‘You hold the answer in your hands already, my lady,’ said Dhanvantari. ‘If you use it well, you simply cannot lose.’
Around midday, as she was feeding the cows in the barn, High Sage Bhrigu stopped by on his way to the edge of the forest. He touched each of the four cows between their horns, closed his eyes, and murmured a quiet prayer. Then he came to Pritha and asked her how their first day at the hermitage had been.
‘I hear Dhanvantari has already taken a look at the king,’ said he. ‘It appears that your dream of having children will not remain a dream for long, my queen.’
‘Not my dream, High Sage,’ said Pritha angrily, ‘just that of the king.’
‘Why do you say so?’
‘Have you not noticed, Sage Bhrigu, that His Majesty looks upon Madri with much more favour?’
Bhrigu smiled. ‘There is something about a younger wife that quickens the heart of every man, my lady, be he prince or pauper.’
‘Is it wrong of me to feel envious of my sister, High Sage? Does it make me bad woman?’
‘I shall not say there is no room for envy in our hermitage, Pritha,’ said Bhrigu. ‘Lord knows that all men are slaves to emotions such as these, without which we perhaps would never know what we truly want.’
‘My biggest fear is that she will have children before I do. Then even the little status I enjoy now shall be gone.’
Bhrigu nodded. ‘It is not his love, then, that you want. Just his sons.’
Pritha thought for a moment. That same snaky feeling of guilt crept up on her as she realized the sage was right. She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling at her.
‘If you think you are wrong to feel this way,’ said Bhrigu, ‘then I must tell you there is no right or wrong in matters such as these. If the status of queen mother is important to you, and it is indeed yours by right, then you must fight to claim it.’
‘But, High Sage,’ she said, ‘we have come here to your hermitage to unravel the deep questions of life, and here I am, still entangled within the pettiness of my own problems.’
The sage sighed and looked into the eyes of one of the cows for a moment. Then he said, ‘Only in attending to our petty questions do we answer the truly deep ones, my lady. There is no other way to learn of life except by living it.’
‘Then there is no wrong in what I want,’ she said.
‘There are no wrong wishes, my queen, just wrong actions.’
Another bolt of guilt shot through her, when she thought of the herb she had fed Madri all these months. She did not have to, for it was Pandu who had been impotent all along, but she had acted out of wilful malice for Madri. Perhaps when this was all over, she would find it in her heart to ask for her pardon. Not now, though. Not now.
‘Giving up what is yours by right through lack of courage is as morally reprehensible as coveting that which belongs to another,’ said Bhrigu. ‘If you give up your rightful status as foremost queen to Madri, do you think you will be contented?’
‘No,’ said Pritha.
‘Then you must fight. There is no nobility in self-inflicted suffering. If giving does not give you joy, my lady, do not give.’
‘If Madri comes to you for advice, High Sage,’ said Pritha, ‘what will you tell her?’
He smiled again and caressed his black beard. ‘I shall tell her the same thing.’
‘You would have no second thoughts about turning her against me?’
‘I do not see this battle as you against her, Pritha,’ said Bhrigu. ‘There are two of you. Only one can bear Pandu’s first child. Who shall it be? I am saying it could be either one of you. You seem to think it is out of your hands. I think not.’
‘Thank you, High Sage,’ she said, and bowed.
‘You and Madri may become friends sometime in the future,’ said Bhrigu, ‘but this is not that time.’ Then he touched the back of her head with the tips of his long fingers, mumbled a garbled blessing, and went on his way.
She sat outside Khyati’s hut, weaving straws together into a basket. The sun had just set, and lamps were being lit in the courtyard. All the children were collecting pieces of firewood and making a pile in the middle of the clearing. Pritha could not see a stage being erected tonight; she guessed that Lohita needed to rest after the exertions of the previous day.
Khyati sat opposite her, working on her own basket. ‘You have not been to your hut all day today, Pritha,’ she said, not looking up. ‘Is something the matter? I have long come to see Dhanvantari’s visits as portents of bad occurrences. Any man who carries two pigs with him wherever he goes ought not to be trusted.’
