MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#2: The Seeds of War (Mba) (28 page)

So saying, she went to bed beside her sisters. But she did not fall asleep at once. Instead, she lay awake, hoping that Bhishma would come to her and answer her proposal in words or deed, or both. 

Bhishma lay on his pallet of grass and thought long and hard on her words. He knew what she meant but could not say more directly. You have defeated the man whom I intended to marry. By defeating him and proving yourself the better man, you earn the right to claim my hand. It would not displease me if you declare your intention to marry me. 

He knew that she was awake yet, sighing and turning from side to side in order to let him know that she waited for his answer. He knew she meant for him to come and claim her, as was his right under dharma. She desired him and wanted him to desire her as his wife. 

In another life, at another time, perhaps he would have done as she wished. Perhaps he would have wished the same. 

But in this life, he was foresworn from marriage, cohabitation, love, sex…and that meant he could not allow himself even to feel such desires for a woman, let alone express them. To him, the line between brahmacharya and grihasta was not a fine one. It was clearly etched, large and bold. And he could not approach it even from afar, let alone broach it. 

Moments later, he woke Amba with a hand on her shoulder. 

She started awake at once, beaming with pleasure. For she thought he had come to steal her away into the shadows to demonstrate his desire for her. She was excited and waiting it eagerly. Never before had she desired a man as she desired Bhishma. Even Shalya’s proposal and her infatuation for him seemed juvenile and puerile now in retrospect. This was a real man, and real love. And under the circumstances, what could be more thrilling than to give herself under the stars to a prince of the Puru empire after being abducted from her own swayamvara? It was like being the heroine of her own puranic fable. 

What she failed to remember was that the heroines of puranic fables almost always found their stories ending tragically. 

Bhishma took her around the trees to where the horses were tethered. Her heart was pounding and she found her breath catching in her throat as she prepared to receive the touch of her first lover. She was surprised to see that he had separated a horse from the team and had saddled and harnessed it for individual riding. She was even more surprised when he turned to her and said, ‘This horse will carry you to your destination. Ride southwards and westwards and you will find your way.’ 

She stared at him blankly.
Southwards and westwards?
What did he mean? Then she remembered what kingdom lay in that direction.

‘Shouba?’ she asked. ‘You are sending me to Shouba?’

It was impossible to see his face clearly in the shadows of the tree. ‘It is what you desire, is it not? You were all but betrothed to King Shalva of Shouba. I am doing the right thing under dharma, as you requested. Your two sisters will continue to Hastinapura with me, to be married to my ward Vichitravirya. They shall be treated as princesses deserve and shall be as happy with him as they could ever desire. He is a handsome young man and a good king. They will not lack for anything and shall live as queens of the earth.’

She was still trying to get over the shock of disappointment. ‘But…you do not wish me to go as well…to Hastinapura?’ 

‘Two wives are good,’ he said. ‘And yes, had you not asked me to release you, I would wish you to go to Hastinapura as well. To wed Vichitravirya. But since you asked for my mercy, I am granting you this reprieve. I wish I could let your sisters go as well, but trust me when I say, I am sure they will do far better with Vichitravirya than with any of those dolts at your swayamvara!’

She did not know what to say. This was an unexpected turn of events. Clearly, he had misunderstood her, or…Or he had deliberately rejected her overture and invitation, spurning her. Why else would he send her to that naked blubbering fool? That coward who had tried to kill her and her sisters to prove his own valour as a warrior and had then proved himself utterly incompetent before a real warrior like Bhishma! She didn’t want to go to Shalva now! She had no desire to see Shalva ever again. Yet she seemed to have no choice. She could not refuse to go now, for it would be humiliating to beg him and be rejected again. 

She made one last attempt. He was turning to go and she reached out and caught his arm. He stopped and looked down at her hand holding his forearm. 

‘Will you not take me yet?’ she asked, leaving it open for him to interpret in any way he pleased. To say more would be to say too much, and that would mean a loss of dignity. For a princess raised as she had been, dignity was more important than anything else. 

