Pregnant King, The (25 page)

The women gave Yuvanashva a blade of grass that was dipped in the sap of the banyan tree. ‘Put two drops in her right nostril,’ an elderly Kshatriya woman instructed the king. Turning to Pulomi she said, ‘Try not to sneeze. The sap will ensure that the child being moulded in your womb is a boy. This kingdom needs an heir.’

But the kingdom has an heir, thought Yuvanashva. He realized none of the women knew of Mandhata. He resisted the urge to tell them. ‘Beware of the implications,’ Vipula had said.

There was great rejoicing in the city. Shilavati ordered the streets to be watered. New flags fluttered on rooftops. Sweets were distributed on the streets.

Yuvanashva realized how the arrival of the child had transformed the city and the palace. Such ceremonies celebrating the queen’s pregnancy would be held every month till the day of childbirth. There were no celebrations when Mandhata was conceived. Everybody assumed it was a disease.

Keshini had prepared a basket of gifts for Pulomi. ‘Why are you doing that?’ asked Simantini.

‘For the ceremony,’ replied Keshini.

‘My dear, you and I are not invited.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we are barren.’

‘But we are friends,’ argued Keshini. She had spent hours consoling Pulomi when she learnt how Yuvanashva had treated her. She had stopped her from
cursing the king because a wife who curses her husband curses herself.

‘Did she ever come to you after her pregnancy was confirmed?’ asked Simantini. Keshini realized she had not. ‘We were all bound by barrenness. But that bond is broken now. Now she will rule the women’s courtyard. Mother of the king’s true son.’ Simantini felt her jealous outburst choke all her sensibilities.

Keshini looked at the basket of gifts she had prepared and remarked, ‘She thought the king had violated her. But in fact he ended up giving her what she desired most. The ways of Yama are mysterious indeed.’

‘How do we know it is the king’s child?’ asked Simantini. Keshini’s jaw dropped. How could Simantini say such a thing? Keshini felt jealousy gnawing its way into Simantini’s heart.

Palace gossip reached Pulomi’s ears. She did not react. She merely felt the child kick in her womb and smiled.

Women poured into the palace to see the mother-to-be. They came with gifts and lots of advice. ‘Milk, lots of milk, to make the child strong and fair.’ ‘And clarified butter to loosen the joints and lubricate the orifices, to make the delivery smooth.’ ‘No sour and bitter and spicy food. No tambula. Can cause the womb to contract and harm the child.’ ‘Churn butter and use the stone mill to grind flour. That is a chore for all mothers, even a queen. It keeps your spine supple, makes childbirth easy.’

‘And no sex,’ said Shilavati, who knew how much Pulomi enjoyed her son’s company. Pulomi smiled as she was expected to. Shilavati noticed the smile did not extend to her eyes. The spies had told her many things about how the child came to be. She brushed them aside. ‘And be careful when you bathe.’

The bathhouse floor was scrubbed by the servants to remove all trace of moss and slime. This was the favourite place of the palace women. A place where they could indulge themselves. They spent hours anointing themselves with oils and unguents, then washing it away with warm water. The room was full of pots of various sizes and filled with the fragrance of many herbs. Pulomi especially enjoyed bathing there. She had six servants to help her. One only to manage her hair. One to massage her body. One to scrub her skin. One to pour the water. Two to help her dry and dress.

Pulomi always bathed with at least one of the other queens. Mostly Keshini who could talk without a pause on any subject. But now she felt that only women who were mothers should be around her. So neither Keshini nor Simantini was invited to the bath. And only four of her six maids accompanied her. When she was done, Shilavati would come to her rooms followed by maids who carried a pot of sweet milk and a basket of fruits. Pulomi would sleep with her head on her mother-in-law’s lap all afternoon, feeling loved and secure.

In the seventh month of her pregnancy, as Pulomi was leaving the bathhouse she slipped and fell. ‘I was pushed,’ she insisted.

Shilavati was frantic. Asanga was called. But the baby was safe.

Shilavati saw fear in her daughter-in-law’s eyes. ‘What is it, child?’ she asked, placing her arms around her.

Pulomi snuggled closer to Shilavati and replied, ‘He does not want this child. It is only half his.’

Less than a year after Mandhata’s birth, palace maids could be seen running through the maze of courtyards that made up the palace of Vallabhi untying all the knots they could find. Knots on clothes, knots on tapestries and curtains and ropes. The royal washerman was told to open all the bundles of clothes. The Brahmanas were told to untie the threads that kept the palm leaf manuscripts together. The queen was delivering and knots in the vicinity could hinder the childbirth.

It was evening when the pain started and night when Pulomi’s water broke. The palace was well prepared. For over a month, two of Vallabhi’s best midwives, one Shudra woman and one Kshatriya woman, were told to stay in the palace in anticipation of the childbirth. They placed their hands on the queen’s stomach and felt the quickening of the womb to distinguish true labour from false. ‘Not yet, but soon,’ they kept saying every time the pain came. This went on all night long. Over a dozen palace women participated in the royal childbirth.

