MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba) Read online

  ‘My name is Yayati. I am a king and the son of a king, and like all kings of my line, I spent the first twenty five years of my life in brahmacharya-ashrama, by the side of my illustrious guru, steeping myself in knowledge of the Vedas.’ He did not elaborate further, deliberately leaving her pertinent questions unanswered. He would rather have taken the maid aside and walked with her through the forest to the river, talking with her. She looked to be much better company than this high and mighty queen of a thousand maids!

  She noted his displeasure, and also the direction in which his eyes kept glancing. It irritated her even more. Instead of changing her attitude, she grew even more arrogant. ‘So what brings a great king such as yourself to this aranya? Have you come hunting deer? I know that kings love to hunt down and kill a defenseless doe. Or perhaps,’ she added coyly, ‘you hoped to collect lotus flowers instead?’ Her meaning was underlined by the look she gave him, sidling her eyes sideways to indicate the maid beside her and the many others clustered nearby, some quite pleasing to the eye. ‘We are quite famous for the beauty of our lotuses.’

  That was as much as Yayati was able to tolerate. There were limits even for a well-mannered king. He stood up slowly, making a show of being weary. ‘I was hunting earlier and came by to seek water for myself and my mounts.’ He paused, noting that even now she did not bother to offer him a drink of water, or to send some of her many servants to fetch it. ‘You are given to speaking a great deal. I will take your leave now.’ He turned to go, moving in the direction of the river. At once, the chatter of the maids died down, resulting in a hushed, shocked silence. Everyone knew what had happened and reacted: Devayani had been rude to the handsome young king! And now he was leaving. She felt their eyes judging and assessing her and couldn’t stand it.

  Devayani sprang to her feet. It was a little more awkward than it used to be as she had put on more than a little weight, thanks to her constant pampering and self-indulgences. She called out to Yayati, stretching her hand out in his direction:

  ‘Raje!’

  Yayati paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His face did not look like the face of a man interested in staying a moment longer. It was only out of sheer politeness that he had even stopped. As far as he was concerned, he had no desire to see Devayani ever again. The maid on the other hand… ‘Yes?’ he answered curtly, not bothering with her name or even a honorific.

  ‘I was remiss in my hospitality,’ she said. ‘I was only seeking to exchange a few pleasantries first. I should have realized you must be tired and thirsty from a long ride and from hunting wild game. Pray, do me the honour of seating yourself once more and I shall place all my maids at your service to fetch whatever you wish to eat or drink.’

  Yayati looked at her warily, but remained where he was. ‘I had best be on my way. A short visit to the river to water my horses and myself and I shall return to my kingdom.’

  Devayani realized she would have to do more than just be polite now. She saw the direction in which his eyes glanced even now and pounced upon the opportunity.

  ‘Sharmishtha!’ she cried.

  Sharmishtha frowned and rose to her feet. ‘Yes, mistress.’

  Devayani gestured towards Sharmishtha. ‘This is Sharmishtha,’ she said to Yayati directly. ‘She is my personal maid. She is enslaved to me for life. She and my thousand other maid servants can fetch you anything you desire. Please, stay a while. It will be pleasant to talk awhile longer.’

  Yayati turned and came towards the spot where he had sat earlier. His eyes were fixed on Sharmishtha even as he spoke to Devayani. ‘Perhaps I shall stay a brief while longer,’ he said. ‘But only a brief while.’

  ‘What is your pleasure, sire?’ Sharmishtha asked, in a voice and manner that were servile yet still provocative, a combination that instantly raised Devayani’s hackles and aroused Yayati’s emotions. ‘Name your desire and I shall fulfill it.’

  Devayani raised a hand as if intending to strike out with it, then with visible effort, lowered it again. Her teeth bit into her lips while her eyes glared daggers at Sharmishtha. The maid seemed unaware or unconcerned by her mistress’s agitation. She took three steps forward toward Yayati, her delicate silver payals tinkling suggestively, hips swaying, then bent to her knees before the king. He looked down at her, his lips parted slightly.