He reached down and removed her hand from his forearm, gently. 

‘Goodbye, princess,’ he said softly. 

And walked away. 

She left in tears, riding hard. 

He lay awake, listening to the sound of the hooves fading into the night. 

||paksha nine||

the seeds of war

1

Hastinapura was alight with word of Bhishma Pitama’s amazing feat. Satyavati, while taken aback at the manner in which it had been accomplished, nevertheless bit her tongue when she saw what had been accomplished. The two daughters of the king of Kashi were beautiful. At the wedding, they were the envy of every beautiful woman in the court. Tall, with full heads of thick, lustrous blue-black hair, fingernails and toenails painted blood red, heavy of hip and breast, heart-faced with a glow to rival the moon, they walked like queens already. Vichitravirya was equally astonished but the instant he met his wives to be, he was equally amazed. They brought out the best in him. He never looked handsomer or more alive and virile than on his wedding night. After a grand ceremony and lavish festivities which ranged across the land for days, it was evident that the quiet young king was in fact an artful lover. He disappeared for days on end with both his beautiful wives, and the reports the serving maids and daiimaas brought to Satyavati’s ears were enough to make her blush with embarrassment. Clearly, the new groom and his brides were consumed by passion. As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, and months into years, neither did their passion dim nor fade. Vichitravirya blossomed and became a great patron of the arts, compared by the court poets more than once to Kama-dev himself, lord of love and pleasure. He lived like Kama-dev, often seeming more interested in pursuing the arts of pleasure than the craft of kingship. Satyavati often complained to Bhishma that he took too much of the burden of governance on himself – indeed, he took all of it on himself – and he spoiled Vichitravirya by letting him dally his life away in the arms of his two buxom wives. But secretly, she was glad to see her son so happy and full of life and vigour. For the truth was, Vichitravirya could never equal Bhishma in the management of the kingdom. In a sense, his real responsibility was producing heirs for the dynasty. And how else was he to accomplish that if not by dallying with those buxom brides? 

And so Vichitravirya passed the next seven years in blissful ecstasy, tasting of the fruits of desire to his heart’s content. 

But despite tasting of all those fruits, his seed produced no heirs. Neither of his wives conceived by him for seven long years – and not for want of trying! 

As the seventh year came to an end, the royal vaids came to Satyavati and Bhishma with news that was worse than the failure to produce heirs. 

Vichitravirya was striken by consumption, the awful tuberculosis of the lungs for which there was no known cure at the time. The vaids tried everything within their power, and Bhishma sent envoys far and wide across the world to seek cures in other foreign lands. But all efforts were in vain. Vichitravirya steadily sickened and even as his beautiful wives wept over his wasting body, he passed into Yama’s abode one evening. The sun seemed to be setting on the Puru dynasty even as it set that day. 

In the absence of an eldest son, Bhishma performed the funeral rites at Satyavati’s request. 

Once again, the Puru dynasty was without a legitimate heir, or even the possibility of one. For now there remained no sons to further the lineage. 

Except Bhishma. 

2

She came to his chamber after hours. Bhishma was never truly at rest. He seemed tireless, forever dealing with some aspect of kingship or other. Watching him work, she marvelled at his ability to devote every gram of his energy to building, consolidating and expanding an empire in which he himself had no future stake. Without progeny of his own, who would inherit the fruits of all this labour. And during his lifetime, he was as much a servant as a ruler. Regent in name and deed, he had once behaved like a king or sought undue power or credit. Truly, he was a god among men, Satyavati thought as she waited for him to finish dictating some order of business to a trio of scribes who listened reverentially to his every word. When he was done, he thanked them for their time and effort politely. That in itself was a marvel. Most kings would have snarled and told them to get lost when the work was done, eager to get on with their carousing and whoring. Even the best behaved dharmic lords would at best have remained silent. To actually thank even the lowest minions who served under his aegis was a hallmark of Bhishma Pitama’s regency. It earned him his loyal following and devout subservience, even though he did not do it in order to gain these benefits. Satyavati herself had had her share of arrogant nobles and aristocrats, as well as rude kshatriyas full of wine and their own self-worth, men who tossed coins at her rudely, made lewd advances or comments, or generally acted boorish. And here was Bhishma, the greatest warrior of the time, ruler of the most wealthiest and powerful empire, legitimate son and heir to the very dynasty that had originally settled and civilized this vast sub-continent. And yet, he lived frugally, as austere as any ascetic or hermit. His chambers in which she now stood, were as bare and bereft of luxury as the hut of any sadhu in a forest ashram. He drank no intoxicants, had no vices and spent all his waking hours engaged in the service of the kingdom. She had known priests who took more pleasure from life than he!

