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

by Ashok K. Banker

  Still, there were some who were foolish enough to test this reputation. They rarely survived long enough to realize their own folly.

  After four years had passed, Shantanu was satisfied that his son’s kingship and governance was secure and would endure even without his presence. Indeed, he had deliberately chosen to take a back seat and let Devavrata take on more power and responsibility with each passing year. He began to withdraw from the daily tasks of a king and began to prepare for an early retirement. Yet he was still young, too young to go into the forest and spend the rest of his life pursuing austerities. As his responsibilities decreased and his mind had more time to turn to other matters, the loneliness that had engulfed him those many years ago returned, gradually at first, then with an overwhelming rush that threatened to overpower and incapacitate him. The very sight and sound of Devavrata reminded him constantly of his lost love. He loved his son dearly but that intense love only made him long for his wife all the more. He lamented the fact that they could not be together as one united family, enjoying one another’s company and love. But he also longed for a woman to love and be loved by once more. For having known true love once, the heart can never accept the solitary state as anything but a lesser condition.

  In time he ceased his visits to the riverside that he had loved for so long. He had accepted the cruel sentence that fate had condemned him to and knew that Ganga could never return to him. Seeing her watery aspect, however remote that might seem from the living breathing flesh-and-blood woman he had held in his arms, kissed and loved, only served to aggravate his heartache. He took to travelling by different routes, hunting in different forests. Since being within reach of a river was essential and inevitable on his travels, he made sure that it was any river but the Ganga. Little did he realize that all rivers are sisters and Ganga watched over him no matter where he went, whether through her sister Yamuna or others, and not a day went by when she did not miss him as much as he missed her. If anything, her heartache was greater for she could see him anytime she wished and so she was constantly reminded of the love and companionship she had lost forever.

  Not coincidentally, it was while walking by the Yamuna that the course of his life took another turn. Listless and unable to enjoy the pleasure of the hunt as he once had, he was wandering the banks of the river, lost in his own thoughts. After a while, he grew aware of an exceptionally sweet floral fragrance that enveloped him on all sides. The sweetness of the odour was the more remarkable because it was not the season for such aromatic flowers to blossom and try as he might he could find none in sight. Using the same skills that served him so well as a hunter, he tracked the fragrance to its source. When he saw a boat pulled up by the bank and a woman seated within it, an oar in hand, he was struck by her beauty. She rose at the sight of the stranger, assuming him to be a passenger. He stood before her, staring unabashedly, unable to believe that she was the source of the powerful aroma. Embarrassed by his stare, she lowered her eyelashes demurely and waited for him to board her boat.

  Understanding that she was a ferry woman, Shantanu climbed aboard her craft. She reached out a hand to help him aboard and as she touched him, he felt his skin ignite with a fiery sensation he had never felt before. He jerked back his hand, seating himself heavily and setting the boat sloshing to and fro. She steadied it with the use of the oar, her shoulders and arms displaying considerable strength coupled with feminine grace. He could not help but watch her back and shoulder muscles move as she worked the oars, turning the head of the boat around to push it off shore. He could see her shapely legs beneath her garment and they were strong yet perfectly shaped as well. Her physical beauty captivated him, her aromatic body odour aroused him, and the intelligence and intuitiveness he glimpsed in her eyes caused him to respect her as well. He could not recall the last time he had been so overwhelmed by any woman. Except of course, Ganga herself. He was simultaneously surprised and a little guilty at the stirring in his loins and attempted to look away, staring out across the river as they commenced the long slow crossing. The tide was relentless if steady and it took considerable skill and effort as well as a keen knowledge of the currents for her to steer and row the boat in a reasonably straight line across the river. Lesser boatmen would have offloaded their fare half a mile downriver, given the width of the river and the strength of the current. He found another reason to desire her, for he admired great prowess in any person, no matter what his varna or vocation. He could see that she was a highly skilled ferry woman, apart from her extraordinary beauty and allure. That awareness of her skill only made her desire her all the more greatly.

