Pregnant King, The (22 page)

The lump kept growing in size. Asanga kept visiting the palace. He was convinced the king was pregnant. But he did not know how to tell the queens.

‘Make sure the king is always happy. Give him all that he wants. Deny him nothing,’ he told the queens. He requested the palace bards to tell the king tales of heroes. Of the battles of the gods and demons, how Indra defeated the Asura, Vritra, with weapons made from the bones of Dadichi.

One day, he gathered the courage to ask Simantini, ‘What happened to the magic potion of Yaja and Upayaja?’

‘The sages destroyed it. We found the empty pot in the maha-sabha.’

‘I see.’

Before leaving he warned the queens, ‘Tomorrow night is full moon. A lunar eclipse. I suggest the king
fast during that period and eat nothing. He should be kept indoors. His body should not be exposed to the moonlight. It may cause the lump to putrefy.’

‘You treat my husband as if he is pregnant,’ said Pulomi, sharp as ever.

Ever since the king had put his mother in her place and asserted his royal authority in court, Pulomi had felt her desire for her husband increase. She spent the days in the corner room dreaming of Yuvanashva ordering her around, forcing her to do his bidding. She felt the brush of his bristles. His grip. His bites. The impatient parting of her thighs. The forceful thrust. Her humble deference to his majesty. His groans of triumph. Her surrender and satisfaction.

But since the arrival of the lump, Yuvanashva did not care for sex. ‘I can barely keep my thighs together or keep my balance,’ he said when she came to him and offered the betel leaf.

‘But I am in season. We must unite. My body burns. You can lie in bed. I will do the rest.’

The king let her but his body refused to respond.

‘The lump is growing in size and stripping the king of all his virility. Do something quickly,’ Pulomi told Asanga. He was embarrassed by the queen’s forthrightness. Her hunger was evident.

One day the king told Keshini, ‘I have dreams. Strange dreams. Wonderful dreams. Of a child in a cradle. I go to him. He caresses my thigh. I tell him, “Grow up fast. Then we can talk and play and hunt all day long.” He laughs and pulls my moustache. What does this mean, Keshini? Why are the gods tormenting me so?’ Keshini did not know what to say.

Then it moved. A kick. Then another. The king woke up with a start. ‘Come here quickly. Feel this,’ he called the ghosts. They saw the excitement in the king’s eyes. They liked it.

The queens were called for. Simantini felt the lump which was now the size of a gourd. It had immobilized the king totally. It had been weeks since he had attended court. Simantini felt the kick. It made her feel happy. Then she was afraid. ‘Send for Asanga,’ she said.

Asanga felt the moving lump. There was no more doubt. How was he to tell this to the queens? Embarrased, he decided to first inform Shilavati.

‘What is wrong with my son?’ she asked, looking the other way towards the lotus pond. A line of crows stood at the edge of her audience chamber where the sun stopped and the shade began.

‘He is with child,’ he replied. What else could he say? It sounded absurd. There was no way he could make his answer reasonable.

Shilavati did not know how to react. ‘How can that be?’ she asked without turning around, trying hard to be dismissive.

‘I think your son accidentally drank the magic potion produced by Yaja and Upayaja. The potions of the Siddhas are powerful. They can have such effects.’

Shilavati got up immediately and rushed out of her audience chamber. The servants watched as the mother, who had kept to herself for many months now, walked briskly towards her son’s chambers. Something was wrong, they told themselves. They had never seen
Shilavati look so worried. What was wrong with the king?

Shilavati looked at her son lying in bed. He looked so helpless, sleeping with his legs spread apart. That lump making it impossible for him to sit or stand comfortably. The queens were around him. Comforting him. Fearing he was sick. Fearing that the boil might kill him. His vomiting, his retching, his huge appetite, his swollen legs over the past six months now made sense.

‘Do they know?’ asked Shilavati, softly, looking at her three daughters-in-law.

‘No,’ said Asanga, who walked behind her, his head bent.

Shilavati saw the nervousness of Simantini. Should she tell them that there was nothing to fear. What was growing in Yuvanashva’s thigh would not kill him. Or would it?

‘What if it is a monster? A parasite?’ Shilavati asked.

‘It could be, but I don’t think so,’ replied Asanga.

Shilavati imagined a huge tadpole with fangs sucking her son’s blood and growing fatter by the moment. ‘It could be some worm. Something that slipped into his blood when he was out hunting in the swamps.’

‘No, my queen, it is a child. You can call the midwives and confirm this.’

‘No, no midwives. I don’t want anyone to know this.’ Shilavati withdrew from the king’s bedchamber and returned to her courtyard.

‘The queens must be told,’ said Asanga, following her in. He saw the crows were restless. They flapped their wings. Shilavati ignored them.

‘Why?’ asked Shilavati, sitting on the rug of black-
buck. She pointed to the other blackbuck rug on the floor inviting Asanga to join her. A servant walked in with a reed fan. Shilavati raised her hand and indicated that she did not want to be disturbed.

‘They need to know at least that the king is safe,’ said Asanga. ‘That there is nothing to fear from the lump. It is not a disease. It is a new life.’

