Seasons of Splendour

by Madhur Jaffrey

  So the King sent off a servant to his storeroom to find the bowl.

  It was only after the bowl was returned to the old man that the beatings stopped.

  Then the old man washed both the bowl and rod, prayed and said, ‘Let the King, Queen, courtiers and army be served whatever foods they desire.’

  The best food from heaven was served.

  The old man was happy.

  So was his wife.

  And so was goddess Parvati.

  The King Without an Heir

  In the olden days, when kings went out for a ride, all the people they passed had to show respect by joining their palms and bowing their heads. King Rudra was used to seeing nothing but a sea of bowed heads as he took his early morning ride.

  One day, something strange happened. As he was passing a river bank, a washerman who was scrubbing his clothes on a board, suddenly stopped work, stood up his board, looked the King straight in the eye and spat on the ground.

  The King was startled, but being good-natured, he decided to say nothing and ride on.

  The next day, the same thing happened. When the King passed the river bank, the same washerman stopped work, stood up his board, looked the King straight in the eye and spat on the ground.

  This continued for a whole week with the King saying nothing. On the eighth day, the King could bear it no longer. He stopped his horse and addressed the washerman. ‘Look here,’ he began, ‘for seven days you have been insulting me. This is ridiculous. What is the reason for this?’

  ‘Forgive me, your majesty,’ the washerman said. ‘You are an unlucky man. You are an unlucky man because you have no heir. It cannot do me any good to look upon the face of an unlucky man first thing every morning. So I spit, hoping that my luck will not be as bad as yours.’

  King Rudra did not like hearing this at all but he had no answer for the washerman. Although he was, indeed, childless, he was still quite young and he had not given the matter much thought.

  Now, of course, he could think of nothing else. Did the whole kingdom think of him as the unlucky king? Would they all begin to spit whenever he appeared in public? The thought made him wince.

  By the time he got home, he was so depressed that he went straight to his bedroom and lay down.

  Queen Rukmani, his wife, came to his chambers and asked, ‘Why is your majesty so sad? What can be troubling you?’

  ‘Oh, nothing at all,’ answered the King.

  ‘Something must be the matter. You haven’t washed and you haven’t eaten. This is not like you at all.’

  ‘Well, since you ask, I’ll tell you,’ the King said. And he went on to relate the story of his meeting with the washerman.

  The Queen seemed quite understanding. ‘There is a solution to the problem, you know. Why don’t you marry my younger sister, Chandini. Perhaps you will be luckier with her.’

  So the King married Queen Rukmani’s younger sister. But the new marriage failed to produce an heir. The King was more depressed than ever.

  One day Queen Rukmani and Queen Chandini came to the King’s chambers and said, ‘Why is your majesty so depressed? You haven’t washed and you haven’t eaten. This is not like you at all.’

  So the King said, ‘This is ridiculous. I have two queens now and still no heir. The public will soon start spitting at me.’

  ‘There is a solution to this problem.’ said Queen Chandini. ‘Why don’t you marry my younger sister, Shalini. Perhaps you’ll be luckier with her.’

  The King married Queen Shalini – but his bad luck continued. On the advice of his wives, he even married the remaining sisters, Rohini, Kamini, Padmini and Damini. Still, no heir was born.

  By this time, the King was quite fed up with his wives. He called his Chief Minister and said, ‘This is ridiculous. I have married seven wives and still I don’t have a child. I am thoroughly disgusted with the seven Queens. Why don’t you take the pack of them and lock them up in the attic. Leave a sack of roasted chickpeas for them to eat. They certainly do not deserve better.’

  So the Queens were locked up in the attic. They were not too happy about this. Here they were, wives of a mighty ruler, locked up with nothing better than cattle fodder.

  The oldest of them, Queen Rukmani, said, ‘Matters have got out of hand. There must be a solution to this problem. We must organize. We must think.’

  They had a conference. The youngest, Queen Damini, said, ‘I have a thought. Why don’t we tell the King that I am expecting a baby?’

