Pregnant King, The by Pattanaik Devdutt

Author:Pattanaik, Devdutt [Pattanaik, Devdutt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788184753455
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2008-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Book Four

early morning sickness

Streaks of light pierced through the night sky. It was Aruni, the god of dawn, heralding the arrival of the sun. Shilavati looked out of her window and remembered a song of the bards, ‘Look at the elder brother of the sun or shall we say his elder sister. Aruni or Usha. Formless, shapeless, what is dawn? Man or woman, god or goddess? Born prematurely before the organs could be formed, even the mother does not know.’

Shilavati had tossed and turned all night in her bed, unable to sleep, haunted by a terrifying dream of the unsmiling Yama performing a yagna, tossing a charred corpse in the sacrificial pit, asking her, amidst the cawing of a hundred crows, ‘So, who is right? You or your son? Is this flesh that of a man or a woman? Somvat or Somvati? Does it matter? Does it really matter when the flesh is burnt alive?’

Shilavati had got up earlier than usual. She bathed and lit the lamp in her audience chamber herself. The light bounced on the walls. The lions painted on the walls let out a roar; the elephants raised their trunks. But not for her. She heard the twang of a bow. Not hers. But Yuvanashva’s. The king of Vallabhi had finally raised his bow of kingship and shot an arrow. Not Kama’s arrow but Yama’s. Creating no life but taking two.

Shilavati waited for her son to come and place his forehead at her feet as he always did at dawn each day. He did not come. The sun rose. The lamp burnt itself out.

Seven days passed. Shilavati waited. But Yuvanashva did not come. No one came. No guards, no ministers. No petitioners seeking justice. No village chiefs bearing gifts. No envoys from neighbouring kings seeking tribute. No servants. No maids. Not even Mandavya. She heard a lot of movement in the corridors around her courtyard but she did not show any curiosity. If it is important, they will tell me, she told herself.

I have been forgotten, Shilavati fumed. So soon? No doubt everyone was paying obeisance to her son who had asserted his royal authority so forcefully. She imagined them fawning over him in the maha-sabha. Even Mandavya, sitting at his feet, looking noble, giving him advice. Shilavati chose to respond to the situation with indifference. I don’t need them, she said. She sat quietly in the now empty audience chamber, staring at the walls, at the lions and the elephants, and the turtle on the floor, too proud to let the tears fall.

Finally, on the eighth day, Mandavya entered her courtyard. Before he could say anything, she snapped, ‘So you finally come to me. All well with the king? I guess he is so busy in the maha-sabha that he cannot spare even a moment for his mother. All well with Vallabhi? Any more boys killed?’

Ignoring her, Mandavya bowed his head and spoke dispassionately, ‘The Siddhas have disappeared. The pot with the potion was found upside down.

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