‘But you are the lawful king,’ said Pritha.
‘I am not, Pritha,’ he said, a tone of irritation creeping into his voice. ‘Do you not know I was made king just on the whim of Uncle Bhishma?’
‘Regardless, you were made king. You are the true king of Hastinapur, not your brother.’
Pandu let out long, deep sigh. ‘I am afraid that if you wish to be queen or queen mother, you have married the wrong man, Pritha.’
Pritha closed her eyes and let the silence sink in. First, there was Gandhari, trying her best to have a son before her so that she could bring him up as future heir. Then there was Madri, intent on stealing the king from her so that she could have the first child. And then there was Pandu himself, with nary a care for the throne. What did he just say? He wanted to unravel the mysteries of life. What a thing for a Kshatriya to contemplate!
Perhaps it was all for the best, she thought. Life outside the court had its own charms, and life in a hermitage would be stripped of all the trappings of being a royal, both good and bad. Perhaps the three of them would become more tightly knit. Perhaps there would come a time when Pandu would look upon her with love, and when she and Madri could feel like they were real sisters.
Kindama said, ‘But what of your children, Pandu? Your wives may understand and follow in your path. But your children will wish their father had not become an ascetic, will they not? They will ask you one day why you had to give up the throne, the throne that would otherwise have been theirs.’
Pandu let his shoulders rise and fall. ‘That does not concern me, High Sage, for it seems that the gods have chosen not to bless us with children.’
‘One of the great mysteries of life, Pandu,’ said Kindama, ‘is that the gods surprise us when we least expect it.’
‘I think not that I shall ever have children.’
‘Ah, but you will not unlock many of the mysteries of life, my boy, unless you bear and rear children.’
Pandu frowned. ‘How does having a child help in our knowledge of the world?’
Kindama smiled. ‘It is the greatest puzzle of life, my son, that in spite of being faced with death every moment, life’s biggest purpose is to create more life. The primary instinct of all life forms is to beget more of its kind. Why do we do so, in spite of knowing that the way of all flesh is to wither and crumble into ashes?’
‘I know not,’ whispered Pandu.
‘I know not either,’ said Kindama, his eyes twinkling. ‘And you would not too, until you have had children of your own.’
‘But I cannot!’ said Pandu. Pritha saw a desperate helplessness in his eyes as he looked up at the sage. ‘The gods know I have tried. All three of us have tried!’
‘I do not know what awaits you on your journey. But you must strive, above all else, to have children, for it is that one thing that shall give you many of the answers that you seek.’ He looked at Pritha again. ‘And it shall make your queens very happy, for there is no greater joy in the world, Pandu, than that of being a mother. Do not wilfully deprive your wives of that joy.’
‘Is there anything we should know, perhaps,’ said Pandu, ‘in order to bear a child?’
‘It is my belief that the lack of ability is yours, Pandu,’ said Kindama. ‘It could lie with your queens too, but I note that your uncle, King Vichitraveerya, was a man incapable of siring children. Perhaps you are of the same ilk.’ Stopping Pandu from lowering his head in shame with a raised hand, he continued, ‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, O King. As you yourself have implied, a man’s worth is not measured by his ability to sire sons.’
‘My mind knows that, High Sage,’ said Pandu, ‘but my heart does not.’
‘And that is another of life’s great mysteries, this constant tussle between the mind and the heart.’ Kindama rose to his feet and placed a hand on the king’s head. ‘I know a hermitage that stands on the foothills of a mountain called Gandhamadhana. It lies in the northern hills, a few hundred leagues eastward from the origin of the Great River. If you go north from there you come upon the fabled Cave of Ice.’
Pandu looked up in hope. ‘And in this hermitage they have the means to cure a man of impotence?’
‘I have never myself been so far north, O King,’ said Kindama. ‘My age does not permit me to take such long journeys. But I have heard tales that Meru’s healers sometimes visit this hermitage, and I have heard that among other things, they can restore a man’s vitality by means of herbs.’
Pandu rose to his knees and bent down, so that his nose touched the ground by the sage’s feet. Pritha did the same. The sage lifted them up to their feet by their arms and smiled at them.