It was a great spectacle. The queen reclined on a seat of gold. She was being fanned with yak-tail fly whisks in anticipation that a male child would emerge
from her womb. Pulomi was naked except for her gold anklets, armlets, necklace and nose-ring. Her hair was unbound. Servants kept wiping the sweat that covered her body as she writhed in pain. Pulomi insisted that Shilavati sit beside her. ‘Hold my hand, mother,’ she said. The pain frightened her. She squeezed Shilavati’s finger’s hard everytime the pain intensified.

At the crack of dawn, the midwives announced it was time. Pulomi was made to stand. The midwives stood on either side. They held her by the waist and asked her to put her arms over their shoulders. Shilavati stood behind rubbing Pulomi’s back and shoulders, comforting her. ‘Push,’ the midwives shouted.

Shilavati expected her daughter-in-law to scream in agony. She gestured to the maids to get the neem twig that Pulomi could bite into. But before the twig was brought, the midwives said, ‘It’s a boy. It’s a boy.’ The child had slipped out with the first push.

The excited maids blew the conch-shells. Hearing which the palace guards began to beat the drums and the priests of Ileshwara began to clang the bell. Soon the whole city of Vallabhi was resounding with the sound of bells, drums and conch-shells and the cawing of crows. Everyone was excited. Shilavati had her grandson. The Turuvasu flame burnt bright.

‘He shall be called Jayanta, son of Indra, king of the gods,’ said Shilavati. Pulomi could not believe it was over so soon. The child was placed in her arms. Tears rolled down as she saw his tiny lips and tiny arms. She turned and looked at her mother-in-law. Shilavati was crying too. All the women were crying. Tears of joy, they all agreed. The women gathered around and sang a song to celebrate the childbirth and bless mother and
son. ‘Green is the earth. Green is Gauri. Green is the mother. Rich in milk and rich in sap. Green is the earth indeed.’

After the childbirth, the mother was asked to rest. ‘She is inauspicious now. Full of foul blood. It will be a month before she is purified. Until then she must rest and no man must see her. Not even the father,’ said the midwives.

Singers were called to entertain mother and child while Pulomi was in confinement. She spent her time allowing herself to be massaged, fed and bathed. They tied a long cloth tightly round her stomach to prevent it from sagging. They burnt cow dung cakes beneath her bed to help her uterus contract. Pulomi loved the attention. More than that she loved it when the nursemaids brought little Jayanta to her for feeding.

Yuvanashva did not come to see Pulomi or his son. He stayed in Simantini’s chambers feeding Mandhata, ignoring the chatter of women that came from the courtyard outside. Simantini sat next to him, fanning him, no longer awkward at the sight of a man nursing a baby, angry at being excluded from the celebrations outside.

Mandhata had almost been weaned. Simantini enjoyed feeding the child his first meal of rice boiled in milk. Had Mandhata been born of a woman, this annaprasanna samskara would have been a great ceremony held in the maha-sabha with the child sitting
on the lap of his royal father. But it was conducted privately in her chamber with only Keshini and Asanga as witness.

No nursemaids were appointed to massage Mandhata. ‘I will manage,’ said Simantini. She realized this baby was no different from the others she had seen in her father’s palace.

A month passed. Pulomi was healthy and pure. She was ready to present herself and her child to the city of Vallabhi. The day was fixed. The palace was decorated. A great silver seat shaped like a turtle with silver cushions and images of cows on the back rest was placed in the far end of the women’s courtyard. Women of all four varnas were told to come to the palace with their sons and daughters through the elephant gate. A royal feast had been organized. Shilavati ordered forty different varieties of vegetables, fruits, cereals and grain to be cooked.

The women and children came with gifts for the prince. Toys, rattles, silver boxes with lamp black, tiny anklets and armlets, talismans with images of gods and goddesses.

Simantini asked Yuvanashva, ‘Will you be attending the ceremony?’

‘It is only for women,’ Yuvanashva replied, all attention on his son.

‘It is for mothers.’

Yuvanashva looked up at Simantini. ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’

‘The people will assume that Jayanta is your first born. Is that fair to Mandhata?’

‘We know the truth.’

‘People see what they are shown. We must present Mandhata.’

‘How do we explain his birth and this secrecy?’

‘We can say that we kept his birth secret to protect him from Pisachas who prevented you from fathering a child for thirteen years. And it was the condition of the Siddhas that after the child is born it should be isolated for at least a year. Otherwise the Pisachas would suck its life out.’

‘You have a very powerful imagination, Simantini.’

‘I have been thinking about it for some time.’

‘Have you also thought of a way to explain of how it was I, not any one of you, who came to bear the first prince?’ asked Yuvanashva sarcastically.

Simantini took no notice of this. ‘There is no need for that. I will present Mandhata. I am his mother too.’

‘Since when?’ asked Yuvanashva sharply.

‘Since the day Pandu claimed to be the father of the Pandavas without making either of his wives pregnant. If a man is a father of his wives’ children through the rite of marriage, why can I not be the mother of my husband’s child through the rite of marriage? Surely motherhood is kindled in the heart too?’ she told Yuvanashva. ‘I may not be Mandhata’s mother by blood or milk. But I am his mother by love. When Krishna visited my father’s palace, my father asked him what surprised him most about life. Krishna answered, “That everyone asks me to choose between my birth mother Devaki and my foster mother Yashoda. I tell them, why choose. Everyone who loves me as a child is my mother.” I love Mandhata as my son. I am therefore his mother.’