Pregnant King, The (27 page)

‘You refused Urvashi!’ Yuvanashva was about to laugh but he checked himself when he realized Arjuna was not amused by his reaction.

‘I was very attracted to her. She was so beautiful. But I was restrained by dharma. You see, she was the wife of my ancestor, Pururava. I descend from her son, Nahusha. She is like my mother. How can I make love to my mother even though she looked younger than Draupadi, hardly an ancestor? But my mind knew that time moves differently for Apsaras and Manavas. She told me that the rules of man do not apply to nymphs. She could go to any man she pleased. But I reminded her that I was a man, a mortal man, a descendent of Prithu and Ila and Pururava, and that the rules of man applied to me. I would not make love to the mother of my forefathers, even if I wanted to. She said that she had been struck by Kama’s arrow and that her body burned with desire. She insisted that her needs mattered more. But I was restrained by the rule-book of Yama. Enraged, she looked less like an Apsara with welcoming lips and more like a scorned Matrika with fangs and bloodshot eyes. She caught my gentials and wrenched it away. ‘He who does not come to a welcoming woman
does not need his genitals,’ she said. I screamed in agony. Begged her to understand. She laughed. I fell at her feet. In mercy she promised to restore my manhood after I spent a year dressed as a woman.’

‘Like the priestesses of Bahugami,’ said Yuvanashva.

‘No, not like them,’ said Arjuna, annoyed by the analogy. ‘I did not have a manhood but I
still
desired women.’

‘What kind of a man shares his wife with his brothers?’ asked Yuvanashva mischievously.

‘One who obeys his mother,’ said Arjuna. Yuvanashva smirked. Arjuna sensed the slight to his masculinity and did not appreciate it at all. ‘I have many wives, king of Vallabhi, many more than you,’ he said squaring his shoulders, ‘Drupada’s daughter is my wife. Krishna’s sister is my wife. Chitrangada, the princess of Manipur, bore me a son. I made Pramila, the dark and swarthy warrior princess, my wife following the way of the Pisachas; when she rejected my advances I used magic to make myself a serpent and slip under her robes as she slept. I have so many wives that I don’t remember all their names. All these women bore me children, each and every one of them. Tell me Yuvanashva, how many children have your wives borne you?’

‘Two,’ lied Yuvanashva. He offered Arjuna some tambula. Arjuna politely declined. He wanted to be done with this conversation and take his horse through this wretched kingdom.

‘Did behaving like a woman make you less of a man?’ asked Yuvanashva.

Arjuna smiled. ‘It was fun when Draupadi draped the sari around me. My chest was still wide and my arms covered with scars of battle. She painted my eyes
and lips and tied my hair. The thirteenth year of our exile, when we had to lose our identities, and live in disguise, was to be the most humiliating year but the masquerade made it all fun. Twelve moons of make-believe. Yudhishtira presented himself as a Brahmana well versed in matters of dharma who in exchange for his advice sought shelter and knowledge in the game of dice in which Virata was an expert. Draupadi served as the queen’s maid. Bhima was the cook in the palace kitchens. Nakula took care of the royal horses. Sahadeva the royal cows. I offered to teach song and dance to the princess. The king of Matsya, Virata, said, “You look like a man but you dress as a woman. Let my courtesans confirm you are a eunuch.” So the courtesans came. Beautiful women. I let them undress me. Confirm there was nothing between my legs. Nothing that would interest a woman or a man.’

‘The greatest archer in Arya-varta living as a woman. How did it feel?’

‘Liberating actually. I could get away with anything. I could cry and dance and sing as I pleased. I had to answer to no woman or man. I was no one’s husband or wife. But, Kama did not leave me in peace.’

‘What happened?’

‘The king had twins. A son and a daughter. Uttara and Uttari. I was employed to teach the girl song and dance. I spent all day with her in the dancing hall showing her how to move her fingers, her wrists, her legs and her head in response to the rhythm of the music. Her brother liked to watch his sister dance. He wanted to dance too but his father forbade it. “Dancing is for girls,” he said.’

‘Who taught you to dance?’

