MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba) (21 page)

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. 

But there was a secret dread in her heart that she could not dispel. It was the knowledge of her own indiscretion. She had cohabited with a man, had borne his child. She was a mother. It did not matter if nobody else knew or could ever know, it did not matter if her virginity had been restored and her body returned to its virginal state in every respect, as if her womb had never been filled with child, her hips had never parted to birth a babe. She knew. That was all that mattered. And though she knew that what had happened was more in the nature of a supernature aberration than a typical everyday occurrence, she nevertheless felt guilty about it. She had mated with another man. She had experienced the bliss of physical union. She had watched her own belly swell with child then undergone the wonderful trauma of birth. She had held her newborn babe in her arms, slippery, and beautiful. Whatever else had occurred, however bizarre and extraordinary, was beside the point. These thing had happened and were real. She could never change that fact. Even the brahman power of Parashara could not undo her memories, her feelings, her experiences. 

That guilt made her fear that perhaps, just maybe, she did not deserve to be loved by such a man – not without him knowing the truth about her past, and naturally, she could never tell him that truth. For regardless of how much he loved her, it would change everything. She would not be what he had perceived her to be, she had kept a great thing secret, and that act of secrecy was what made her feel guilty. 

And yet. 

Keeping that secret was the only reason the king of Hastinapura was in her house now, asking her father for her hand in marriage. 

And as for the guilt and her deserving this, yes, she did deserve it. For whatever had happened in the past, she was genuinely attracted to Shantanu, felt a powerful connection. Surely he too must have experienced love before now. She knew he had been married, had a son, and there were mysterious rumours surrounding the late Queen’s demise in childbirth. Something scandalous that nobody knew about fully. So he was no virginal innocent either. He must have his secrets too. 

If he loves me and I love him then that is all that matters. Today we begin our life together. And it is our life together that matters. 

She smiled, straightening her head, releasing the dread that had been clouding her heart at unexpected moments these past days as she had waited. 

We all deserve love. No matter what went before, no matter what might come later. Today belongs to us, today we stand naked and true before one another, and today is all that matters. 

Satyavati waited for Shantanu to emerge and for her new life to begin. 

3

Shantanu liked the chief. He was a man rarely seen in royal circles. A man unconcerned with appearances and protocol beyond the bare necessity required for social nicety. His oiled moustaches, bulging belly, hairy chest and arms unabashedly exposed in his simple fisherman’s vastras, the simplicity of his house and belongings, all represented a man who was exactly what he appeared to be. Honest, hard working, tough, yet soft-hearted, fair, decent, and a servant of dharma in his own right. Such men were the backbone of a nation. Nobles postured, traders cared only for profit, soldiers protected and expanded the nation, brahmins guarded the precious light of learning, but it was men like Panchmani who did the work that actually enabled a nation to prosper, grow and progress. Farmers, fishermen, workers. They built, maintained, fed and clothed the nation. Citizens. Praja. It made him proud to be Prajapati, lord of the people, when the people he ruled were of the mettle of Panchmani. Even his name, simply an appellation referring to the region and tribe he administered to, was a demonstration of his true nature. The individual man and the chief of the people who worked alongside them daily were one and the same. When Shantanu spoke to him he felt as if he were speaking to all of Panchmani and as if all of Panchmani listened. That might have something to do with the fact that the whole population of the region was gathered outside the Chief’s house, waiting eagerly to know why the King of the Purus was visiting but it was also indicative of the grassroots power such men possessed. They were the land, and like the trees, fruit and other things of that land, the land and they grew, prospered or fell together.