FIVE
Shantanu was a changed man after his encounter with Satyavati. He became morose and moody and hardly saw even Devavrata anymore. At first his son was pained. Once his father doted on him. He wanted him at his side always and spoke endlessly with his prince about anything under the sun he cared to, from the shapes of the clouds in the sky to the affairs of the kingdom Devavrata would inherit one day. Shantanu had been so happy with his son, every day of four wonderful years. But now he did not care to even meet him. Feigning tiredness or illness, the king turned Devavrata away when he came to see him. Or he said he was too sleepy tonight; they would speak tomorrow: which never came.
Devavrata guessed that something had happened to his father the last time he went hunting. After he saw Satyavati, Shantanu not only became dejected he gave up the hunt. Soon Devavrata was more concerned for the king's health than hurt at his distant behavior. But knowing his father's nature as he did, he was sure it would not be long before Shantanu confided in him. He was not mistaken.
One day the king sent for him. Even as Devavrata entered his chamber, his father fetched a sigh.
The youth said, "Some terrible grief consumes you, but you will tell no one what it is."
Avoiding his son's eyes, Shantanu said, "It is the burden I must bear as a king, the anxiety that feeds on my very life."
"What is it, father? Won't you speak plainly to me?"
"Oh my child, you mean more than a hundred sons to me. But the wise say that having just one son is like having one eye to see with. If you lose it, you are blind.
You are a kshatriya, by both your birth and your gifts. And kshatriyas must satisfy themselves with wars. Who knows what happens during any war: who lives or dies, or who is killed by a cunning arrow through his back? These are dark times and if, God forbid, something happens to you Devavrata, the kingdom will be without an heir. I cannot bear to think of it—that our bloodline will not be continued from father to son, as it has since time began; and some usurper will sit upon the throne of Hastinapura."
The father cast a canny look at his son, "Devavrata, I am full of fear when I think that you are an only child. Kuru was seventh in the line of Bharata himself; it is after him that our branch of the Paurava tree is named. The thought that our royal lineage may be broken robs me of my peace."
Devavrata stood quiet, suspecting the truth, waiting for his father to come out with it. Shantanu gazed outside through a lofty palace window. He said in a low voice, "Of course, I shouldn't like you to think I want another woman. I am only anxious for the kingdom. If an outsider takes our throne, that will be an end to everything, why, of Bharatavarsha herself. Perhaps in kali yuga such a thing may happen, but not now."
Suddenly Devavrata knew what he must do. He cried, "It will not, my lord! Give me leave." Bowing quickly, he strode out of the king's apartment. He knew what ailed Shantanu: it was that old and mighty illness, love.
The prince sought out the sarathy who had last taken Shantanu hunting and came unannounced into his home. Briskly the yuvaraja said, "My friend, I have a question the king would like you to answer honestly. Where did my father go the last time you took him hunting and whom did he meet?"
The old man smiled. A gleam in his eye, he said, "Are you sure, my prince, that your father would have me answer this?"
"It is imperative you do. The king has not been himself since that day, but languishes from some deep sorrow."
Still the man hesitated. Devavrata aimed a shaft in the dark, "Say old one, what woman was she?"
"She was a fisher-woman, but an extraordinary and beautiful fisher-woman. We found her beside the Yamuna and not by seeing her at first but only by her unworldly scent."
He shook his head in wonder to remember that scent. Devavrata cried impatiently, "And?"
The man turned his eyes away. "The king was smitten by her. He went to her father and asked for her hand."
The old man paused, embarrassed. The yuvaraja said, "The fisherman was fool enough to refuse the king of the Kurus? Impossible."
"No, my prince, he was no fool. He took his time about answering your father and proved shrewder than is good for any of us."
"Tell me what happened!"
"The fishermen's king, for so he was, said to your father that he could not hope for a better husband for his daughter. But he would only give his Satyavati to him if…my prince, don't make me tell you."
Devavrata's eyes flashed in warning and the charioteer said, "He would give his girl to your father only if her son became the Kuru king after him. And he would not budge from what he said, that coarse and ambitious fool."
The sarathy grew silent, fearing the yuvaraja's anger. For a moment Devavrata was still as a stone; then he began to laugh softly.
"Is that all?" he cried. "Is this what stands between my poor father and his happiness? That I am the yuvaraja?"
Devavrata seized the sarathy by his arm. "Take me to where my father's sorrow began, so I can mend it. Come, at once!"