When they were alone, she said, ‘Gangeya, my son, what do you seek in life?’

He looked at her with a startled expression. It was rare to evoke such a reaction from Bhishma but she had known that name would produce the desired response. ‘That name…’ he said. 

‘Shantanu told me,’ she said. ‘He told me everything about you. I know who you truly are. I know that you seek only to live out this life on earth and return to swargaloka to be with your brothers once more. I know that you spend your entire life working selflessly in the service of others because you are atoning for an error made by your brothers and yourself – atoning for their share of blame as well as your own. I know that your mother was no foreigner who died in childbirth…’

Bhishma nodded. His eyes were unsettling: bright and reflective yet dark brown and deep set in his broad-browed face, they were fearsome when the full light of their intensity was turned upon a person. He rarely looked at anyone for too long and when he did it was enough to make even the innocent want to confess to crimes they had not committed. ‘He had every right to confide in you. You were his lawful wife. He loved you deeply. I wish you had more days together on earth.’

She bowed her head. ‘I wish that too. But it was not to be. Just as my sons were not meant to become fathers and know the pleasures of parenthood. But now we face a great crisis, Gangeya. A dynasty without an heir is like a pillar that will crack and crumble at any time, bringing down the empire it holds in place. All this work you do, your life’s work, your constant effort to build, grow, establish, expand, consolidate, all this will be for naught if the Puru line is not extended.’

He sighed and looked down at his large broad palms. ‘This is true. It concerns me as well, mother.’

‘Then do something about it.’

He looked up at her. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘Vichitravirya’s wives.’

‘Ambika and Ambalika? Yes, what of them?’

‘Claim your right as a son of Shantanu and as half-brother to Vichitravirya. After the untimely death of a brother, if his wife remains childless, you are entitled to seed her in order to birth an heir. Take my daughters in law as your wives legally if you wish. You are no less than my son. Take them with my blessings and sire heirs upon them.’ She added after a moment, ‘They will not object either. I know this well. They look up to you as a god ever since the day you brought them here. Marry your brother’s wives and sire children, Devavrata. It is the right thing to do.’ 

He sighed again as if he had been expecting something along these lines. ‘I cannot. You know this too.’

‘Because of your oath of brahmacharya?’

He looked at her again. ‘Yes. Of course. Because of the oath.’

‘That oath has no meaning anymore! My father only asked that my sons inherit the throne. My sons are both dead! Their inheritance is in danger of being squandered forever! What do you think will happen once you pass on? Hastinapura will be stormed within the day, the Puru empire will be dismantled, and each piece will become a trophy for our rivals and enemies. The Puru line will become extinct in every sense of the word and your father’s and forefather’s efforts will all be in vain. Would you let their legacy be lost so cheaply? Would you stand by and do nothing in this hour of need? You took that oath in order to ensure your father found happiness once more in life, bereft and desolate as he was after losing your mother. How do you think your father would feel today if he were to see this state of affairs? Would he smile and give you his blessing to remain celibate or would he try to reason with you, make you give up your vow of brahmacharya and do what is right under dharma.’

‘What is right under dharma,’ he replied, rising from his seat and pacing across the chamber, ‘is that a Puru always abides by his vows. That is immutable.’