  ‘But you are not,’ said Queen Chandini quite logically. ‘We would be telling a lie.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Queen Damini. ‘But it would give us time to work something out. Meanwhile, we won’t have to be locked up in the attic and left to eat roasted chickpeas for dinner day after day.’

  ‘She has a point,’ said Queen Rukmani, who hated roasted chickpeas. ‘Get me some writing parchment.’

  Queen Shalini ran to get some writing parchment and a quill.

  Queen Rukmani wrote, ‘My dearest Lord, it is with great pleasure that I wish to inform you that your youngest wife, my youngest sister, Queen Damini, is with child. Her condition is quite delicate. It would be best if she were removed to more comfortable and familiar surroundings.’

  When the King got the note, he began to jump up and down with joy. ‘This is ridiculously wonderful!’ he cried.

  All the Queens were allowed to return to their chambers. Queen Damini was sent a message saying that the King wished to see her immediately.

  Instead of Queen Damini, the person who came to see him was Queen Rukmani.

  ‘My dearest Lord,’ she began, ‘your youngest Queen is in a delicate state. It would not do to get her excited. It is best if you wait until the baby is safely born.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ agreed the King. ‘Do you need a doctor or a midwife?’

  ‘Please do not worry. We will take care of mother and child ourselves. After all, we are so many of us, all sisters.’

  The months passed by in relative peace.

  Every day, the Queens tied new bandages on to Queen Damini’s stomach to make it appear to ‘grow’. Then they sent her for a walk in the garden so the King could see her from a distance.

  When the King became restless, they patted his arm, saying, ‘Any day, any day now.’

  One day Queen Rukmani came to the King with the long-awaited announcement, ‘Your majesty, a son has been born.’

  The King began to dance. ‘This is wonderfully ridiculous. Ridiculously wonderful. Give sweets to everyone in the palace. To everyone in the kingdom. Now, when can I see my prince?’

  ‘Not yet,’ advised Queen Rukmani. ‘His health is delicate.’

  ‘But I haven’t heard his cries!’

  ‘You will, you will,’ said his eldest Queen.

  Inside the Queens’ chambers, a goat kid had been brought in. Queen Damini tweaked its ear and it cried, ‘Ma-a-a!’

  ‘See,’ said Queen Rukmani to the King, ‘your baby is crying, don’t disturb it.’

  Every day the Queens would hang nappies out to dry, and every now and then they would tweak the goat kid’s ear to make it cry.

  Six months passed this way. It was now time for the Nine Days’ Festival. The Queens knew that their only hope lay with goddess Parvati.

  The King let the Queens know that he was going to go to Parvati’s temple with all his wives and his son.

  Queen Rukmani said to the King, ‘Oh, yes. We shall all go. The Queens and the baby will travel in curtained palanquins. We don’t want you to forget the special offering for the goddess – the gold umbrella that we have had made.’

  When the procession of the King and Queens reached the temple, the eldest Queen turned to the King and said, ‘I have left the golden umbrella at home. We cannot possibly go into the temple without an offering. Perhaps you had better return and fetch it.’

  The poor King had to go all the way back to the palace for the umbrella.

  Meanwhi
le, the Queens all jumped out from their curtained palanquins and rushed inside the temple.

  There they threw themselves at the feet of goddess Parvati, saying, ‘Help us, help us get out of the mess we are in. We know we have lied. But if we do not produce a child, we will just die of shame.’

  Parvati took a lump of halva and formed a baby. Then she sprinkled a little blood and a little holy water on it. Soon the baby was breathing and crying.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Rukmani.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Chandini.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Shalini.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Rohini.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Kamini.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Padmini.

  ‘It is mine,’ said Queen Damini. ‘It was my idea in the first place.’

  All the Queens began to fight over the baby. ‘Enough,’ said the goddess Parvati. ‘Enough of this squabbling. All of you, put on humble blouses made out of sackcloth with simple ties of rope. Then stand facing the sun. Only one of you has breasts that will produce milk. That is the mother of this baby.’

