Pregnant King, The

by Pattanaik, Devdutt

  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.


  ‘What?’ asked Simantini, half asleep. She usually slept lightly, especially on nights she knew her husband was with someone else. She opened her eyes, raised her head, and tried to see who was caressing her feet. Her eyes widened as she recognized the new queen. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, getting up quickly. Keshini’s eyes were wide. She spoke but no words left her lips. ‘What happened?’ asked Simantini coming close to her. The girl looked frightened. This was her wedding night. What had happened? Simantini feared the worst.

  ‘The king is dead,’ said Keshini, trembling like a leaf.

  ‘What?’ said Simantini.

  ‘The king is dead,’ Keshini said again. ‘He is lying still and I have tried waking him several times. But he does not move. I am sure he is dead.’

  Simantini rushed out of her room into the new queen’s chamber, dragging Keshini behind her. She did not want to wake up anybody. What had this potter’s daughter done?

  Inside, she found Yuvanashva sleeping, eyes shut, looking peaceful, his chest moving up and down gently. She shut her eyes and gave a sigh of relief. ‘He is dead, isn’t he?’ asked Keshini, looking up at her.

  ‘Stop saying that. He is just asleep.’

  ‘But he is so still and he did not wake up when I shook his hand and pulled his hair.’

  Simantini looked at the little girl, not sure whether to be shocked or amused. She noticed that Keshini was fully decked out. The flower garland had been squashed but it was still around her neck as it was around the king’s. And his dhoti was knotted. And the bed was not crumpled. Keshini’s nose-ring had not been removed. And the sandal paste patterns on her forehead were intact. Simantini frowned. Crinkled her forehead. Something was not right. ‘What actually happened here tonight? Tell me everything.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Keshini, smiling broadly, glad to have someone to talk to, relieved that her husband was not dead. ‘When he came in I was looking out the window looking for the Arundhati star. He must have been standing there for some time for I found him staring at me when I turned around. I told him the sky looks different from the sky in my village. He smiled. He sat on the bed. I sat next to him. “Are you afraid?” he asked and I said, “Of what?” and he said, “Of me?” and I said, “Should I be?” and he said, “You know who I am?” and I said, “You are my husband and I have to show you a star tonight.” Then he said, “And?” and I said, “And what?” and then he said, “Do you want to sit close to me?” and I said “I want to sit on your lap”. He let me. Then he kept staring at me. I kept staring at him. He looked into my eyes. And I looked into his. He did not blink. So I did not blink. Then I got bored of staring so I twirled his moustache and told him my father’s moustache was thicker and longer. I don’t think he liked what I said. Then he gave me a slice of betel nut. I put it in my mouth. It filled my mouth and was bitter. I spat it out. He looked at me strangely. I thought he was angry. Then he smiled and said, “Tell me about yourself?” and I said, “What do you want to know?” and he said, “About your village, your family, your house. Everything”. And so I told him all that I could remember. I told him about my house, our courtyard and the potter’s wheel that I was not allowed to touch and where my father made pots and the furnace in our courtyard and the pit where I and my mother made clay and my brothers who loved throwing clay on me and the strange pots my father made for the doctor that I carried to his house every morning and the doctor’s son who had left the village and now lived in the palace.’ Keshini paused, ‘That’s when he looked at me curiously and asked, “You know Asanga?” and I said, “Of course. He always waits at the gate of his father’s house every morning when I bring in the pots in the morning. He looks at me strangely. And wants to talk to me. But I don’t like talking to him.” Talking about Asanga was so boring so I changed the topic and told him of the seven-goddess’ shrines of my village, of the neem tree on whose branches is tied the sacred swing for the goddess in springtime and in autumn. I told him of the pots we bake for the temple, of the new pond in the village and the Brahmana boys who bathe there and one of them who everyone calls “donkey” though I don’t know why, and the girls who get into trouble when they steal flowers from Trigarta’s garden, and the little goat who slips into my house sometimes and breaks the pots, and the fair that is held each year after the rains, and the…’

  Simantini felt her eyes growing heavy with sleep. Keshini kept talking and talking. But Simantini heard nothing. That did not stop Keshini. She kept chattering. Simantini realized how the king had ‘died’. She too was on the verge of ‘dying’. ‘Are you hungry?’ she said forcing herself awake, widening her eyes, straightening her back.

  Keshini stopped. Then smiled. ‘Yes. I have eaten nothing since meeting the queen. They told me I have to fast. And I told them…’

  ‘I know. I know. Just keep quiet and I will give you some food.’

