Pregnant King, The Read Online Free PDF Page B

him.
    The men wept, the women wailed, the whole palace crumbled in sorrow. Shilavati felt Yama’s hook striking her heart. ‘This is written in your account book,’ said the god of death without expression. She refused to submit to the pain. She would not give Yama the satisfaction of watching her tears roll. But then, did Yama care? Even the rolling of tears would be just another entry in his account book.
    She ignored Yama. She looked at the world around her. It was being washed away by waves of grief. She would not let it. She had to hold things together. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She saw her husband being dragged by Yama’s noose out of Vallabhi through the forests across the river Vaitarni into the desolate land of the dead. He was screaming, shouting, resisting, calling out her name. ‘Shilavati. Shilavati.’ All she could do was turn away in helplessness, open her eyes and look at all those who came to console her.
    ‘How tragic, how terrible, how horrible,’ they said.
    Watching the young widow bear it all stoically the Brahmanas and the Kshatriyas and the Vaishyas and the Shudras of Vallabhi broke down. Shilavati comfortedall of them. She had to survive this tragedy. She had to. For her son. For her family. For her kingdom.
coronation
    A royal widow must shave her head, renounce all jewellery and cosmetics and wear only undyed fabric. Without a husband, she has no reason to adorn her body. But Shilavati was not allowed to shave her head or renounce her jewellery or wear colourless clothes. Dressed in red and laden with gold, she was led by the Brahmanas to the throne. Milk was poured on her. Then honey. Then treacle. Then water. This was the raj-abhishekha that bestows on the king authority over the lives of other men.
    The old king Pruthashva had renounced the kingdom after the death of his son. He had refused to listen to the arguments and requests of the Kshatriya council. ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Let me go. Now you have someone with you who wants to rule. I leave the fate of Vallabhi and the Turuvasus in my daughter-in-law’s very capable hands.’
    The royal priests held the ivory parasol over Shilavati’s head and placed the golden bow in her hand. The Brahmanas sat to her left, the Kshatriyas to her right, behind her were the Shudras, before her the Vaishyas. The warriors blew their conch-shell trumpets and held aloft the Turuvasu banner on the rooftops. Chieftains paid her obeisance. From the chambers overlooking the central courtyard, the women showered flowers.
    Mandavya came with a bowl of red vermillion paste. Shilavati raised her head to receive the royal mark on her forehead. Mandavya bent down and with his finger traced the tilak vertically upwards from just above her navel, taking her by surprise. She looked at Mandavya. He stayed focused on her navel.
    It was then that Shilavati realized that the parasol, the bow, the conch-shell trumpets, the banners, the obeisance and the flowers were not for her. They were all for him who was inside her, she realized. The unborn prince. The future king of Vallabhi. Her son, Yuvanashva.

Book Two
    regent
    Before Yuvanashva was born, the elders were anxious. ‘What if Shilavati gives birth to a girl? Or an unhealthy imperfect child?’ asked the Kshatriya elders. ‘Who then will be our king?’
    Shilavati had replied, placing a stone on her heart, ‘The master may be dead but the field still belongs to him. Like the wives of Vichitra-virya, queens of Hastinapuri, who offered their wombs to Vyasa, after the death of their husband, I will offer my womb to a worthy Rishi. From his seed placed without emotion or attachment will come the king we seek.’ The council saluted the young widow. She was indeed wise. Well versed in matters of dharma.
    Shilavati was relieved when she gave birth to her son. As she held him in her arms she remembered her husband’s words, ‘I am too much of a man to father a daughter.’ She smiled, then