  Still, being a king and a widower he tried his very best to contain his passion. It would not be right for him to simply throw himself at a ferry woman thus. She could well be married and a mother herself for all he knew. And so firmly had he put all thoughts of loving or marrying again out of his mind that it was difficult to even contemplate the thought of broaching the matter.

  But the heart wants what the heart wants and by the time the beautiful ferry woman had rowed Shantanu across the river to the far bank of the Yamuna, he could not bear to leave her company without at least speaking with her briefly. He had his opportunity when she brought the boat to rest on the south bank and waited quietly, keeping her eyes lowered to the rippling wash.

  ‘How much do I owe you, beautiful lady?’ he asked.

  She started at the compliment. This pleased him for it indicated that she had not been complimented too often. With her extraordinary beauty that could only mean that she was too young to have met enough men for he had no doubt that were she to go out into the world, there would be a rain storm of such compliments showered down upon her daily. But then she spoke and her voice thrilled him, sending a flurry of unwanted emotions surging through his being like a sudden current flux under the surface of the river. ‘I am but a fisherman’s daughter, sire. You may pay me what you can. My father says that it is our dharma to help those who wish to cross and how can one put a price on dharma?’

  He was pleased at her response as well. It indicated good breeding and learning. But that voice! And that beauty. It was beyond his tolerance now to ignore how he felt.

  He was a king and kings did not carry coin or items of trade. He tugged off the first ring that came to hand and held it out to her.

  She was demure and innocent enough that she accepted it without a glance. But as her palm opened to receive the payment, he enfolded her hand in his own, tightly. She gasped at the sudden contact and her eyes instantly went to his face. As her dark beautiful eyes with their lovely black pupils stared directly at him, he felt a rush of pleasure such as he had not experienced since…since too long. His entire body was ablaze, his skin tingling from the contact of their open palms. He moved closer to her, close enough that he could inhale her body’s scent, deliciously aromatic and irresistible. He had never known any woman whose scent alone could provoke such arousal. The way she sought to pull her hand back, the way her back arched, her lips parted, her dark skin and coal-black complexion, her dusky aspect and perfectly shaped features, her musical voice, every single thing about her pleased him greatly. He knew then and there that if he were to ever find happiness again with any woman, she was that woman. He might search the world over and not find another like her. She could never replace his Ganga. No woman could, for Ganga was a goddess and the first great love of his life, possibly the greatest. But she would very well. Very well indeed!

  ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘Why do you take my hand thus? What is it you desire?’

  He looked into her eyes and inhaled her anxiety and her excitement, and saw that there were indications of arousal in her as well. She was flushed and blushing, a thin layer of sweat had appeared on her upper lip, and while she had attempted to pull her hand free, her body was arched towards, not away from him.

  ‘I desire you, lady,’ he said gently, unable to stop himself. ‘I would have you row me through the journey of life.’

 
; She stared at him incomprehendingly for a moment then understanding dawned slowly. Now she blushed even more profusely and he was thrilled to see the change in hue of her dark complexion as her excitement showed itself. Yes, she was not disgusted or dismayed by his proposal; she was aroused. That meant that she either desired him as well or at least found him pleasing enough to accept as a mate.

  She dropped her gaze to the river again, no longer struggling to break free. Her free hand stayed on the oar, holding the boat in place, and it would occur to him later that any fisherman’s daughter strong enough to row a boat across the Yamuna at one of its widest points could surely have struck him down and beaten him off with that same oar had she desired. There was no doubt at all about it: strong enough to defend herself, she nevertheless chose to let her hand – and possibly her heart – be captured by Shantanu.

  ‘I cannot speak of such things,’ she said, keeping her eyes averted from his face. ‘You must speak to my father if you have such intentions.’

  He nodded. ‘Very well then. Tell me your name and your father’s name that I may do so.’

  She glanced up at him in shock. ‘You have only known me a short hour!’

