s thigh and tied reams of medicated cloth round it like a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, bring the edges of the wound together and facilitate healing. He then put a layer of medicinal paste over the inner thigh.

  He looked at what was in Simantini’s hands. It was no parasite. It was a baby. A boy. With tiny hands and tiny feet and tiny eyes. And tiny lips. It started to cry.

  Like a horde of wild trumpeting elephants the rain clouds rushed in above Vallabhi. There was thunder. Lightning. A downpour. The children ran screaming down the streets. Men and women extended their arms to feel the rain.

  But in the corner room of the palace, the king lay asleep, naked, spreadeagled on a blood-stained bed. His wives were staring at the little baby in their arms. Small enough to fit in a single palm. Crying softly. Like a cat purring.

  ‘The king consumed the potion six months ago. But that thing is fully formed,’ said Asanga.

  ‘It’s a baby boy. Don’t call it a thing,’ said Simantini.

  ‘I apologize, Devi,’ said Asanga.

  Shilavati stepped out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a pot of milk. Keshini said, ‘Mother, the child cannot drink from a pot.’

  ‘That is not for the baby to drink,’ said Asanga. His face was grim. He knew what it was for. He wanted to protest. But he was too shaken to speak.

  ‘Bring that thing here,’ ordered Shilavati.

  Simantini did not like her mother-in-law’s tone of voice. ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t ask questions. Bring it here.’

  ‘No. Not until you tell me,’ said Simantini.

  Shilavati was not used to being questioned. She looked up and stared. Simantini shivered. Pulomi understood what was happening. She had seen this in her father’s palace, after her father’s favourite concubine gave birth to a baby boy. ‘The queen plans to drown the newborn in milk.’

  Keshini let out a cry. Simantini drew back and held the baby close to her bosom. Outside, in the garden, hundreds of crows started cawing. Protesting.

  The baby kept crying. ‘It’s a baby. For thirteen years the four of us have struggled to have a baby. And now you want to kill it. Have you no heart? What kind of a woman are you?’ asked Simantini.

  Shilavati strode towards her, ignoring her words, determined to snatch the baby. It had to be done. Cruel or unjust, it had to be done. What would people say? Her son was pregnant with child. She would be the butt of jokes across Ila-vrita. ‘He could not make any woman pregnant so he got himself pregnant,’ they would say. She would not let them. This had to be done.

  ‘No, mother,’ said Pulomi, coming between Shilavati and Simantini. ‘You cannot do this. I will not let you. It’s a baby. It’s a life. You cannot do this.’

  Keshini rushed and hugged Simantini, and covered the baby. ‘No, no, no, there has been too much death in this palace. Stop, mother. Stop.’

  Shilavati stopped. She realized what she was about to do. A child. Born of a man. A monster. A freak. An aberration. Her grandson, nevertheless.

  the king wakes up

  The king awoke with a smile. He opened his eyes and found Asanga sitting next to him. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘The whole day, almost,’ said Asanga.

  Yuvanashva looked outside the window. Water dripped from the leaves of the mango tree. ‘I feel light. Unburdened.’

  ‘We have removed the lump from your thigh.’

  Yuvanashva saw the plasters round his thigh, the green and yellow paste of herbs. ‘I feel strangely content and fulfilled. I feel happy. I feel like crying. I cannot explain it.’ Asanga did not reply. ‘I feel a strange feeling in my heart. A longing, a yearning.’

  ‘I will tell the queens to join you,’ Asanga got up to call one of the servants.

  Yuvanashva stopped him. ‘No, don’t. I cannot explain this. I feel as if my body is incomplete. It is crying out for fulfilment. My heart feels heavy. It beats slowly. As if tapping me to sleep. I feel a fullness in my chest. It is a strange feeling. A sweet suffering.’

  Yuvanashva closed his eyes. He went back to sleep. Asanga left the room to check on the newborn.

  The child would not stop crying. ‘It needs to suckle on a breast,’ said Simantini.

  The three queens looked at each other. They felt useless.

  Shilavati had given strict instructions that the child not be taken to Yuvanashva. ‘It is not right. Keep them apart. They must not bond.’ So the king was taken out of the corner room and moved to his section of the palace. The door of the woman’s quarters was bolted shut. ‘Let motherhood remain with the women,’ said Shilavati.

  The child kept crying. ‘Tell the servant to fetch a wet nurse,’ said Simantini. Pregnant women and nursing mothers avoided serving in the palace. They were afraid the unhappy glance of the barren queens would harm their child. So the servants had to go out into the city and look for nursing mothers.

  They found six large-breasted women with a litter of children and ample milk in their bosoms. They placed the infant on their breasts. ‘He is so small. Like a baby rat,’ said one of the m
others, her smile full of affection. She touched the baby with her little finger tenderly. ‘His skin is so thin. Even the veins below are visible.’ But the baby refused to suckle. He just kept crying. The queens found it unbearable.

  ‘He is a prince, all right. Clings to life tenaciously. And rejects the milk of commoners,’ said Simantini softly.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Pulomi.

  The three queens and their handmaidens and the servants crowded around the little child. The walls leaned forward to hear him cry. The pillars wanted to hug him. The whole palace had been waiting for thirteen years to hear this sound of life.

  ‘Devi,’ said Shilavati’s maid. ‘The garden is full of wet crows. Hundreds of them. They are still and silent. They all look in the direction of the queen’s quarters. It is eerie. Should I tell the guards to shoo them away?’

  ‘No, don’t,’ said Shilavati.

  The crying got louder and louder.

  Yuvanashva woke up with a start. ‘My baby,’ he said.

  Asanga, who had dozed off beside him, woke up too. ‘What did you say, Arya?’

  ‘My baby,’ he said. ‘You did not remove a lump from my thigh. You removed a baby. My baby. My son. I can feel him. Where is he?’

  Asanga did not speak a word.

  ‘Where is the baby?’ demanded Yuvanashva.

  Asanga lowered his head. Shilavati had given strict instructions not to say anything on the subject.

  ‘Where is the baby, Asanga? Tell me.’

  Asanga looked at the king. Milk was oozing out of his chest. Yuvanashva followed the direction of Asanga’s eyes. ‘What is this?’ he asked. He wiped his chest with his hand and smelt the fluid. ‘It smells like milk.’ He tasted it. His eyes widened, ‘It is milk. Asanga, what is happening? Why is my body producing milk? It was a baby, was it not, Asanga, in my thigh? I felt it. I knew it. I just did not believe it. Where is it? Show me my child. Is it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘It’s a boy, Arya,’ Asanga confessed. ‘He is all right. He is safe with your mother and your wives in the women’s quarters.’