‘Krishna …

‘Then one day, a mad dog entered the palace and made its way into the dancing hall. Uttari screamed. The dog chased her barking, yellow froth pouring out of its mouth. I knew it would bite if I did not act fast. The guard was useless. As scared as the princess. I grabbed the guard’s bow and arrow, and shot the dog dead before the eye could blink. The speed with which I acted attracted a lot of attention. The prince saw this and said, “You are as good as Arjuna, I am sure.” I had to think fast and come up with a suitable lie. I told him that I knew Arjuna. I had met him in Manipur when he was courting Chitrangada. We had become friends. I had taught him to dance. He had taught me to use the bow. The story satisfied Uttara. “Teach me what Arjuna taught you. Teach me dancing too,” said the prince. His sister joined me, “Me too. Me too. Teach me to use the bow.” “Archery is not for girls,” Uttara told his sister. But Uttari was determined to have her way. “If you don’t want me to tell father that you want to learn to dance like a girl, you will let me learn to use the bow,” she said. My heart went out to both of them. They were like my children. My students. They reminded me of all my children. Draupadi’s son, Subhadra’s son, Pramila’s son.’

‘You said, Kama did not leave you in peace. What happened?’

‘At first, I saw the children as children. But they were hardly children. Virata was preparing for both their weddings. He wanted to sell his daughter and use the cows to buy a wife for his son. He was an apology of a Kshatriya. More fit to be a trader. While the king was busy negotiating the price of his daughter, I taught
both brother and sister to dance and to use the bow. Spring gave way to summer. Then came the rains. When the monsoon clouds departed, Kama arrived gliding on the autumn moonlight. He struck me with his arrow. I noticed Uttari’s body as she danced. Round. Firm. Supple. Her expressions were perfect. She beckoned an imaginary lover. I thought she beckoned me. My heart fluttered. I realized, though stripped of manhood, I possessed the heart of a man. To Uttara and Uttari, however, I was a woman. They were both too young to know what a eunuch was. Yes, my gait was exaggerated. My speech pretentious. I was more woman than any woman they knew. I did not shy away from the stares of men. When they made comments, I took them as compliments. No, I was no palace maid who ran away. I was no modest queen who walked softly, with head bent and eyes lowered. I dressed as a woman but strutted like a peacock. I enjoyed flirting with the men, teasing them, making a fool of them. When the men tried to get too familiar, I would grab their testicles and squeeze them so hard that they begged for mercy. But the taunts continued from afar. They offered to kiss me. At first I was revolted but then I enjoyed the attention. The young prince noticed all this. He saw I was fun to be with. He spent all day and all night with me like a puppy. At first it was endearing but then I realized he was following me because he was in love.’ Arjuna shook his head and smiled. ‘The situation was hopeless. Brother chasing me. Me chasing sister. A doomed love triangle.’

‘You were man and woman at the same time. A man for Uttari and a woman for Uttara,’ said Yuvanashva thoughtfully.

‘I was neither. I was a eunuch. False man. False
woman. I was relieved when the year ended and my manhood was restored. I saw the heartbroken Uttara. “I cannot stop loving you just because your body has changed,” he said. “My love is true, unfettered by flesh.” I laughed scornfully. “Grow up,” I said, hoping to hurt him, break his heart, make him forget me, find a true woman and make her his wife. I had to forget Uttari too. Virata was upset when he learnt my true identity. He feared that his daughter’s price in the marriage market would be compromised, having stayed the year with Arjuna, the womanizer. But the ever-alert trader found a better solution. “Marry her,” he said. I saw the greed in his eyes. He wanted an alliance with the great Kuru clan. I wanted to accept the offer. But I did not. I loved the little girl and could have made her my wife but she looked upon me as teacher, mother, friend, protector and parent. My year as a eunuch had made me acutely aware of the dark thoughts of man. I refused to marry her. I let dharma decide. She saw me as a father. I made her my daughter-in-law.’

Arjuna prepared to leave. He had said enough. Yuvanashva, however, could not resist one more question. ‘Did you ever feel like a woman? A wife? A mother?’

‘No never.’

‘Do you know of any man who would have experienced a woman’s emotions?’

‘Krishna perhaps.’ Arjuna then told Yuvanashva the
story of Iravan, known only to the Pandavas. ‘Sanjaya who saw the whole war with his mind’s eye and narrated all to my blind uncle Dhritarashtra did not see this. It was done in secret.’