‘Circumstances change,’ she said, ‘and we must change with them. In season, flowers bloom and give out sweet fragrances and out of season, they wither and lose their aroma. Water changes colour under different lights. Light itself changes colour and appearance under different conditions. The great force of fire alters its form and appearance constantly. Everything changes when it must. That is part of nature. Dharma is knowing what is natural and what is right for a certain person in a certain time and situation. Your dharma itself has changed now, Devavrata! Rescind your vow, take back your terrible pledge, give up your state of celibacy, do what you must for the good of this House of Puru. Only you can do so!’

 Bhishma stopped pacing and stood with his back to her, gazing out a casement high on the western wall through which the setting sun was visible. ‘Flowers may lose their fragrance forever, light may lose its lustre, water lose its form, fire fail to provide heat, the sun can cease its radiance, the moon can turn dark and sink forever, the god of dharma himself may turn to a path of adharma, the slayer of Vritra, Indra himself, lose his sense of valour, but I can never give up my vow. You know this in your heart to be so. Accept it, mother. There is nothing to be gained by pursuing this line of argument.’

She passed a hand across her face, her brow creasing with anxiety. ‘Then I am lost, my son. I know not what else to suggest. What can we do? How are we to resolve this problem? You know that this is nothing less than a calamity. Every day we do nothing about it, our rivals and enemies watch and plot against us, knowing that it is only a matter of time before the House of Puru ends forever. Already they build their alliances and lay their plots to overtake us when the time comes. Only by taking decisive action can we stop this plotting and planning and restore our supreme authority. Tell me what has to be done. I suggested the only solution that seems possible. If you will not accept it, then you must offer a solution of your own.’

Bhishma turned from the casement to look at her. With the setting sun behind him, he appeared like a god with a corona of light around his head and beard. ‘I have a solution,’ he said. ‘One that is acceptable under dharma and will violate no vows or laws.’ 

She stared at him, hope flowering in her heart. Bhishma would not say such a thing lightly. If he had a solution, one that pleased him, then it would most certainly please her as well. ‘Tell me,’ she said eagerly. ‘What is the solution you propose?’

He shook his head. ‘It is not my solution. It is an ancient time-honoured tradition of our culture. It dates back to the time when Rama, son of Jamadagni, better known as Parasurama, destroyed the kshatriyas of the world. The wives of the kshatriyas were bereft and childless. They beseeched the brahmins to unite with them in order that they might produce offspring and further their line. Thus was the line of kshatriyas re-established on earth.’ He looked at his step-mother. ‘An heir can be produced by either the father or the mother. Were Vichitravirya to father a son on either of his wives, the son would be accepted as his rightful heir. Similarly, in Vichitravirya’s absence, either of the wives may invite a suitable brahmin to her bed and engender a son. The child would legally be considered a Puru and a legitimate heir to the throne.’

Satyavati nodded slowly. ‘I have heard of this before. It is not common among my father’s people but I have heard that it is a common custom among royals.’

‘It is,’ Bhishma said confidently. ‘I have consulted with all our preceptors and they confirm it as being a legitimate and acceptable way for the House of Puru to further its lineage.’

Satyavati rose and took a few steps away, thinking as she paced. ‘Then all we need is to find a brahmin who would cohabit with Ambika and Ambalika. He need not even marry them, merely cohabit with them and then depart once his task is completed?’

‘That is preferable. To all appearances, it will be as if the gods themselves have blessed the queens with progeny. As indeed they have, since brahmins are the varna closest to the devas on earth.’ 

Satyavati thought deeply and did not say anything further. After observing her silence for a while, Bhishma asked her gently, ‘Mother, is something the matter? Have I said something to offend you? Did this solution not please you somehow?’

She looked up at him as if startled out of a reverie. ‘No, my son! You could never say anything to offend or displease me. You are the epitome of goodness in every respect. I was thinking about the brahmin who would be suitable enough for this task.’

‘Yes?’ he asked, not sure what she meant. ‘There are many suitable candidates. I have already asked the preceptors to suggest the most appropriate ones for our perusal. Once we decide, we shall summon the one we have chosen and—’