  ‘And I now wish to know you for the rest of your days.’

  Her throat worked as she stared at him a moment longer, wide-eyed. She saw something in his intensity and determination that had a profound effect on her. She looked down again but not before smiling briefly this time. It was the smile of a woman who has just been paid the highest compliment and is overwhelmed with delight. ‘I was born Kali but came to be called Satyavati,’ she said softly, her voice a lyric song pitched against the Yamuna’s background chorals. ‘My father is the chief of the Manchodri fishermen.’

  Shantanu frowned. ‘Manchodri…’

  ‘It is the region known by the name Panchmani to travellers.’

  He nodded. He knew the territory of which spoke – it was a patch of forested land on the vast north-central plain through which the Yamuna mysteriously chose to take a westward turn, doubling back upon its own course for reasons that nobody had been able to fathom. It was taken as one of many such signs marking the greatness of the Puru empire and the Bharata race, for it was one of several borders that marked the limits of the territories won by his ancestor King Sudas in the legendary and crucial Dasarajna battle which first established the race of the son of Shakuntala and Dushyanta upon this subcontinent. The bend in the river, if imagined from a bird’s eye view – or god’s eye view, if one wished – could be interpreted as a finger pointing to Hastinapura, the seat of his dynasty. This part of the river was in that same region.

  She looked up at him bashfully again, and he saw her gaze flit across his person from head to toe, taking in his attire, his jewels, his bow and rig, seeing him with a frank curiosity he found refreshingly direct. ‘Clearly, you are a great lord, sire.’

  He smiled. ‘I asked your name and about your father. You have every right to ask mine as well.’

  She smiled and kept her eyes lowered to the level of his chest, saying nothing.

  ‘I am Raja Shantanu, son of Pratipa, lord of the Purus.’

  Her eyes widened but her gaze remained fixed on his chest. ‘Samrat of the Bharatas,’ she said, wonderingly, ‘Master of Nagapura.’

  He bowed his head. ‘Nagapura, Hastinapura, Kurukshetra, Puru rajya, Bharata-varsha, Puruvansha…call it what you will.’

  And he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. He kept his lips parted and moist, tasting her hand as much as kissing.

  She gasped with pleasure, as if he had put his open mouth upon her body not merely her palm.

  ‘I am eternally your servant,’ he said.

  Her gaze shot up to his face, her eyes startled, yet still displaying signs of obvious pleasure. ‘Nay, my lord,’ she said, ‘I am but a humble fisherman’s daughter. You are the greatest emperor of our age. I am always in your service.’

  He shook his head. ‘You do not know me yet, Satyavati. Once you come to know me well, you shall understand that love is the greatest kingdom of all, and she who rules the kingdom of love is the most powerful emperor. I have given my heart in tribute to you, now it remains only for your father to accept my offer, and put me in eternal subjugation to you.’

  She stared at him directly, her breathing hastened, her face flushed. Drops of perspiration were visible on her bare shoulders and upper chest.

  He kissed her palm again, then released her hand at last. ‘I now take your leave. I shall go to your father in state and ask for your hand in marriage. Then I shall come and take you to Hastinapura where you shall rule as the empress of my heart, queen of my nation, mistress of my race.’

  He turned and walked away, not because he was in any hurry to go any place but because he knew that if he dallied any longer, he would not be able to resist his desires and would commit an indiscretion. His heart sang as he walked along the bank of the Yamuna and it was all he could do not to dance and sing in joy, for it felt as if a great cloud that had been lurking over his head for years had suddenly passed on by, permitting the sun to shine down and bathe him in golden warmth. All he desired was to return home and arrange for an entourage to visit her father with due pomp and ceremony as soon as physically possible.

  It took him the better part of an hour of brisk walking before he realized he was on the wrong side of the river and he would now have to travel a further two yojanas out of his way to return home!