Pritha grinned. ‘A healer gets away with more than a regular man does, does he not?’
‘And yet, why should he?’ said Khyati. ‘In any case, he has examined the king this morning, I have heard. What has he concluded? Do you have children in your future?’
‘The king does,’ said Pritha. ‘I am not so certain about myself.’
For a moment, Khyati held her silence. Pritha wet the tip of the thread in her mouth and tried to pierce the eye of the needle. She failed.
‘I know what must be vexing you,’ said Khyati at last. ‘It is Madri, is it not? I saw the two of them sat away from you yesterday, at the fire. What is it, Pritha? Does the king not love you?’
‘I know not,’ said Pritha, focusing on the thread. ‘I have done all that a dutiful wife ought to do. I have tended to him when he was sick. I have listened to him when he was distressed. I have given him my all, and yet he favours her.’
Khyati pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes there are no reasons for matters of the heart, my dear.’
‘I know.’
‘But you must not make the mistake of thinking that having children has anything to do with love.’ Khyati finished her basket, put it aside, and moved closer to her on the porch so that she could speak in a lower voice. ‘Do you think I bore Bhrigu his children because I loved him?’
Pritha looked up at Khyati.
‘No, my dear. Even in a hermitage, people compete for status. If we were indeed all equal, why do they call Bhrigu “High Sage”? Why do they call me “my lady”, as though I were a queen? Whether you like it or not, you shall be known to the world by, first, your husband, then your children. A woman has no other purpose.’
‘But what of our desires?’ said Pritha. ‘What of our thoughts and minds?’
Khyati smiled. ‘I used to speak like you when I was your age. But if I had not seen the world for what it is, I would have been one of these women. I would not have been sitting here with you, while they all do my bidding.’
Pritha put away her half-finished basket and looked around. Every woman walking by the hut stopped to bow in Khyati’s direction, and the latter would acknowledge her with a raised finger, sometimes a flick of an eyebrow.
‘Power,’ said Khyati, her voice dropping a notch lower as she said the word, ‘is as available to a maiden as it is to a man, Pritha. But we must get to it by different paths. Men fight useless wars, kill people who ought to live, spend hours counting their war scars. Women – we must wield power through our men, for if we do not, we will be replaced by those who do. So if you do not stake a claim to the power you have over Pandu, rest assured that his other queen will.’
‘But … what power do I have over Pandu?’
Khyati smiled. ‘I know not. But I know that all human beings wield some power over the ones who love them the most. Bhrigu holds power over me, but I hold a different kind of power over him. He may be able to physically manipulate me, and it may be important to his eyes, but the power I hold over him is not measurable. It is emotional.’
‘I … I know not if I could.’
‘A power that is neither talked about nor measured is more valuable than one that everyone chases, Pritha,’ said Khyati. ‘Kindoms and wars, expansion and trophies, weapons and wounds – everyone understands them. Everyone chases them. But this subtle control we can exert over our men is silent. Know it well,
for it shall help you when you need it most.’
‘I have the sense that Madri is better at this than I am,’ said Pritha desperately. ‘She – she knows the ways of a woman better than I.’
‘She does,’ said Khyati. ‘You perhaps have not grown into a woman yet. But you know what they say: there is no time like now for a good deed.’
The crescent-shaped eyes, which Pritha had thought made her look like a child, now seemed to glow with an adult’s spite. Her cheekbones, her lips and other features of her face retained their innocence, but the eyes seemed to have turned a nasty shade of reddish brown. Pritha had to look away from them toward the courtyard, where the pile of firewood was now in the process of being lit. She picked up the needle and thread again. She wet the tip. She pierced the eye. This time, it went in on her first attempt.
‘Good girl,’ whispered Khyati. ‘Good girl.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
W
hen Pritha entered the hut, she heard the sounds of Pandu and Madri whispering. The king was rubbing oil on Madri’s bruised hands and was admonishing her for working harder than she should. Pritha went to the water pitcher to wash her eyes. The two of them did not notice her. Neither of them looked up. Neither of them stopped gazing into the other’s eyes.
