MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba)

by Ashok K. Banker

  ‘I do know this,’ Ganga admitted. ‘Yet I am of divine nature and can wait as long as need be without aging or losing my beauty. Therefore I shall gladly wait until you sire a son, for I have decided that he alone shall satisfy my desires. Whenever you have a son and he becomes of marriageable age, bring him here to this very spot and I shall appear to offer myself as his mate. I shall bear him many sons and enhance the reputation and glory of your dynasty, of this you can be assured.’

  ‘It shall be as you say, divine one,’ Pratipa said, understanding that his lineage was being blessed by a being of great power.

  Ganga rose to leave, then paused and turned briefly. ‘King Pratipa, I ask only that you do not reveal my divine nature to your son. Do not tell him who I am, even if you suspect the truth yourself. Also tell him that if he wishes me to bless your bloodline then he must never question what I do, no matter what the circumstances. These are the only two conditions I lay upon you. If they are acceptable to you, then know that your descendents shall be blessed with divine power and fame as a result of this union.’

  Pratipa accepted all her conditions and watched as she walked slowly from the bank onto the rushing waters of the river. She stepped across the raging surface of the Ganga as if she were stepping on kusa grass. Dolphins leaped and sang in greeting, turtles swam around her in homage and her power over the river was evident. When she was in mid-river, her body itself turned to water and fell back into the spate from whence it had come, leaving only her clear grey eyes lingering in mid air for a moment. Then they too melted into spray and were absorbed by the river. The sound of the Ganga’s roar filled Pratipa’s ears once more and in its steady torrent, he recognized the voice of the beautiful stranger who had accosted him. But he kept this knowledge of her divinity and true identity a secret within his heart for all time and spoke of it to no one.

  In time, Pratipa and his wife performed austerities to obtain the blessing of an heir. Despite their advanced age a son was born to them. This was in fact Mahabhisha reborn under the terms of his danda. Pratipa’s son came to be known as Shantanu, because he was created after his father had achieved the state of quietude, Shanti, and gained control of his senses. Indeed, the moment he knew he had a son and heir, Pratipa began preparing him for kingship, and himself for retirement. Shantanu grew up to become a magnificent young prince, intelligent, well-versed in the Vedas and shastras, an expert archer. When he was of age, his father summoned him to the throne chamber and sent away everyone else.

  When they were alone he confided in Shantanu. ‘My son, your mate in life has been pre-ordained already.’

  Shantanu was an obedient son who was willing to do whatever was asked of him. ‘Father, if you have chosen a wife for me, I am sure she is no less than Sri herself descended on earth. Whomever you choose is acceptable to me.’

  Pratipa was pleased by his son’s response but this was no ordinary arranged match he was referring to. He attempted to explain, choosing his words carefully in keeping with Ganga’s wishes. ‘The match is somewhat unorthodox,’ he admitted to his son. ‘For one thing, you cannot ask who she is, nor seek any knowledge of her family, lineage, background or any other details of her life.’

  Shantanu was surprised but did his best to be supportive. ‘Whatever you say is dharma for me, father,’ he replied. Though he did wonder at the strangeness of an arranged marriage wherein nothing was known about the bride or her family background!

  Pratipa clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder. Even at his young age, Shantau had a neck that the court scribes described as being ‘as thick as a conch shell’ and shoulders and arms as strong ‘as elephant tusks’. The exaggerations were not far off the mark; Shantanu took pride in building his own strength and his many activities kept his body fit and strong. Pratipa had no doubt the boy would grow up to be a great warrior and conqueror of his enemies. It was his judgement as a lover and husband that now concerned him.

  ‘All you need know,’ Pratipa said, ‘is that she is no ordinary woman. Her beauty is extraordinary, and you will find great pleasure in her company. You shall enjoy great satisfaction in her charms.’

  Shantanu was not sure how to react to his father’s description of a woman as being sexually attractive, so chose to say nothing. But his father’s next words frankly shocked him.