‘Sage Bhrigu holds sway at the hermitage,’ he said. ‘He is a man of ocean-like wisdom. With him I believe you shall find more answers than I could ever provide you.’
‘We would like to start immediately, High Sage,’ said Pandu.
‘Ah,’ said Kindama, ‘you must not hurry so. You are yet to complete your penance here. Once your fortnight of atonement is finished, I shall let you go with the warmest of my blessings.’
‘As you wish, High Sage,’ said Pandu.
The hermitage of Bhrigu was not as big as Kindama’s, and at first glance, Pritha could see no women or children about. All the men wore white garments, not saffron, and carried bound leaves of parchment under their arms at all times. The clearing at the bottom of the hill was no larger than the courtyard they had seen outside Kindama’s hut, and the huts here were clumped closer together.
Pleasant, earthy smells welcomed them in at the rickety wooden gate, even though the men took no notice. The trees here bore narrow, deep green leaves, and appeared to be in the best of health. No flowers had been planted in the hermitage, but a profusion of pink wildflowers lay scattered on the grass, and whenever the chilly breeze blew from the north, they emanated a rose-like scent.
They came to the central hut, the roof of which seemed to hang much lower than the others. Pritha guessed that with the cold weather, the tighter the space, the easier it was to warm. The windows too were small and barred shut.
One of the hermits came up to them as they stood outside the front door, hesitating. He walked with youthful vigour and wore a smile on his handsome features. ‘Yes, sir? You seem to be looking for someone.’
‘Yes,’ said Pandu, giving him a half-bow. ‘We come here from the hermitage of Kindama in the forest of Naimisha.’
No trace of recognition appeared on the man’s face.
‘I have a parchment for High Sage Bhrigu.’
‘Ah,’ said the young boy. ‘I am Bhrigu.’
Pritha stopped herself from exclaiming aloud in surprise. From Kindama’s description of Bhrigu, she had expected him to be a shaky old man hobbling about with the help of a sturdy stick or two. But not one hair on this hermit’s head or chin had yet greyed. He bore the physique of an archer, with long, toned arms and strong fingers. He had a slight paunch, but kept it well hidden by the folds of his garment.
Pandu immediately bowed to the man, signalling to Pritha and Madri to follow suit.
‘Kalyanamastu,’ Bhrigu said, with a raised arm. He took the parchment from Pandu’s hand and perused it with a frown for a few moments. Then he rolled it back and returned it. ‘Now I remember High Sage Kindama. He and I had met many, many years ago, when I had journeyed to the Vindhyas.’ He looked about himself. ‘I was younger then. Stronger.’
‘Sage Kindama has nothing but words of praise for you, High Sage,’ said Pandu.
‘That is to my good fortune,’ said Bhrigu. ‘Please enter my hut. We shall speak of the purpose of your visit in more detail.’
It was warmer inside the hut. The three of them sat on three small mats laid out next to the fireplace. A black bowl sat upon a stand, filled with live red coals. As soon as they had entered, Bhrigu had turned them over with a pair of tongs and had blown over them through a metal tube. The smoke pinched at Pritha’s eyes, but the heat warmed her body and her grip on the
shawl loosened.
After having listened to all that Pandu had to say, Bhrigu nodded with a grave face. ‘Indeed, if you wish to plumb the mysteries of life, you have come to the right place. But I must warn you, O King, that this is an undertaking that will last you your whole life. The well is a bottomless one. If you think you can stay with us for a few moons and you shall have all the answers, then you are mistaken.’
‘I have no wish of returning to Hastinapur, High Sage,’ said Pandu.
Pritha tried not to react to the words, but she could not help trading a worried glance with Madri. Bhrigu’s quick eye caught their exchange.
‘And your queens? Are they as eager as you are to spend their lives asking questions of the gods?’
Pandu dithered for a second, but said, ‘They will follow me on whatever path I choose, High Sage. I have spoken to them both, and they stand firm on the matter.’
