Pregnant King, The (18 page)

This plan of theirs was not supposed to go so horribly wrong. He had borrowed the white dhoti and uttarya lined with gold from the shrine of the divine warlord, Agneya, son of the goddess Tarini. Somvat had borrowed the red sari and yellow uttarya from Tarini’s shrine. Then both of them had borrowed from each of the seven Matrika shrines, which surrounded the main shrine, one piece of jewellery so that no one noticed their absence, earrings from one Matrika, necklaces from another. They had even stolen toe-rings and a nose-ring.

The toe-rings turned out to be too small and the nose-ring could not be worn because Somvat refused to pierce his nose. They had run out of the village at dusk and had travelled through the night fearlessly, enjoying each others company, stopping finally at dawn under a banyan tree on the banks of the Kalindi, a short distance from Vallabhi, where they changed into ‘husband and wife’. As he draped the sari, Somvat had said, ‘This is fun. Remember, we are supposed to be from Pratishthana?’ Since Pratishthana was so far south of Vallabhi, beyond the Vindhya mountains, Somvat had
surmised there was less likelihood of them crossing paths of any Brahmanas from that city in Vallabhi. The Brahmana couples from Tarini-pur had already come and gone with the cows on the first day of the cow-giving ceremony itself. There was little chance of bumping into any one of them either.

Sumedha remembered how he suddenly became nervous, ‘It is not appropriate that a man wear a woman’s clothes.’

‘It is appropriate if done for a good cause,’ Somvat had said confidently, as he tried to figure out if the long end of the sari should be draped from front over the left shoulder in the manner of women from the east or from the back over the right shoulder in the manner of women from the west.

‘What do you mean a good cause?’ he had asked.

Somvat had replied, ‘You heard what happened in Matsya during the thirteenth year of the Pandavas’ exile. They all lived incognito as servants in the king’s palace. Draupadi served as a palace maid. The king’s lout of a brother-in-law, Kichaka, forced himself into her chambers. But the woman in bed turned out to be her second husband, Bhima, the mightiest Pandava.’

‘Really,’ Sumedha guffawed.

‘Yes, he had worn Draupadi’s sari to dupe the scoundrel. If Bhima can wear a sari to save his wife, why can I not wear a sari to help a friend get a wife? Now can you pass me the anklets.’

Sumedha had imagined Bhima in bed, dressed as a woman, trapping Kichaka between his thighs, crushing his chest with his mighty arms. ‘The anklets, Sumedha,’ Somvat had shouted shaking Sumedha out of his
thoughts, ‘Be a good husband and pass me the anklets. Both of them.’

As Sumedha had picked up the anklets, he had spilt the small box containing vermilion powder which Somvat was to smear in the parting of his hair. It fell over the toe-ring. It looked like blood. Blood dripping from the fangs of the fearsome Matrikas. That’s when fear first crept into Sumedha’s heart.

Chained to the walls in Vallabhi’s dungeons, like an errant bull, Sumedha cursed his fate. No family. No wife. And soon no life. Was he paying for the misdeeds of the past? What could he do but endure? He had been beaten up mercilessly, dragged through the streets, humiliated in public, flogged, harassed and chained. All because he wanted a cow. Never before in his orphan life had he felt so alone, so miserable, so helpless and so afraid. He felt sorry for himself. More sorry for Somvat though. He did this for me. He did not have to. He already had his cow. Sumedha was engulfed by waves of guilt. Nobody cared if he lived or died except Somvat. And if Somvat died there were so many who cared for him. His uncle. His aunt. His cousin and sister-in-law, their teacher. Somvat had given up so much more. He remembered the times they spent together. Somvat would not eat a mango until Sumedha sucked on it first. Somvat would not start a meal until Sumedha joined him first. They wore each other’s clothes. Slept on each other’s beds. Friends? More than friends. Brothers? More than brothers. Wives would have torn them apart. But they had to marry if they wanted to enter the shrines, if they wished to perform puja and partake of the offerings of the yagna. Without wives they were incomplete. Without each other, they were
incomplete. Could he live if Somvat died? Somvat’s death would be his death. He was sure of it.

