MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba) (7 page)

When she had stayed silent for several moments, Yayati said, ‘Devayani? What is it? Why are you so quiet of a sudden?’ Being quiet was not one of Devayani’s foremost characteristics. 

‘I was thinking that it is time you met my father,’ she said softly. 

‘Certainly,’ Yayati said cheerfully, ‘I have heard so much about him, from others and now from you, it would be a great honour. I always respect brahmins of high learning such as he and few can claim a tenth of his knowledge and wisdom.’

‘Then it is settled,’ Devayani said. ‘You shall meet him today itself. We shall go to the city. I shall send a maid at once to announce us.’ 

In fact, knowing how engrossed her father became with his work as a preceptor and wanting Yayati’s reception to be a grand one, Devayani had sent this message to Guru Shukracharya days earlier. 

‘Why not?’ Yayati said. ‘Although afterwards, I shall have to return home. I have been away longer than usual and my ministers and people will start to worry.’

Devayani smiled at him. ‘Yes, of course, you have a kingdom to govern. Once we have seen my father and he has given his blessings, we shall proceed to your palace at once. It shall be exactly as you wish.’

Yayati frowned at her. Had he missed hearing some part of the conversation? Or was he misunderstanding her meaning now? ‘You mean to say, I shall proceed home, do you not? You shall stay in Vrishaparva’s palace with your father. And your maids.’ 

She laughed, a natural full-throated laugh, warm and apparently guileless. ‘Why do you tease me so, my love? You know that after I am wed, I cannot possibly stay in my father’s house while my new husband goes home without me. Imagine what everyone would say!’ 

Yayati was taken aback. ‘After you are wed? Your new husband? What are you saying, Devayani? Who are you marrying and when is this event to take place?’

Devayani looked at him disconcertedly, a shining brimming in her bright eyes. ‘There is a limit to teasing, beloved. Do not torture me now!’

Yayati shook his head. ‘I do not understand. What are you saying? You surely don’t mean that you and I…that we are to be wed? Us?’ 

Devayani laughed and clasped her arms around his neck. She had to rise up on her toes to do so, pressing her body against Yayati. He felt a stir of arousal when she did so, and had to force himself to keep his mind on the line of discussion. ‘I knew you were teasing! Yes, of course I mean us. You were the one who said you wished to ask my father for my hand in marriage, silly man.’ 

‘I did not,’ he began, then thought back through their talk. ‘I only meant that I would be honoured to meet such a learned man!’ 

‘And to marry his equally learned daughter?’ Devayani asked innocently. ‘That is what you implied, did you not? I accepted your proposal of marriage at once, but of course you must meet my father to seal the scroll.’ 

Yayati began feeling as if he had been manipulated and outmaneuvered by an opponent shrewder than any enemy general. He turned away, gazing out at the late morning sunlight drifting in through the eaves. ‘Devayani, I cannot marry you. It is quite impossible. Surely you know that!’

Devayani cried out as if someone had pricked her heart with a dagger. ‘How can you say such a thing? After holding my hand and pulling me from the well, your body so close to my own? No man has ever caught hold of my hand in such a way before, nor given me such a strong indication of his feelings towards me.’ She was not telling the whole truth of course, although it was true that even her erstwhile paramour Kacha had never had actual physical contact with her. Kacha had been rigid in his vows to the end. But even Yayati could not deny that he had caught hold of her hand. How else could he have helped her out of that damp dungeon of a well?

‘I know that in our culture, when a man takes hold of a woman’s hand, it indicates his desire to marry her. But in my case, I had no such desire,’ he said firmly. ‘I was merely saving your life. In any case, we can never marry. You are a brahmin’s daughter and I a raj-kshatriya. It is forbidden for us to cross castes in marriage or childbirth!’ 

‘Not forbidden,’ she said evasively, ‘merely frowned upon. Besides, you are no ordinary kshatriya, you are a raj-kshatriya of great Vedic learning. Which makes you no less than a brahmin yourself!’ 

