Pregnant King, The Read Online Free PDF Page A

daughter will rule the land.’
    ‘What if she does not bear a child?’
    Mandavya sensed Ahuka’s defences slipping. ‘She will. She is fertile, I am sure. I have seen her gait. She has child-bearing hips.’
    And so it came to pass, Shilavati became the wife of Prasenajit, the crown prince of Vallabhi, destined to be its queen.
    The first time she was presented in the pillared hall known as the maha-sabha, the king insisted that she and Prasenajit sit on the turtle throne. ‘You are the future king and queen. This is how the crown prince and his bride of the Turuvasu clan have always been presented to the courtiers.’
    Shilavati sat on the throne dressed in red, laden with jewellery. Bracelets, armlets, waistbands, necklaces, nose-rings, toe-rings, hair-pins. All made of gold. She could barely walk. ‘You are the queen. You must represent the kingdom’s prosperity,’ said her maids. For the first time in her life she had an anklet of gold, a privilege restricted to the queens of Ila-vrita. She sat coyly next to her husband, never raising her eyes, enjoying the attention. Elders of the four varnas came to the newly-wed couple and offered them a betel leaf, a coconut and a gift of gold. They sprinkled rice on them, wishing them a long and happy married life.
    Shilavati felt a rush of power. This place with its pillared corridors and open courtyard was where theTuruvasus sat and held court for generations. This was where dharma was instituted and maintained in Vallabhi. For a brief moment, Shilavati dreamt of herself on the throne. Behind her sat the Shudras, before her sat the Vaishyas, to the right sat the Kshatriyas, and to the left sat the Brahmanas. The parasol above her head, the bow in her hand. Her warriors blowing conch-shell trumpets. Beautiful women seated beside her waving yak-tail fly whisks offering her slivers of betel nut wrapped with spices in betel leaf. Community elders paying obeisance. From the chambers above, surrounding the royal courtyard, the women showered flowers. The royal banner with the image of a turtle fluttered from the rooftops. Everyone acknowledged her as their leader—the supreme fountainhead of peace and prosperity.
    Later, that night, as they lay in bed, arms entwined, Shilavati placed her head on her husband’s chest and said, ‘How does it feel to sit on the throne, Arya?’
    Prasenajit replied, ‘Tiring.’
    Shilavati laughed and looked up at her husband. He was serious. She realized that he did not share her excitement at the court. So much like her brother. Only this man was no poet. He was a hunter. More interested in talking about the boar he stalked, the deer he caught and the parrot he shot in mid-flight.
marital bliss
    Nothing pleased Prasenajit more than leaving the city and spending time in the forest. Walking amidsttrees, resting on rocks, sleeping under the open sky, watching butterflies make their way to wild flowers, fish leaping out of streams. He wanted his wife to accompany him. ‘I have never left the palace,’ she said.
    ‘Dhritarashtra’s wife, Gandhari, has blindfolded herself to share her husband’s blindness. Won’t you at least accompany me to the forest and share my passion?’ How could Shilavati manoeuvre around such an argument? So, like a good wife, she followed her husband wherever he went.
    He would spend days in the forest, chasing water hogs and wild fowl, bathing in rivers, eating berries and roasted meat. At first Shilavati found the experience uncomfortable. But gradually she started enjoying it. She especially enjoyed the thought that her husband enjoyed sharing his passion with her.
    ‘See this,’ he said pointing to a cocoon. ‘The moth inside is struggling to come out.’ Or when they were on the banks of the Kalindi, ‘Let us hide. I think a herd of elephants are heading this way.’ The sight of a Ashoka tree in full bloom excited him. ‘Nature is so beautiful. So alive.’ Shilavati wanted to ask questions. He would stop