‘Who did you marry? A man or a woman?’ the guards asked Sumedha.

Sumedha did not know what to answer. If he said he was not married, then he would be punished for duping the queens. Men cannot marry men. So he replied, ‘I married a woman, of course.’

‘A woman with a man’s body or a woman’s body?’

‘I don’t know what happened in the temple. I married a true woman. I know her body. I cannot explain what happened in the temple. An apparition. A magician’s trick. A demon’s prank. Maybe sorcery. But I know I married Somvati. The rest I leave in your hands,’ Sumedha tried hard to sound convincing.

‘Matanga of Tarini-pur says Somvat is a boy, an orphan, just like you, that both of you study and serve in the temple complex of the goddess Tarini. You are not from Pratishthana, are you?’

Sumedha realized he had been caught. They knew where he came from. They knew everything about him. There was no escape. But he could not retract his words. That would make him a liar. Liars are flogged. In fear, he clung to his lie. ‘They are all lying. Somvati and I were married when we were children.’

‘Did the village witness it?’

‘No. I married as Gandharvas do. Nature was our witness. The goddesses were our witness. I tell you Somvati was always a woman. The village lies.’

‘Then who made Trigarta’s wife pregnant?’

Sumedha realized the guards knew the truth. They were entrapping him in his own lies. But he was afraid to admit he had lied. That he had tricked the royal
family. He shook his head. ‘Please stop this. There is only one truth. I am a man. An orphan. I married Somvati, my best friend. My only friend. Please don’t harm her. She is a good girl. Let her go. She did nothing wrong.’

The guards found his words convincing. They did not know whom to believe. Matanga? Somvat? Sumedha? Or their own eyes?

The Danda-Nayak said, ‘If he speaks the truth, then we will earn demerit for keeping a husband and wife apart. Let us bring them together.’

‘What if he is not? We know what we saw,’ said the guards.

‘It is our mind playing tricks on us. Let us accept the truth of the moment. Here is a man. There is a woman. They claim to be husband and wife.’

Sumedha overheard the Danda-Nayak. What was he saying? A woman in the next cell? What had happened? He saw confusion in their eyes. Something had happened. Something strange. But what?

‘Does this disgust you?’ Somvat asked Sumedha, when they were finally brought together and led to the king’s court. The streets were lined with people. The very same who had abused them the previous day. Now, they were silent. Afraid. Were these two boys shape-shifting demons? Would they curse our children for making fun of them? Forgive us.

Sumedha and Somvat, lost in each other’s thoughts, were oblivious of the crowds. Somvat waited anxiously for Sumedha’s reaction. Sumedha replied. ‘Not at all.’ A secret prayer had finally been answered. Somvat heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Has your heart changed with your body?’ Sumedha asked.

Somvat replied, ‘Look into my eyes. Tell me if there is change.’

There was no change.

‘How did this happen?’ Sumedha asked.

‘I am not too sure. It has happened. Now at least we have hope.’

‘Did you let this happen only to save our lives?’

‘What do you think?’

Sumedha felt a change in Somvat. In himself too. Not change—the new body had forced a discovery. An acknowledgement of a truth. A warm feeling, hidden deep in their hearts. He remembered the days they spent running in the fields, dancing on the riverbanks, working together in the temple, eating together, happy just to see each other. He remembered those naps in the temple corridors, the dappled sunlight streaming through the windows, making Somvat’s skin glow. He remembered those nights when he could not sleep, wondering what life would be after marriage, when they would be forced to live apart.

‘Will you treat me differently now?’ asked Somvat.

‘Why should I?’ replied Sumedha. He looked at the chains, the guards, the lions at the gate they were passing through. ‘I am not afraid anymore.’

‘I am not afraid either,’ said Somvat.

By force of habit, the Danda-Nayak brought Sumedha and Somvat to the audience chamber of the queen. He was stopped on the way. ‘Take them to
the maha-sabha,’ said the guards.

In the pillared hall, surrounded by Brahmana, Kshatriya, Vaishya and Shudra elders, sat Yuvanashva on his golden seat with red cushions. The crown was placed on his head. In his hand was the golden bow. Realizing how important this moment was for their husband, Simantini and Pulomi decided to sit beside Yuvanashva and wave the yak-tail fly whisks. Keshini sat on the floor behind and held the ivory parasol over his head.