‘In any case, High King, you and your queens are welcome to leave at any time you see fit. Not many Kshatriyas take well to the life of a hermit. As long as you forage like the others and help in whatever task needs doing, we shall be glad to give you a hut as large as this. Whenever you feel you have stayed long enough, just tell me and take your leave.’
‘Yes, High Sage.’
Bhrigu looked at the three of them in turn. Then he said, ‘There is, however, the matter of your inability to sire children.’
Pandu coloured red with shame. ‘Yes, High Sage.’
‘It must not cause you shame, O King. The Goddess chooses what gifts to give us, and we must make do with what we have.’
‘I was told a few healers come this way from the northern mountains—’
‘Indeed, they do,’ said Bhrigu, ‘and they have cured a few of our men from impotence. But I know not if they can help your condition.’
‘But there is hope.’
Bhrigu smiled and patted Pandu on the shoulder. ‘There is always hope, my king.’
‘Sage Kindama said in order to understand life and its mysteries, I must first participate in the greatest mystery of them all, that of birthing it.’
‘He is not wrong. All the men you see here have children.’
Pritha asked, ‘Where do they all live, High Sage? I see no more than a small number of huts here.’
‘This is just our outpost, my lady,’ said Bhrigu. ‘This is where a small number of us come to perform our daily rites. We entertain visitors here. The actual settlement is a few leagues further eastward, in the valley of Chaitraratha.’
‘We owe you a great deal, High Sage, for welcoming us into your lives with open arms.’
Bhrigu ran a hand over his black beard and looked at her with kindness in his eyes. ‘You owe me nothing, my lady. Every single person in the settlement works for his living, and although we are not rich, we revel in each other’s company, and we laugh a lot, especially after sundown, when the stomach is fed and the bonfire is lit. Besides, you have come from the house of Kindama, so I cannot refuse you.’
One of the sages came into the hut, bearing a few clothes on his arm. He placed them next to Bhrigu’s feet, bowed and left. Bhrigu got up and pointed at the bundle. ‘You will need to discard your royal clothes and wear these. I shall wait outside. You need not bring anything with you but your personal belongings.’
And he left the hut.
By the time they reached the larger settlement, night had fallen. Pritha looked up and noticed that the shapes of the stars here were sharper and they appeared larger too. The moon had not yet risen, but they had found their way with no trouble in the starlight. They stepped into an enclosed area of bushes, and Bhrigu – with the help of two of his sages – rolled away a rock to one side, revealing a cave-like opening.
They entered, one by one, and after the last one had passed through, they moved another rock to cover the mouth.
‘We do not like unwelcome visitors,’ said Bhrigu.
The path on which they walked opened into a large clearing, set back against the bottom of the hill. On all sides of them Pritha saw mountaintops looking down at them, and as they came upon a downward slope leading up to the village, she saw huts dotted all over the valley, seemingly at random.
A large group of children came running up into the arms of the men, and some of the women, who had been picking vegetables as they approached, looked up, pushed aside a falling strand of hair, and smiled. None of them asked who the three newcomers were; they seemed to think if Bhrigu saw it fit to bring them home, they had to be guests.
Two women came up to Pritha and Madri, took them by the hand, and led them away into one of the shacks. Inside, on a big chair, sat a middle-aged woman with three children seated on her lap. They had caught her mid-sentence, halfway through a story, perhaps. She had a circular black mark on her left cheek, and her eyes were two inverted crescent moons.
‘You have come from the hermitage, I take it,’ she said.
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Please,’ she said, ‘call me Khyati. You have come at the right time. We are just about to light the fire in the yard outside. You do wish to stay the night, do you not?’
‘Yes,’ said Pritha. ‘I think our lord wants us to stay here a lot longer than one night.’
‘We are not a kingdom, are we, Puloma,’ she said to the black-haired girl on her right lap, and the girl shook her head. ‘You can stay here as long as you wish. We just ask that you grow your own food, and make and wash your own linen.’
A low gasp of surprise came from Madri, but Pritha said, ‘We will.’