  Suddenly fine streams of milk began spouting from Queen Damini’s breasts. She bent down to claim her child.

  Just then the King returned with the golden umbrella. ‘This is ridiculous. I don’t see why I had to go all the way …’ Then he stopped.

  There, holding a sweet little boy, was Queen Damini. ‘This is wonderfully, wonderfully ridiculous,’ said the King. ‘My heir, I have an heir. No one will spit on me. Let us all go into the temple and thank the goddess Parvati.’

  Only the Queens knew just how much they had to thank Parvati for!

  The Girl in the Forest

  Once upon a time, there was a girl who lived alone in a forest. She did not know her parents for they had died when she was little. There was not much to eat in the forest except roots and leaves, so the girl depended upon the charity of passing strangers who often gave her roasted grains of millet and barley from their knapsacks.

  It just so happened that although the girl was poor, she had been graced with the most exquisite face and body.

  One misty dawn, it chanced that a rich, handsome King came riding through this forest. As his horse was racing towards the red morning sun, the King saw a brilliant glimmer moving behind the leaves. He eased his horse cautiously towards it.

  If the horse moved a step, so did the glimmer. If the horse stopped, so did the glimmer.

  The King was very puzzled. He got off his horse and called, ‘Who is it?’

  There was no answer. The King wondered if he was being deceived by a sunbeam.

  As he moved closer to the glimmer, it streaked through several bushes and moved away. The King ran after it.

  When he stopped again, so did the glimmer, but this time, the King could hear quick, shallow breathing.

  ‘Come out of there. I order you to come out of there,’ the King called.

  Again, the glimmer began moving with great speed. The King chased it and when he was close enough to hear the same shallow breathing, he jumped upon it.

  To his great surprise, the King found himself holding a young, beautiful maiden in his arms.

  Her long hair fell behind her like a sheet of silk, her eyes, large and soft, were gazing at him like a frightened deer.

  ‘Do not be frightened, beautiful princess,’ the King said in soothing tones. ‘All I want to do,’ went on the King, quite overcome by her beauty and proud bearing, ‘is to ask you to marry me. Will you please marry me?’

  The young maiden had been equally struck by the King. ‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, ‘yes, yes.’

  The King lifted her up on to his horse and then jumped up behind her. Together they rode towards his palace where a solemn marriage ceremony was performed.

  A year passed. One day, the Queen called her handmaidens and said, ‘For breakfast today, I would like some grains of roasted millet and barley.’

  The handmaidens were astonished. Only poor peasants ate roasted grains of millet and barley, but they thought royalty had strange ways and off they went to the market to buy the required grains.

  As the Queen was sitting nibbling at her breakfast, the King chanced to come to the door.

  ‘Whatever are you eating?’ he asked.

  The Queen put her plate behind her, shielding it from the King’s eyes, and answered, ‘Pearls … just pearls.’

  The King was silent for a moment. ‘Wherever did you get such a large collection of pearls?’

  ‘Oh,’ she answered, trying to sound casual, ‘they were sent to me by my parents. This is what I was used to eating for breakfast at home.’

  The King said, ‘In our home, my dearest Queen, we might serve saffron rice cooked with raisins or roasted deer or dates stuffed with walnuts, but never pearls. Your father’s home must be so much grander than ours. I am sure you must miss it. I would very much like to take you back to visit your parents. We can leave tomorrow.’

  Terror struck at the heart of the Queen. She ran to goddess Parvati’s temple and fell at her feet. ‘O Parvati,’ she prayed, ‘save me! save me! I do love my husband so very much. I never told him I was a princess. He just assumed I was. I was far too afraid to correct him lest he leave me. And when he came in and saw me eating roast grains of barely and millet, I was at my wit’s end. I lied out of panic. Please, please, help me.’

  Parvati felt sorry for this good, kind Queen and said, ‘For three hours I will give you just the kind of home that your husband expects to see. I will give you a father and a mother and all necessary relatives and servants. For three hours only.’