  ‘She first offered herself to me,’ Pratipa confessed, ‘a long time ago. I refused only because I did not deem it appropriate.’

  Shantanu could not contain his curiosity. His princely upbringing and teachings urged him to remain silent but the boy in him got the better of his grooming. ‘Why, father?’ he asked. ‘If she was so attractive, why did you refuse her?’

  Pratipa smiled a wistful smile. ‘I loved your mother well enough for one lifetime. Carnal pleasure was never a great attraction for me. It is the spiritual delights of the mind that attract me far more than those of the flesh. But also, the signs were not right.’ He frowned, looking into the distance thoughtfully. ‘Indeed, looking back on that day, I later thought…’

  ‘What, father?’

  ‘I thought perhaps she never intended to seduce me, she only pretended to do so. It was you she was after all along.’

  ‘Me?’ Shantanu was flabbergasted by the idea of a woman pretending to seduce his father in some past time in order to seduce him at some future date. ‘But that makes no sense at all. You said this happened before I was even born!’

  Pratipa nodded. ‘That is why I know, and you know as well, that she could be no ordinary woman. No ordinary mortal woman. Do you follow my meaning?’

  Shantanu did. His father was suggesting that the mystery woman was some kind of…goddess? Avatar of a goddess? An apsara or gandharva perhaps? They were considered supremely beautiful. ‘Who do you think she—’

  Pratipa raised a finger, his wrinkled face turning severe. ‘Enough. No more questions about her. That is a firm condition she laid down. This is why I had this talk with you, so that you would understand and accept these terms before you went to her.’

  Shantanu glanced around, his emotions roused. ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘First promise that you are ready to accept her conditions.’ Pratipa spelled them out clearly and carefully for his son.

  Shantanu considered for a moment: Mate with a woman who was clearly of divine or otherworldly origin, unspeakably beautiful – if she could have such an effect even on his ascetic father she must be unspeakably beautiful – and capable of giving a man immense carnal pleasure, who wished to confer herself on him, indeed, had desired him since even before he was born, and produce beautiful magnificent children with her, of whom one would rule his kingdom someday and be a legendary and historical king of the Purus? What was there to consider? Except…he desperately wished to know who she was and what was her purpose in seeking him, Shantanu, for so long. What part did he play in this divine erotic game? But that was the first and most important condition: he could never ask who she was or anything else about her.

  He hesitated only briefly, but for a boy of his impetuous age and great appetites, even that hesitation was a foretelling of things to come. Perhaps I shall find a way to learn her secret without her knowing, he thought to himself, to know everything without breaking the promise. Yes, I am sure I shall be able to do so. For he was a prince of a great empire, inheritor of a great legacy, and of the age when anything seems doable, even the most extraordinary feat imaginable.

  Aloud he said simply: ‘I agree.’

  5

  Soon after this curious conversation, King Pratipa insalled Shantanu upon the throne of Hastinapura and retired to the forest with his wife, where they spent the rest of their days in pursuit of spiritual ascenscion.

  Shantanu went on to fulfill all the promise of his childhood and youth, becoming a powerful young king. Intelligent and gifted with many physical skills, he grew renowned for his archery. Like many kings of his line, he spent his spare time hunting in the forest. His favourite game were deer and buffalo
. One day, while hunting alone on the banks of the Ganga, he encountered a vision. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen seemed to suddenly appear out of nowhere. He had been watching the bank carefully, tracking a deer, and she could not possibly have come from the treeline, which meant she must have come from the river, but there was no sign of a boat or raft. One look at her and it suddenly failed to matter where she had come from. She was the supreme epitome of womanhood, comparable to the great Lakshmi herself, as that great deity was described in puranas and tales of gods and demons. Her physical form was perfect in every respect, with not a single fault or blemish. When she smiled at him, her teeth flashed white, brilliant and perfect. Her face was so beautiful, he could have gazed at her all day and never tired of looking at her. Enhancing her beauty further, she was dressed in golden bejewelled ornaments of a design he had never seen before, scintillating pieces of great workmanship and art. Her splendid body was barely concealed by flimsy transculent garments that swirled around her in the gentle lotus-fragrant wind from the river.