  2

  Satyavati heard the commotion outside and knew it must have something to do with her suitor Shantanu. She had made an excuse to be let off ferry duty for a few days and had stayed home, rarely venturing away. Her father had found this odd since Satyavati hated being cloistered at home and was always out doing something or other even when she was not ferrying. His concern for her behaviour manifested itself in various puzzled glances and sounds of curiosity but since she made no move to explain herself he did not press her further. But now, when the entire fishing village of Panchmani seemed to be in an uproar, she knew her patience had been rewarded. Her suitor had come as he had promised!

  Several people burst into their house, chattering excitedly. ‘Chief! The great emperor himself comes to grace your house! He has come with a fabulous procession, in full state and finery!’

  ‘Chariots!’ cried another man.

  ‘Elephants!’ someone else said.

  ‘Jewelled crowns!’

  ‘Soldiers on horses in fine uniforms!’

  ‘Banners and flags on lances!’

  And from the sounds of the conch shells, elephants lowing and horses neighing and clipclopping, it was evident that the procession had now arrived at the doorstep of the chief.

  Her father shushed his people and told them to make way if the great lord wished to enter. Then he glanced at her, frowning as if wondering whether this unexpected event had something to do with her being at home.

  She blushed and looked away.

  When she glanced back again, he was grinning shrewdly, a knowing look on his face. He nodded to her, still grinning, and twirled his moustaches as if to say: I knew it! I knew you were hiding some secret!

  She blinked her eyes at him affectionately and smiled back.

  Then the royal crier was at the door, calling out the name and titles of the visiting royal, while soldiers clattered into the house and formed a corridor for their liege to walk through safely. Her friends and neighbours and relatives all stared and gawked between the soldier’s raised spears and swords, even bending to peek under their armpits for a better look. Nothing like this had ever happened in Panchmani before. A king! Visiting here! The emperor of the Puru empire no less. The air was electric with excitement, like the crisp air on the high mountains before a thunderstorm, just before lightning began to fall from the sky.

  The sight of Shantanu took her breath away. The day she had met him, she had been vaguely aware that he must be someone important but she had never dreamed he could be a king, let
alone the king. He had been bedraggled from long travel, listless, and looked like a rich nobleman fallen on hard times. Why would a king be wandering through that remote region alone? She was still curious to know the reason but it hardly mattered now. The main thing was the way she had felt when he had expressed his desire for her. Even when Sage Parashara had wanted to cohabit, it had been simple bodily desire. With Shantanu she had seen something else: he was a man capable of great love. His words, his manner, his gestures, the way he had taken her hand, the way he had kissed it…she had felt a sense of something impossible. Something she had never expected to feel in her life. To be loved so madly and by a great emperor? It was hardly the fate in store for every fisherman’s daughter! Yet it also felt perfectly right. As if it was meant to be. She had felt her own being stir when he held her hand and they exchanged glances. She could love this man. She could bear his children. She could spend her life with him. She knew these things implicitly even without having spent more than a brief time with him, most of it spent in silence as she rowed him across the river. A few such moments can be worth an entire lifetime. Most lifetimes pass by without a single such moment. Satyavati knew enough about Shantanu and her feelings for him to stake her life on this union. The rest was a gift from the gods.

  She watched as the initial formalities dragged on with excrutiatingly slowness. The visit of a king could not be treated like a neighbour dropping by for a drink of local brew. As chief of the fishermen, her father had to show respect for the king of the land, and to display his own status too. The formalities went on for ages. Finally, when the time came to speak of the things that truly mattered, Shantanu and her father went into the inner chamber and spoke privately. Satyavati waited in agonizing anxiety. She had no doubt her father would agree to the match – why would a fisherman refuse a king as a son in law? But she still feared some hitch, something unexpected. Surely it could not be this simple? A king appeared one day, fell instantly in love with her and asked her father for her hand in marriage? Why not, she asked, defiantly. Even fairy tales and legends grew out of some truth. Reality did not always have to be harsh and unforgiving.