Yayati shook his head, chuckling. ‘You would argue that the sun was the moon if it suited your purpose, Devayani. But no amount of learning alone makes a kshatriya a brahmin. There are other conditions and modalities of behaviour. I cannot take the rigid vows of a brahmin. I am a king. I must hunt and kill and do what is necessary to protect my people and kingdom, expand my territories and spread my power. These are things forbidden to any brahmin. If you marry someone like me, your children would become outcastes! They would be shunned by both our people – brahmins would never accept them as brahmins, and kshatriyas would doubt their valour and willingness to take up arms. It would be impossible for me to sire a suitable heir to the throne and as king, it is my dharma to make an heir suitable to ascend in my stead. No, Devayani, you must give up this foolish notion. We can never marry. It would be against your dharma as well as my own.’

But Devayani was not easily dissuaded once she had made up her mind. When sweet words and persuasion had no effect, she began to lose her temper and revealed her sour, bitter side. In no time at all, she was lashing out at him with the blade of her tongue. ‘I have deemed it to be appropriate. Therefore there is no point arguing further. You shall ask my father for my hand in marriage and we shall be wed. I am a proud and honourable daughter. Once a man has caught my hand and then later wooed me as you have these past days, I can never touch another man on pain of death. You have made it impossible for me to marry any other man now. Dharma clearly says that once a man touches a maiden’s hand, he is obliged to marry her. Therefore, by the dharma of the touching hand, you are now obliged to marry me to save me from falling into ignonimy!’ 

At this Yayati realized that he had been entrapped by this young woman as effectively as she herself had been trapped in that cold dank well. It was upto him to rescue himself. He rose to his feet, preparing to go, knowing that if he did not leave her at once, she would have him. Nonsensical though her arguments seemed, they were nevertheless rooted in sanskriti, the immutable tradition of their culture. If indeed a man grasped a young maiden’s hand, he was in fact presumed to be proposing marriage – this was the origin of the phrase, ‘taking her hand in marriage’. Yet the more he better he came to know Devayani, the less inclined he was to marry her. He intended to get on his horse, ride back home and never see her face again. 

‘Where are you going?’ she asked, following him as he walked over to the spot where his horses were tethered.

‘I am leaving now,’ he said curtly. 

‘But you cannot! You have proposed marriage to me! I have a thousand witnesses!’ 

Yayati looked around. The maids were watching them with the avid interest of women treated to a dramatic performance. Which in fact, it was. Except that the conclusion of this drama would be very real and it involved two human lives. 

He moved closer to Devayani, keeping his voice low. ‘This is over, Devayani. I have no intention of marrying you. You tried to trick me but you’ve failed. I am leaving now and I will not return again.’

At that moment, Devayani’s heart filled with utter hatred and rage. Once again, she was being abandoned by a man she loved and desired. Kacha’s terrible curse was coming true: No man would willingly marry her. Already, she was growing past the prime marriageable age. Once she was even a year or two older, even men who were attracted to her would think twice before proposing. Yet instead of making her shrill and agitated, her rage made her cold and perfectly lucid. ‘You cannot leave,’ she said. ‘Dharma is on my side. A king such as you can never transgress against dharma. It will be your ruin!’

Yayati cursed silently and turned back from his horses. ‘Woman! You test my patience now. I have said, I cannot marry you! Why will you not leave it at that? You are reasonably attractive, well-attended, influential, the daughter of a famous brahmin. You will have any number of young rishis willing to marry you! I am a kshatriya, I cannot marry you under any circumstances!’

Devayani shrugged. ‘I declare you to be a rishi. I can have my father declare it if you prefer. A brahmin has the authority to declare another person of any caste a fellow brahmin. By that brahmin authority, you are made a rishi with immediate effect. That hurdle is removed. Now you cannot argue a difference of varna.’ 

Yayati resisted the urge to punch his fist into the trunk of the tree to which his horses were tethered. ‘Brahmin authority! I do not care about brahminical authority! You cannot alter the facts to suit your purpose whenever it pleases you!’

Devayani replied in a honeyed tone: ‘Do you not hunt with whatever weapons and advantage you possess? A hunter must fell his prey in any way possible.’

‘I am not a prey to be downed by you.’

‘Certainly not. You are a man of great worth and stature. You are a prize husband. And I am the daughter of a great brahmin. It is a match made in heaven.’

‘Then go to heaven and find someone suitable! I am not available to marry you.’