  At the sight of her, Shantanu’s every hair stood on end, and he dropped his bow as well as the arrow he had been holding. He was stunned by the sight of this extraordinary beauty. Even more astonishing than her beauty was the fact that she gazed at him with a look that bordered on pure adoration. She came closer, her filmy garments moving about her as her ripe, full body undulated with each step, and as she approached, he could see that the look in her eyes was nothing less than pure wanton lust. Her own gaze moved up and down his own body, admiring his masculine figure and assets. Never before had he been admired so boldly by a woman, never before had he looked so unabashedly upon a woman of such perfection.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked in a voice hoarse with desire. ‘Are you a god perhaps? An asura? Gandharva, apsara, yaksha, pannaga?’ Belatedly it occurred to him to add, ‘Are you human at all? You cannot be! Human, I mean. You are surely a goddess of some kind.’

  Through all these questions, and the spaces between them, spaces in which he could hear nothing but the thundering of his own waves of lust washing upon the shore of his mind counterpointed by the roaring of the Ganga in spate, she remained silent. Only the wanton abandon in her eyes and the sultry movements of her body, clearly aimed at arousing him further, served as her replies.

  Finally, he said, ‘Goddess or otherwise, whoever you are, please be mine!’

  He said these words gently, not in command. And as he said them, he moved slowly towards her, raising his hands in a gesture of wanting, of pleading.

  She smiled slowly, and he could not help but smile back, and that simple act of exchanging smiles seemed as intense and satisfying as coupling with most other women. He realized then that he had never truly known love, desire or lust – not until now. What he felt now, this was true desire, real lust, and perhaps true love. He knew only that he wanted her and was willing to pay any price to have her in his bed, in his life. At that precise moment, so consumed was he by his desires, he did not even recall his father’s words or the prophecy that Pratipa had made before leaving for the forest: ‘She will come to you one day, and change your life forever.’ Only much later that night, looking back on the day, would he remember those words his father had spoken, and realize that this was that day, and this the very woman. His body, his nerves, his heart and his organs of desire, they all knew what his conscious mind had yet to accept at the moment of meeting: this was she. The one who had promised to come for him, who had been waiting since long before his own birth. And suddenly everything made sense.

  ‘I shall be your’s only in marriage,’ she replied softly, her voice as musical as the song of the river itself. ‘And only on the conditions your father laid down. Do you recall those conditions? Can you promise them to me once more? If you can make those little promises and abide by them, we can be married this very day and spend this night itself together, as man and wife.’

  He swallowed. Nervousness was never one of his traits. A strong, powerful man with great gifts of mind and body, he had been raised without reason to doubt himself or his abilities. Yet before this vision of a woman, he felt tongue-tied and as nervous as an errant disciple before a stern guru. ‘Yes,’ he said softly.

  She smiled. And took a step closer. Now he could smell her fragrance, the soft musky perfume of womanhood mingled with something undefinable: it smelled like the river itself, lotus and fresh glacial water and the Himalayan wind that travelled down with it. It was intoxicating as soma and almost drove him to his knees. It was all he could do not to crush her in his arms and have his way with her there and then. And from the look of mischevious teasing in her own lustful eyes, he knew that she was well aware of the effect she had on him.

  ‘Let me repeat it for our mutual benefit,’ she said, stepping slowly around him, like a bride around the sacred yagna fire at the time of wedding nuptials. ‘You shall never ask me who I am or whence I come. You shall never question anything I do or try to stop me. You shall never even speak harshly to me of those acts or attempt to dissuade me by word or tone of voice, gesture or expression. So long as you give me complete freedom to do as I please and go where I please to do it, I shall be your queen and obey your every command, make your every desire a reality. The instant you break these vows, I shall leave you at once and you shall never see me again in this form.’