Long ago, Arjuna had met a Naga princess called Uloopi. He was bathing in the Ganga when she came from below, swimming like an eel, and dragged him under. He tried to come up but she kept pulling him down till he fainted. When he awoke, he found himself naked on her bed. She lay beside him. ‘Beautiful Pandava, make love to me, make me your wife.’ Arjuna refused. ‘You cannot refuse me. Don’t you know the price of refusing a willing woman in season.’ Arjuna protested. He did not love her. He did not care for her. ‘I love you. I want to be the mother of your child,’ she said. ‘Give me your seed, Arya. Don’t deny me that. It is against dharma to turn away from me. An ancestor stands on the threshold of Vaitarni right at this moment. Don’t disappoint him.’

Arjuna made love to Uloopi and then left her bed. Soon she was forgotten, like yesterday’s meal.

On the eve of the Kuru-kshetra war a young warrior presented himself to the Pandavas. ‘I am the son of Arjuna, born of Uloopi,’ he said. ‘My name is Iravan. Let me fight with you.’

Arjuna was not sure. Krishna said, ‘You have seven armies. The Kauravas have eleven. You need as many warriors as you can get. Acknoweldge him as your son, even if you don’t remember his mother. Hug him. Bind him. Don’t let him go.’

Arjuna hugged Iravan. Iravan felt so happy to finally meet his father that he fought furiously.

For eight days, the war continued with no end in
sight. Both the Pandavas and the Kauravas were equally matched. Everybody turned to Sahadeva. He never spoke unless spoken to. He answered only what he was asked. ‘How must we win this war?’ they asked.

Sahadeva looked at the stars and said, ‘We must offer Kali the blood of a perfect man so that, satiated, she will force Yama to rewrite his books in our favour.’

‘Human sacrifice?’ Yudhishtira did not like the idea.

‘You must agree,’ said Bhima. ‘Blood has to flow. Either in the battlefield or in the sacrificial altar.’

‘How do we find the perfect man?’ asked Yudhishtira.

‘He will have thirty-six sacred marks on his body,’ said Sahadeva. Everyone looked around. They found not one but three. Krishna, Arjuna and Iravan.

The Pandavas said, ‘We cannot sacrifice Krishna, he is our guide. We cannot sacrifice Arjuna, he is our best archer. That leaves us with Iravan. Let us sacrifice him.’ Arjuna nodded his assent.

Iravan realized his father did not love him as he loved his father. No one in the battlefield really cared for him. He mattered only because he had thirty-six marks on his body. Krishna felt his pain. But the sacrifice had to be done. ‘We can only sacrifice you if you are willing.’

‘I am willing. I want to be remembered as a hero who sacrificed himself for his father.’

Arjuna felt guilty. But there was no turning back. ‘Do you have a last wish?’ asked Krishna.

‘Nobody here cares for me. My mother told me not to go. She told me it would be so. She told me if I died, only she would cry. I defied her. Told her there would be others who love me. I want that to happen. I want someone to cry for me. A widow. Who beats her chest
and unbinds her hair and rolls in mud in my memory. Who breaks her bangles to mourn for me. Give me a wife Krishna. Tell the Pandavas to find me a wife.’

‘No woman will marry a man doomed to die at daybreak. A bride of a night and a widow for eternity. Who will seal their daughter’s fate thus? Not all fathers are like Ahuka. Not all daughters are like Shilavati,’ said Bhima.

Krishna knew this was true. But the war had to be won. The boy had to be sacrificed. And he had to go to the altar willingly. ‘Cover your eyes, cousins,’ he said, ‘Let me do tonight what must be done. Few will understand this. Fewer still will accept this. A temple needs to be built in memory of this event. For no society will ever enshrine it.’

Krishna then became a woman. A perfect woman. Mohini, the enchantress. She became Iravan’s bride. She approached him bearing the sixteen love-charms of marriage. He put the sacred thread dipped in turmeric round her neck. He put vermilion powder in the parting of her hair. They took seven steps together around the sacred fire. Then they were taken to a tent. The bridal chamber on the battlefield. Through a tear in the tent, Iravan showed her the Arundhati star. She gave him betel nut and milk. They talked. She laughed. He felt loved. They spent all night in bliss.