‘Why not? Give me one reason at least.’

‘I gave you—’ He stopped, realizing that she had effectively negated the varna argument. Brahmins indeed had the authority to declare a kshatriya also a brahmin, especially a raj-kshatriya. He sought about desperately for some way out of his insane trap. Then it occurred to him: If there was one thing a brahmin would not tolerate, it was an insult against their varna. Brahmins were impossibly egotistical. Thus far, Devayani was perfectly in control and had the upper hand. But if he reduced her to anger and tears, compelling her to say something stupid, he could safely ride away with a clear conscience. 

‘It is said by the learned,’ he announced in a voice loud enough to be heard by her maids, all of whom were discreetly or openly listening, ‘that a brahmin is always to be avoided.’

Devayani frowned. ‘Which learned man says such a thing? All learned men are brahmins, and no brahmin would ever speak against his own varna!’

Yayati smiled to himself. That change of attitude showed him he was on the right path. ‘Nevertheless, it has been said by the learned that one must always avoid a brahmin. As you are a brahmin’s daughter, I cannot marry you.’

Devayani laughed and waved away the objection deprecatingly. ‘Utter nonsense. As a brahmin’s daughter, I am all the more desirable. Especially since I am the daughter of not just any brahmin, but of Shukracharya himself, preceptor to the entire asura race, one of the most highly respected and venerated brahmins in the world.’

Yayati shook his head. ‘In fact, that makes you least desirable of all.’

Devayani lost her smile and stared at him. ‘What do you mean by that? Do you seek to insult my father?’ Her voice rose a shrill notch on the last word, and he knew he had found her weak spot. 

She cannot bear to hear her father insulted. Behind Devayani, he glimpsed the other maid, the very attractive and desirable one that she called Sharmishtha, nodding vigorously to him, then making hand gestures to encourage him to go on. So I am right, this is the way to drive her to anger and tell me to go drown myself. If I insult her father sufficiently, she will never want to marry me. He grinned, nodding once to show the beautiful maid that he understood and appreciated her help. 

At the same time, he knew, he could not simply spout insults and abuse any brahmin, leave alone one of Shukra’s stature. It would be unacceptable for a king of his reputation to do so. He had to tread a fine line between offending Devayani and forcing her to lose her self-control, while not inflicting calumny upon the great Maharishi.  

‘I only repeat what the learned have already proclaimed loudly to one and all,’ he said smoothly, lapsing into the familiar diplomatic mode he had been trained to use in matters of inter-state negotiations, a fine line between upholding one’s own dignity and making sly potshots at the transgressions of others while never openly provoking or accusing. ‘Brahmins are always to be avoided, the more famous a brahmin, the more widely one is expected to avoid him. It is true of all famous brahmins. But if it applies to you, then by all means take the lesson to heart.’

‘That is utter nonsense,’ Devayani said sharply. ‘You will stop this at once. No more insults against brahmins and no further mention of my father! We have reached an agreement and you must honour it. Marry me.’

Yayati marvelled at how easily she gave orders even though there was no actual contract between them as yet and wondered how much more forcefully she would order him about if they were actually married. ‘We have no agreement, maiden. As I am saying to you, since you are the daughter of a brahmin, I cannot possibly marry you under any circumstances. This is not my opinion or decision, it is merely the teachings of the wise. As a king, I must obey to their superior knowledge.’

Devayani looked as if she wished to slap him to bring him to his senses. He had no doubt that she was quite capable of doing so. But she restrained herself with a visible effort. ‘Stop saying such things. My being a brahmin’s daughter can only be an asset. Every young man of marriageable would give anything to marry the daughter of Shukracharya!’

Yayati glanced around, gesturing casually. ‘Oddly, I see no young men of marriageable age here.’ He winked at the maids. ‘Although there seems to be no shortage of young marriageable women around.’ He grinned at Devayani. ‘Perhaps the competition is too great? Too many beautiful young nubiles to choose from?’ He looked pointedly over her shoulder at Sharmishtha, who returned his look with a coy invitation of her own. Devayani saw the direction of his gaze and turned sharply. At the sight of Sharmishtha, her eyes narrowed to slits that threatened to expel thunderbolts of fire.