  He did not know if she had circumambulated him once, twice, thrice or more times. All he knew was that she had stopped, and was before him once again, her body, her beauty, her face, her voice, all driving him to unbearable heights of lustful longing. ‘Give me your answer now or go your own way,’ she said. ‘The choice is your’s. I shall not repeat myself nor come before you again if you refuse.’

  At this he paused. So he had a choice. That was good. Some part of him, the most kingly mature part, the part that had been schooled so thoroughly in the Vedas and shastras, the science of kingship and governance, the legal aspects of society, that still sane part whispered that it was a fair offer: he was free to reject it and go his own way. There was no coercion involved.

  Of course, sometimes the most powerful form of coercion is the illusion of free will itself. Thus does destiny tempt and seduce us time and again. I chose, we say proudly. But what other choice did we truly have?

  He could refuse her conditions. They were strange, unacceptable conditions. It did not matter whether they were being demanded by a woman or a man; what spouse could demand unconditional acceptance of any act of commission by their spouse? Without fear of censure, without even the power to dissuade or comment? That was not a marriage; it was an autocracy!

  And yet.

  And yet.

  He desired her more than he had desired any woman before. Or anything.

  He wanted her.

  He must have her.

  And she wanted him just as badly. That was evident in her eyes, her body, her every movement, the gentle shudder she released when her hip had accidentally brushed against his rear as she circumambulated him. The quick intake of breath when she leaned closer to him and spoke her most recent words. The blazing flames of desire in her eyes. Those could not be feigned so well. She desired him and had carried the torch of desire aflame and alight for a great length of time. He was new to this party. She had been waiting her a long time and her lust burned brighter and sharper for that long wait.

  And within himself, he felt a stirring of some ancient memory. As if he too had seen her once before, and desired her. A memory, half-formed, of her in the same flimsy garments, wind-blown, then laid naked by a gust of wind. And he shuddered in the paroxym of lust as he recalled the sight of her naked body. And he knew that his free will and choice were as good as no will or choice.

  He must have her.

  He would have her.

  On any condition.

  ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘I accept,’ he added.

  And then he moved towards her, and she towards him, in a blurring of emotion and flame
.

  And the rest was white satin bliss.

  6

  The next several months of Shantanu’s life passed in that same blurring rush of lust and fire, hot seminal passion spent upon cool satin skin. His nameless wife, whom everyone addressed simply as ‘Queen’, ‘Rani’, or ‘Your Highness’ exchanged with him every manner of pleasure imaginable between man and woman. He had her whenever he desired, as often as he desired, with never a complaint, look of weariness, or gesture of denial. She was like a river in spate, always roaring with passion, brimming with desire, overflowing her banks with lust and love. Her body undulated between his hands and his hips like water poured into a human vessel, seeming to take whatever shape he desired. And not merely the arts of the bedroom, she was equally immaculate in her conveyance of the arts of queenship: her conduct, behaviour, speech, generosity, social skills and royal bearing won the hearts of the entire court and the love of the people as well. Nobody could desire more in a queen, and even more amazingly, nobody did. Nor was she dominating or interfering: she let him have his way with the kingdom as he did with her, and somehow that only made him feel more responsible for his every action or word, more considered and just in his judgement, more exacting in his pursuance of dharma. They were golden days and they passed with the speed of a dolphin racing downriver. Even the kingdom flourished, for the rich alluvial plains of the kingdom, nourished by the Ganga and her sister rivers, seemed to pour bounty upon them, producing the most plentiful crop ever recorded, and the most bounteous quality of harvest.

  When she gave him the news that she was to be the mother of his child, he was overjoyed. It was the diamond atop her tiara of accomplishments. He knew she would be a perfect mother just as she was perfect in all else she did. And she would give him the most beautiful, intelligent and capable child ever.