‘Are you not going to welcome our guests, Puloma?’ said Khyati, and the girl first shook her head. Then, on some prodding, she giggled and skipped over to Madri and held her by the hand.
‘She looks like an angel,’ she told Khyati.
‘She does indeed. So does the other maiden, do you not think?’
Puloma craned her neck upward and her eyes met Pritha’s. When Pritha flashed her eyes, she returned the smile and hid behind Madri. Madri bent down to place a kiss on the girl’s cheek. ‘You are the true angel here, I think.’
A shy giggle, then: ‘No.’
‘Where do you come from, my lady?’ Khyati asked Pritha. ‘Your bearing speaks of royal personage.’
‘We are queens to the High King of Hastinapur,’ said Pritha. ‘My name is Pritha, I was once the princess of Kunti, one of the Middle Kingdoms on the banks of the Yamuna. And my sister here is Madri.’
‘My father rules over the desert city of Madra.’
‘Ah,’ said Khyati, ‘one a water kingdom, and the other a desert. You have come together seeking the mountains. To what end?’
Just as Pritha was about to answer, Bhrigu stepped into the hut, a piece of linen in his wet hands. ‘So you have already begun to make them talk.’ To Pritha and Madri he said, ‘Please forgive my wife. She likes having guests so much that she forgets sometimes to allow them some rest.’
Khyati laughed and took Puloma by the hand. ‘Come, my baby, your father has spoken. Let us leave the angels alone for a few minutes and see to the fire outside, shall we?’
‘Yes, yes! Let us light the fire outside!’
Khyati pulled herself to her feet with a grimace, and Pritha noticed for the first time that Khyati’s belly had a swollen look. Puloma held on to Khyati’s forefinger, and together they went out of the hut.
Bhrigu smiled and said, ‘The girls will show you to a trough of warm water. Please take an hour to rest, and we shall meet again in the courtyard by the fire.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
W
hen they came out into the courtyard, Pritha saw that a platform had been erected in the middle, and young men and women were busy covering it with a large sheet of coarse cotton. People had already taken their seats on the ground all around it, the men to one side and the women and children to the other. A fresh-faced boy with a bright yellow garland around his neck ascended to the top of the stage and turned to face the audience. In both his hands h
e held an instrument that made a clapping sound each time he moved his fingers.
At the sight of him they all cheered.
To the left of the stage, in front of the group of men, five boys sat cross-legged, their lips held to the ends of bamboo tubes. To the right sat a row of five young maidens, armed with dancers’ anklets.
At a signal from the boy, they began to slap the anklets gently, together, in perfect rhythm. Pritha found herself nodding to the beat. Her own hand rose and fell on her thigh. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Madri and Pandu had seated themselves next to one another, a fair distance away from her. She tried not to look in their direction, for if she did, she would simply ruin the evening for herself.
The air here seems so pure, she thought. It is filled with laughter and music, fragrance of the most divine sort. There is happiness in the lives of these men, innocence in the smiles of these children. Must I still fret over the love of my husband and my sister?
The boy on the stage raised his arms and an expectant quiet fell over the crowd. ‘Today I shall tell you the story of the descent of the Great River from Heaven to Earth.’
People cheered and groaned in equal measure. ‘We have heard the tale a thousand times before,’ said some. ‘Yes, that tale never grows old,’ said others. Pritha saw that even the complaints were good-natured, delivered with smiling admonishment. ‘Lohita,’ some of the elders said, ‘you must learn to sing some new songs.’
The boy acknowledged them all with a practised nod. ‘I shall, I shall,’ he said. ‘I was told that tonight we have among us the High King of Hastinapur, that Great Kingdom we have only heard tales of so far. And we have his two beautiful wives seated here: Her Highness, Pritha, princess of Kunti, and Lady Madri, who grew up in the sandy city of Madra.’
Khyati, sitting a few feet away from her with a child on each lap and one who was clinging to her back, smiled at Pritha and motioned to her to get up. Madri and Pandu got to their feet too, and they all cheered. She heard them speak among themselves and noted that most of the words she heard were of wonder at Madri’s beauty.
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 28