Pritha looked at her own hands. They were bruised too, perhaps far more than Madri’s were. She knelt in front of the pitcher. Moistening the tips of her fingers, she raised them up to her eyelids to touch them. For just a moment, she felt the fires inside her had been assuaged. The air in the hut was heavy, for the door had been closed and it was a breezeless night. But it brimmed with the fragrance of fresh olives and drenched rose petals.
She got to her feet, hearing Pandu recite something and Madri giggle in response.
Khyati was right. So was Bhrigu. So was Dhanvantari. You either served or were served to. You either became queen mother or you watched someone else stamp their status in your face every day of your life.
She walked slowly to where Pandu and Madri sat. They looked up at her. The king smiled and motioned to her to sit. Madri’s face turned into a cold marble stone. They said women could intuit better what was to come. Perhaps she could tell from Pritha’s face that something significant was brewing.
Pritha sat down, half on the floor and half on the edge of the mat, cross-legged. She placed her hands on her knees, in the manner of a sage. She had tied her hair in a bun, unlike Madri, who liked to let it fall over her shoulders and back. Looking at Pandu first, then at the younger queen, she said, ‘The time has come.’
Before they could speak, she reached into the inner recesses of her garment and brought out the container with the block of gum. She placed it between the three of them, upright, so that the flickering light of the lamp could penetrate the orange substance and show the strands of hair.
Pandu said, ‘What is this, my lady? I hope all is well with you.’
Pritha looked up at him, smiled and turned to look at Madri. ‘I think the time has come, my lord, for the three of us to speak about our future children.’
‘Oh, Pritha, how many times will you ask me the same question?’ said Pandu. ‘Believe me, my lady, you shall be the first mother of our children. I shall do nothing to ruin the status of first queen that you hold today.’
‘Ah, but of what value is a man’s word, Your Majesty?’ Pritha turned to Madri. ‘Perhaps we must ask my dear sister what she thinks of your promise. Would you like it, Madri, if I were to sire Hastinapur’s first heir?’
‘I … I … I shall do whatever the king deems just and fair.’
‘That does not answer my question,’ said Pritha, still smiling. ‘Would you not like to be queen mother? Would you not like to be the foremost queen of Hastinapur? Or are you content being just the king’s favourite queen?’
‘Why ever must we have such names for our relationships, Pritha?’ said Pandu, anger bristling the sparse hair on his face. ‘I know not why you think Madri is my favourite wife. I love both of you to the same degree, albeit in different ways.’
Pritha laid out her hands to the king. ‘I have bruises on my hands too, my lord, king. I have spent longer in the sun today than Madri, and I have worked harder, I dare say. Even in the hermitage of Kindama, it is I who got hurt, and all I received from you in the way of love was—’ She stopped herself, because the words that came out of her mouth clung to her like specks of wet dirt, and she knew no matter how hard she tried to shake them off, they would leave stains on her. How shameful it is for a woman to beg for love like this. Her eyes burned with hot tears, but she blinked them back.
‘Ah, Pritha,’ said Pandu. He shifted toward her and took her hand in his. He massaged her palm with his oily fingers. The fragrance spread from his body to hers, and for a moment her heart stopped aching. ‘You were being well looked after by Adhyasi,’ he said. ‘I did not know what more I could have done to ease the pain. But do you not think your wound caused me pain too, my love? I may not shed tears, but I hurt all the same.’
Pritha snatched her hand away from him. ‘No! Do not touch me, my lord. Not tonight! Ever since you have married this girl’ – she pointed at Madri without looking at her – ‘I have been nothing more than a waiting woman for you. You come to me not because you crave my company, but out of duty!’
‘It is not fair that you speak of me – and Madri – that way, Pritha,’ said Pandu.
‘I do not care!’ she said. ‘The girl is sly, my lord. She holds her temper when she speaks with you, and she does not for a moment show the smallest of passions. But I have seen her true colours. She wishes to be the first bearer of your child. She wishes to be the queen mother!’