‘It is a disease. A child in a man’s body. How do you explain this? It is an aberration, a disease, a curse.’ Shilavati took a decision. ‘Cut it out.’

‘What?’ said Asanga, not sure if he had heard correctly.

‘Cut it out. Get the monster out of his body. Throw it into the river. Or bury it under a rock so that it does not haunt us.’

‘Devi, it is a child we are talking about.’

‘Women carry children in their bodies. Not men. What men carry can only be monsters. Kill it.’

The next day, the king was removed to the corner room of the women’s quarters. The queens were told to leave him alone. ‘No assistants. I will help you myself,’ Shilavati told Asanga. ‘I don’t want anyone to know of this.’

‘My queen, killing an unborn child is equal to killing a cow or a Brahmana,’ said Asanga.

‘Don’t worry. It was my decision. My karma.’

‘That was not why I brought it up. My queen, do you realize you are asking me to kill your grandchild?’

‘It is not my grandchild. It is a monster who threatens everything I hold dear. I have to destroy it for the sake of my son.’

‘How so?’ asked Asanga, not sure what the queen meant. He felt suffocated. The inner room where the king had been moved had just one window. Lamps had to be lit to bring in light. The air in the room was still and stale. Incense had to be burnt to purify the space. The king was given a potion to sleep. Asanga saw the mats on the floor and the games of dice. He looked at the walls. All around images of women dancing, singing, laughing, seducing sages and flirting with each other. This was the secret space of the palace woman. He was perhaps the first man to see it.

‘If it is a child, as you say it is, then what will Yuvanashva be after he gives birth to it, that is if he survives the childbirth? A woman? A half-woman? What? Who will accept such a man as a king? It will be end of his kingship. And that child, a man born of a man. Everybody will consider it a monster. Nobody will accept him as a king. If this child survives, I will have a son and a grandson but Vallabhi will have no king. I cannot let that happen. Kill that thing in my son’s thigh. Do it, Asanga, or I will do it myself.’

Asanga hesitated. ‘Let me sit down and think.’ Asanga sat on the floor and leaned against a pillar. He covered his face. He was being asked by the queen to do something that was forbidden. Killing an unborn child is the most heinous of crimes. His father had told him how it had to be done. It involved inserting into the womb herbs that would force the baby out prematurely. The baby would shrivel, melt and ooze out as a clot. Matanga had warned him to use this knowledge with
caution, and rarely, only when the unborn child is defective and if it threatens the well-being of the mother. To kill an unborn child is to deny an ancestor the chance to be reborn. But this was different. There was no womb to put herbs into. He would have to slice out the baby. Force it to breathe air before its lungs were fully formed. Basically, smother it with air.

Shilavati watched Asanga sitting against the wall, covering his face with his hands, breathing deeply. Shilavati wondered if the decision taken was right. It was. It had to be. For the good of her family and her kingdom. For the good of her son. Why had this happened? What had she done wrong? she wondered. This calamity. This terrible accident.

And then doubts crept into Shilavati’s heart. What if this was the only grandson she was destined to have? What if this was the child that the astrologers had foretold? What if the only way Yuvanashva could create a child was within himself and not in a woman’s body? Maybe, the child should live.

‘I will do it, Devi,’ said Asanga standing up. ‘But will you be able to assist me? There will be a lot of blood.’

There was a knock on the door. Asanga unbolted the latch and found the three queens outside. Simantini spoke up, ‘Mother, I don’t think the king should be left alone.’

‘He is not alone. I am with him,’ said Shilavati.

The women looked over the shoulders of Shilavati and Asanga. Yuvanashva was sleeping but it was apparent the sleep was disturbed. Simantini said, ‘Mother, I know Asanga is here to remove that thing which is growing in his thigh. We would like to be with our husband when he is doing this. The pain will be unbearable.’

Keshini stood silently behind the two senior queens. She looked up. Her eyes met Asanga’s. He looked afraid. Something was not right.

‘Kshatriyas do not fear pain,’ said Shilavati. ‘My son is strong. He does not need the help of his wives to go through this mild operation. Don’t worry, all will be well.’

‘We have a say where our husband’s life is concerned,’ said Pulomi. ‘If something happens to him, we will be widows. We will not leave his side. We will watch as the doctor removes the boil.’

‘It’s not a boil,’ said Asanga.

‘Quiet,’ hissed Shilavati.

‘Devi, the queens have a right to know,’ said Asanga lowering his eyes.

‘Right to know what?’ asked Pulomi, raising her voice. Shilavati gave her second daughter-in-law a cold stare. Pulomi lowered her eyes. She feared Shilavati.

‘That is no boil in your husband’s inner thigh.’

Simantini sighed, ‘I thought as much. It palpitates. It throbs. And the rhythm does not match the king’s pulse. It moves like something alive. It is a parasite, right?’ Simantini sounded like she was hoping against her deepest fears.

‘No, it is not a parasite,’ said Asanga. His throat felt dry. He gulped nervously and looked towards Shilavati.

‘It’s a child,’ said Shilavati. A tear rolled down her cheek as she said those words. A child. A child of the Turuvasus. She turned around. Through the window she could see the tamarind tree. The cradles on its branches tinkled in the wind as if protesting against her decision.