  ‘May I have some water to drink, please?’ he said.

  ‘Certainly,’ Devayani said loudly, taking charge of the situation again. ‘Sharmishtha…’ she began sharply, then reconsidered and corrected herself. ‘No, never mind. You girls,’ she pointed randomly at a group of girls nearby. ‘Fetch water, wine and refreshments for Maharaja Yayati. Move quickly!’ She turned back to Sharmishtha. ‘Place one of my cushions here that the king may seat himself more comfortably.’

  Sharmishtha obeyed without response. Yayati watched her as she moved with swaying hips and tinkling anklets, leaning over, bending down, crouching, stretching out, and rearranging the cushions. Devayani watched Yayati as he watched Sharmishtha and two high points of colour began to blaze on her cheekbones. She looked as if she would dearly love to whip the maid if not for the fact that her male visitor might find even that punitive act to be pleasing to watch. She settled for changing her tack.

  ‘Raje, please refresh yourself,’ she said, gesturing at the maids who had returned bearing jugs and bowls and vessel containing every kind of food and drink that was available. Yayati gladly did so, for he had been on the hunt for three days, riding far and wide without food and with scarce water. Devayani was more careful about how she spoke and what she said, and as nourishment entered his body and he felt the warm satisfaction of a full belly and a slaked thirst, he began to look upon her less judgementally. Devayani could be a fine performer once she set her mind to it. And she had decided that she would outmatch Sharmishtha now. It was her goal to ensure that the king had eyes for none other than Devayani herself. She laughed mellifluously, throwing her head back to reveal her long flowing neck, stretched out langurously, bent over to pick up fruits, kicked out her legs, and did everything she could to demonstrate that she was no less desirable a woman than her enticing maid. She threw herself into the part body and soul and as he ate and drank and was amused by her witticisms and comments, Yayati began to feel that she was not as bad as he had thought after all. He still thought of her as pampered and self-indulgent but she was not without her charms. In some ways, she could even be considered beautiful and desirable.

  Devayani persuaded Yayati to linger with her in the forest for a day or two, on the pretext of showing him a rare grove where unusual deer roved, a pond where the most beautiful lotus flowers blossomed and similar ploys. Yayati, for his part, had come this way precisely to see Devayani, if not this Devayani then the vision he had first seen in the well, and as the hours turned into days, and Devayani’s masterful performance only deepened in excellence and mastery, he could not help but fall under her spell. There was also the added attraction of having Sharmishtha around. From time to time, when Devayani’s guard was down or she was momentarily absent, he found his eyes seeking out the alluring maid. More than once, she figured in his thoughts when laying to sleep at night on Devayani’s overly effeminate cushions and blankets. He even mused on the possibility of calling her to his sleeping pallet at night, when Devayani was asleep. But Devayani was too shrewd to let such a thing occur right under her very nose; she took the precaution of having Sharmishtha’s wrist tethered to her own, under the pretext that if she, Devayani, happened to wander away in her sleep at night, Sharmishtha would keep her safe. Sharmishtha knew what Devayani was doing but could neither object nor do anything about it. She contented herself with shooting knowing glances at Yayati at every opportunity and permitting him glimpses of her when possible. One night, she made sure to change her garments directly in front of a lit lamp, so that her naked shadow was projected onto a flimsy sheet that was hung on a branch to afford her privacy, knowing that Yayati was watching on the other side of
the sheet. After bathing, she did not dress by the river but ran back circuitously so that he would catch a glimpse of her through the trees, just enough to tantalize and arouse his desires, yet never enough to satisfy. It became a game between them to seduce the king. Yayati was aware of it and enjoyed it to the hilt. After all, he could not lose at this particular game! Or so he thought.

  It was Devayani who made the killing move. One day, during the visit to the lotus pond, she deliberately permitted a moment of intimacy to blossom into hesitant passion between them. Even as their bodies brushed against each other fully clothed, hands intertwining, she sighed deeply, then pulled away. The maids had been told to wait a distance away, and even Sharmishtha was not with them, for Devayani had planned her move meticulously.

  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.’