  Simantini got up and Keshini followed her to the palace kitchen. A vast hall full of vessels and vegetables and pots and pans and stoves. There was someone moving inside. ‘Who is that?’ asked Simantini in a firm voice.

  ‘It is me, sister. I was hungry. Did not want to wake up anyone.’ Simantini recognized Pulomi’s voice. She always ate when she was upset.

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Lots of food. Sweets mostly. Prepared for the morning feast.’

  ‘Now you have two more mouths to feed.’

  Pulomi came out of the kitchen carrying a vessel of sweetmeats. ‘Two?’ She then noticed the little girl next to Simantini. She looked at Simantini curiously.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ warned Simantini, afraid the child-bride would start talking again.

  Keshini did not look at either of them. She peered into the kitchen. ‘Oh my. This is bigger than my whole house. And there are so many pots here and pans and … Oh look.’

  Simantini and Pulomi watched Keshini run into the kitchen and come out with a bamboo basket. In it were mangoes. Sweet, juicy mangoes. Keshini smiled. Her teeth were like pearls. Her eyes wide with excitement. Pulomi stifled a giggle. Simantini’s heart melted in maternal affection.

  That night, while the palace slept, and the city slept, and Yuvanashva lay ‘dead’ on his wedding bed, his three wives sat outside the kitchen and sucked on the sweetest of Vallabhi’s mangoes.

  friends

  Although she was given her own courtyard with a pond attached to it, Keshini preferred staying with Simantini. Simantini treated Keshini like a daughter, braiding her hair, bedecking her with jewels and cooking food for her. Keshini liked this very much. She also enjoyed playing dice.

  Simantini showed her the game of dice that had won her heart long ago. ‘Four people can play this game,’ exclaimed Keshini.

  ‘Yes, but two are enough,’ said Simantini.

  ‘But are we not four?’

  ‘Four?’

  ‘You, me, the king and the middle queen. We can all play together. It will be fun.’

  Simantini found the idea outrageous. She organized a game and invited both Pulomi and the king to participate. To her surprise both came, Pulomi because she liked Keshini’s incessant chatter, Yuvanashva because he had nothing else to do. They played all night. The king and his three queens. And they had fun. By the time the sun rose, they were friends. Laughing and fighting over the rules of the game. It was a long time since the palace had heard such laughter. It scared the crows away.

  The king allowed clay to be brought into the new queen’s courtyard for Keshini. At first everyone found the idea of a queen playing with clay disgusting. Then the clay turned into dolls. Kings, queens, monkeys and pigs, Ganga on her dolphin, Vishnu on his hawk, Shiva and Shakti on the bull called Nandi, the goddess Tarini and her seven handmaidens, the Matrikas, and their warrior son, Agneya, riding a peacock. She made dolls for the king, for the first queen and the second queen. She made dolls for her maids and the cooks who assisted in the kitchens and the guards who claimed it was for their children but kept it secretly for themselves. She
even made an elaborate doll for Shilavati. Indra seated on his elephant. Shilavati could not hold back a smile.

  ‘Let us play hide-and-seek,’ said Keshini one day.

  ‘Let’s,’ said Yuvanashva, indulgently.

  And so they hid behind pillars and tapestries. The king was blindfolded. The queens ran through corridors trying to catch each other. They screamed and yelled and tumbled over pots and pans. The old servants rolled their eyes. The young ones clapped their hands and cheered enthusiastically.

  Shilavati asked her servant, ‘What’s all this commotion?’

  The servant replied, ‘The king is playing with his wives, Devi.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the queen, scowling.

  ‘You are not letting him rule. At least let him have fun,’ said Mandavya, trying hard not to smile.

  It was while playing hide-and-seek that Keshini one day fell into the arms of Yuvanashva. She felt his strong arms around her waist. She realized she did not want him to let go. He kissed her neck and nibbled her ears. She moaned. His hand stretched down below her navel and between her thighs. Simantini ran into the room with Pulomi. They saw their husband making love to his new wife. Both withdrew quietly. Somehow, neither felt anger or jealousy. Simantini looked at the tamarind tree of the corner room across the wall and the cradles hanging on its branches. ‘Let us hope she bears him a son.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pulomi. ‘Let us hope she makes our husband truly king.’

  But this did not happen. Like Simantini and Pulomi, Keshini bled month after month.

  Yuvanashva found himself going to three ripe wombs as the moon waxed and waned. He looked forward to those few days when he was under no such obligation. On those days, he would go to the maha-sabha alone, sit on the throne, hold the bow and imagine the day the elders of the four varnas would bow before him out of genuine respect and not merely in ceremony.