Madri looked at her, aghast. Yes, thought Pritha, pretend that you are hearing this for the first time. Pretend to know no better so that the king would hate me more. ‘I … I confess that being queen mother would be desirable for me, sister,’ she said, ‘but if the king decrees that I must just give him love and not children until you do, then I shall be content with my lot.’
‘Is this what you wished to speak about, Pritha?’ said Pandu. ‘You have both our words that you will be the first mother.’
‘I do not trust you, my lord,’ Pritha spat out. ‘I trust neither you nor this wanton harlot.’
‘What did you call her?’
Pritha paused for one frantic moment. But it was too late. She could not take back her words. ‘I called her a wanton harlot,’ she said softly. Then, as she recalled Khyati’s words, with more sternness: ‘I do not regret it.’
‘Well,’ said Pandu, ‘you must. No queen of mine has the power to treat my other queens with anything but the utmost respect. You are entitled to more than her, Pritha, but you dare not abuse her in front of me.’
‘I shall not take back my words. Both she and I know that her behaviour ever since she has wedded you has been deserving of such a title.’
‘Whatever she has done,’ said Pandu, ‘she has done so with my approval, to my intense pleasure. So if you do not take your word back, Pritha, I promise I shall strip you of all your status, and I shall make Madri the foremost queen by giving her the first child.’
Pritha sat erect, facing Pandu with defiance. For a moment she let the silence hang heavy in the room. Then she said in a low, determined voice, ‘You shall not, for I can give you gods for children.’
The sounds that came from the courtyard told her that the fire had been lit. Voices called out to one another. Children’s feet beat the dust as they ran from hut to hut, urging people to emerge and come sit by the fire. A frenetic knock sounded on their door as well, and without waiting for their response, Bhrigu’s son stumbled into the room. All the sages and their wives had already taken their seats, he said. They were all waiting for them.
Pandu told him they would be out in a few minutes. After the boy had left, he turned to Pritha.
‘Gods?’
‘Yes,’ said Pritha. ‘Each of these strands of hair belongs to a true Celes
tial. After the king impregnates me with his seed, if I consume one hair and chant the necessary incantation, the child will be imbued by all the qualities of the god.’
Madri smiled in disbelief. ‘Sister, you need not resort to tales of such fantastic nature to persuade the king. He has already given you his word.’
Pritha said to Pandu, as if Madri had not spoken a word. ‘When I was a maiden, I served High Sage Durvasa in the court of Kunti. He was pleased enough by my devotion to grant me this gift. You have seen the power of the Celestials, O King. Bhishma is said to be the son of Ganga, is he not?’
‘Yes,’ said Pandu, ‘but I have often thought it to be a lie.’
‘Perhaps it is, perhaps it is not.’ Pritha picked up the container of gum and held it up, so that they could all see it. ‘But there is a mysterious mountain that lies beyond the Cave of Ice. That is where Dhanvantari has come from, he who has cured you of your ailment.’
‘It all sounds—’
‘Not from this world,’ agreed Pritha. ‘It is true, my lord. These beings are not of our world. High Sage Durvasa lives for three moons of every year on this mountain, and he has seen them all in the flesh. They do exist, and they command powers far beyond those possessed by a normal human.’
‘Five gods for sons,’ said Pandu, gazing into the distance, and Pritha knew that her job was half done.
‘Yes, my lord,’ she said. ‘If one son of the Meru people could become the foremost warrior of North Country and protect the throne of Hastinapur like no other, imagine what five of them would do. Hastinapur would become a kingdom that people would sing songs about for the rest of time.’
‘And I shall be their father.’
‘And you shall be their father. They say there can be no greater pride for a man than his son’s achievements. Your name shall become immortal by this one act of siring these children. They shall ever be called the children of Pandu.’
Madri said, ‘My lord, we know not if this contraption works. They say that the people of Meru are quite deceitful. Perhaps we must not trust in them so readily.’
The Queens of Hastinapur Page 30