  The Queen thanked Parvati and rushed back to the palace where arrangements were already being made for a visit to the Queen’s ancestral home.

  The next day the royal party – with horses, palanquins and servants – set out at dawn. The Queen guided them through the forest until they reached a clearing. ‘There,’ she said, pointing to a distant castle, ‘there is my father’s palace.’

  The palace exceeded all the King’s expectations for it was made entirely of gold. The doors and windows were made from gleaming rock crystal edged with emeralds. There was a large bathing pool outside, which was studded with sapphires right down to its coolest bottom. In the garden there were arbours where juicy grapes hung in luscious bunches and mango trees laden with their sweet fruit. Musicians strolled about playing lutes, horns, conch shells and two-sided drums.

  A sumptuous feast had been laid out like a picnic on the grass. Standing around it were liveried servants, shooing away flies with peacock feathers and yak-tail fans.

  ‘Welcome to our home,’ said the Queen’s gracious parents. ‘Would you like to bathe in our pool before we settle down to eat?’ they asked the King.

  Now the King had already been struck by the blue waters of their unusual pool. He thanked his hosts and changed into his bathing loincloth.

  ‘This has been the most refreshing experience of my life,’ he said as he came out dripping with water. Attendants helped him dress and hung up his wet loincloth to dry on a bush.

  The next hour was spent in eating roasted quail from golden plates and drinking orange blossom wine from hollowed-out rubies.

  Dusk fell. The Queen began to urge the King to return home.

  ‘Why so early, my Queen?’ the King said. ‘I’m really enjoying myself. Your parents have been so kind and hospitable. I would like to get to know them better.’

  ‘Perhaps some other time,’ the Queen said. ‘I do feel we have stayed long enough.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just spend a week here? Don’t you enjoy being home?’ the King asked.

  ‘Oh, yes I do,’ answered the Queen, now near tears, ‘but … I feel … we shouldn’t … be a burden to my old parents.’

  ‘All right, my sweet,’ said the King, ‘if you insist on returning then we will but we should visit your parents again. This place is a true paradise.’

  And so the King’s party ret
urned home.

  The following day, the King realized that he had left his wet loincloth drying on a bush. He called one of his courtiers and asked him to send a couple of horsemen with gifts for the Queen’s parents and with instructions to collect the loincloth.

  The horsemen headed towards the Queen’s father’s palace. But when they neared the clearing from which they had spotted the palace, they saw nothing.

  ‘The day is a bit hazy,’ one horseman said, ‘perhaps it is a bit further ahead.’ On and on they went without any sign of the palace.

  ‘This seems to be just about where the palace should be,’ said the second horseman.

  ‘Quite obviously, you are wrong,’ said the first horseman. ‘Perhaps we took a wrong turning.’

  ‘I just don’t see where we could have made a mistake,’ said the second horseman.

  Just then, on a very familiar bush, beside a simple pond, they saw the King’s loincloth. It was dry now and fluttering gently in the breeze.

  The horsemen folded it neatly and returned to their king. There, they told their story adding, ‘Your majesty, it is exceedingly strange. We saw a pond and a bush, but no jewelled palace, no garden, no musicians, and no liveried servants.’

  The King went to his queen and said, ‘I cannot understand this. My horsemen have just returned with the loincloth I left drying in your father’s garden.’

  The Queen let out a gasp.

  ‘But,’ went on the King, ‘they saw no golden palace, no sapphire-lined pool, no musicians, no …’

  ‘Please don’t go on,’ said the Queen, falling down in a heap. ‘Oh, forgive me. I have no father or mother. I lived all alone in the forest when you met me. What you saw me eating was not pearls but roasted grains of barley and millet. I did not mean to deceive you. I was so afraid of losing you that what I blurted out … was a lie. And then, when you wanted to visit my family, I appealed to goddess Parvati for help. The golden palace, the sapphire-lined pool, that was all the goddess’s doing. She helped me out. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me.’