Yuvanashva had finally taken charge of his destiny.

At long last, a dispute in Vallabhi would be settled by a man. The elders of the four varnas, the local village chiefs, leaders of caravans, wandering bards and sages poured in to witness this momentous occasion.

The servants had a tough time providing seats to everyone. The rules of protocol had to be maintained so that no one took offence. Elders had to sit closer to the throne. High-ranking Kshatriyas had to be provided rugs made of blackbuck skin. Low-ranking Kshatriyas were given ordinary deer-skin rugs. Brahmanas had to be provided mats. Vaishyas had to be provided cushions. The Shudras sat on the floor, behind the throne. Both Matanga and Asanga sat on mats close to the throne so that they could hear both the king and the accused clearly. Mandavya sat to the left of the king. Vipula sat to his right.

Everybody wondered how Yuvanashva would settle this dispute. It had stoked a great deal of speculation in the streets. Everyone had an opinion. It had added spice to the otherwise orderly humdrum life of Vallabhi.

The two accused were brought before the king in chains. Had it not been for the chains, they looked like
newly-weds. Sumedha in his white dhoti and uttarya lined with gold. Somvat with his red sari, yellow uttarya and jewellery that belonged to the Matrikas.

Vipula asked Sumedha, on behalf of the king, “Tell me the truth. Did you enter the temple with a man dressed as a woman or with a woman who was your wife?’

Sumedha replied, ‘I came in with my soulmate, first wrapped in a woman’s garment and now wrapped in a woman’s body.’

‘Trying to be a clever twister of words, are you?’ said the Danda-Nayak, striking his staff on the floor. ‘Speak plainly here. This is the king’s court not a congregation of poets.’

Vipula said, ‘Look on your right. That is Somvat’s uncle and aunt, his cousin, and his cousin’s wife. They say Somvat is a man.’

Sumedha said, ‘They lie.’

Vipula said, ‘Look to your left, Somvati. There is Trigarta. He says he helped you plant your seed in his wife’s womb. She is now pregnant with child. The sapling of your seed. Do you deny this?’

Sumedha looked at Somvat. Somvat replied, from beneath the yellow uttarya that covered his head and face, ‘No, I don’t.’ There was uproar in the maha-sabha. Disbelief. Shock. The boy had admitted he was not a woman, but a man.

‘Silence,’ shouted the Danda-Nayak.

‘I did plant the seed in Mamata’s womb. That was then. Now, I am a woman. A chaste woman. The wife of Sumedha,’ said Somvat.

Vipula said, ‘Look behind you, Somvati. There is a widow there. She covers her face with a plantain leaf
out of respect for the king. Behind her are two young girls. One of them, she says, was to marry Sumedha and the other was for you. What is to become of her if you say you are a woman? Who will marry her now?’

‘Maybe,’ shouted one Kshatriya elder, ‘Sumedha must marry her too. Then he will have three wives. Two women and a man.’ Everyone laughed.

‘Silence,’ shouted the Danda-Nayak.

‘Circumstances have transformed me into a woman. This transformation will have consequences. I do not know who will marry Kaveri’s daughter. All I know is that I will be ever-faithful to my husband.’

Sumedha held Somvati’s hand. ‘She is my only wife. I will look upon no other.’

Silence in the court was replaced by a buzz of conversation. Like a swarm of locusts passing over a placid lake.

‘May I speak,’ said the Acharya of Tarini-pur. The king nodded his assent. Silence returned to the court. ‘Somvat is the only son of his late father. He is obliged to father a son, a child at least, otherwise his father will be trapped forever in the land of the dead. For the sake of his ancestors, he cannot be allowed to be a woman, even if his body is of one. As a child, he performed the funeral rites. Offered rice cakes to the Pitr, promised them he would father children, help them return to the land of the living. He cannot go back on his words now.’

Yuvanashva thought of his ancestors. And the crows. ‘Do you wish to abandon your forefathers?’ Yuvanashva asked Somvat.

‘I have already fathered a child,’ said Somvat.