Without telling the king, even perhaps as Shantanu had hoped, his son rode to the banks of the Yamuna. Arriving, Devavrata sprang lightly from the chariot and took the old sarathy with him for a witness.
A yojana before they came to the river, the unearthly fragrance swept over them. They saw Satyavati sitting where Shantanu had first seen her and to be near the scent of her body was so intoxicating, even Devavrata felt his blood quicken.
Turning her head when she heard their chariot, she stared with black eyes at the visitors. For a moment she caught her breath: she thought Shantanu had returned, but a life younger and so handsome! Her eyes shone. Devavrata ignored her. The sarathy pointed out the fisherman's hut and the yuvaraja strode toward it.
The fisher-king had just finished his meal when Devavrata burst in on him. "I hear you were arrogant enough to refuse my father your daughter's hand. Were you in your senses, or were you drunk on jungle brew and thought you were dreaming?"
The man cringed, but slightly; Devavrata saw he was dealing with a brazen soul. The swarthy fellow was quite calm, as he said, "I did not refuse to give my daughter to your father. My daughter is my only child and she is all I have." He paused, crossed to the window and spat a stream of scarlet juice from the betel-leaf he was chewing. Lowering his voice, he confided, "She is no common girl, my prince. She was not always as lovely as you see her today; nor did she smell so fine. Once she smelled powerfully of fishes, so I called her Matsyagandhi. And I feared I would never find a husband for her even among our own people."
Devavrata listened impatiently. But his curiosity was roused by the tale of Matsyagandhi, who was born smelling of fish but smelt of paradise now. For fear of being thought a liar, the fisher-king did not tell him how he had found his daughter. He squinted at his royal visitor and saw he had his attention. The wild man went on, "But one day when she was still a slip of a girl, barely thirteen, a rishi came this way wanting to cross the river in my boat. He was so illustrious, his face and his hair and he looked so ancient that I doubted he was a man of this earth.
I was at my lunch and Matsyagandhi ferried the muni across. It was a fine afternoon and the old man stared at my daughter with piercing eyes. If he were not a sage, I would not have let her go with him alone. When they reached midstream, near that island," he pointed through the door to an island in the stream, "suddenly lightning and thunder gashed the sky and a blizzard of snow swept the river. It was the middle of summer, mind you. I called out to them. But the thunder was so loud they could not hear me and I had to run back indoors.
That snowstorm lasted two hours. I fell into a strange slumber full of dreams such as I had never had before. When I awoke my Matsyagandhi stood beside me and she was like someone who had stepped out of my dreams. Not that her face had been transformed altogether, but it had been changed subtly as if with a few perfect touches. And now my plain girl was a ravishing beauty.
The other marvel was that her old smell of fish was gone. In its place was the scent of heaven you smell now, spreading from her for a yojana on every side."
He paused again and scrutinized Devavrata's face. The river man was as sharp as he was ambitious. Seeing how full of haughty nobility this poor prince was, the fisher-king was not about to let this great opportunity slip through his fingers.
Devavrata had heard him out in silence. He was happy for his smitten father's sake that the girl was not entirely common, but had been blessed by a holy rishi; though the yuvaraja did wonder about the real circumstances of that blessing.
Devavrata said again, "Say, fellow, what you want and I swear you shall have it."
Passing his tongue over his lips, the black man said softly, "Whatever I want?"
"Yes! But hurry, I am growing impatient."
The fisherman drew a breath to steady himself. "I already told your father my only condition. I want no gold or jewels for myself, or horses or palaces. I only want my daughter's son to be king after your father's time."
Devavrata stood staring at him. Losing his nerve the man said, "Of course your father would not agree. So I also could not give him my daughter. As I have told you…"
But Devavrata held up a hand to silence him. "Listen to me, fisherman. I, Devavrata, yuvaraja of Hastinapura, relinquish all my claims to the throne of my ancestors. Your daughter's son shall be the next king of the Kurus. Are you satisfied now?"
At first the fisher-king gaped in disbelief. These were the very words he had hoped, against hope, to hear. Then he saw from the prince's face that the boy meant what he had said. The fisherman let out a long, slow breath. Growing bolder, he said, "I see, Yuvaraja, that your father's happiness is more important to you than his kingdom. But I must make sure Satyavati will not just be made brief use of for as long as her youth lasts and then cast out. Kshatriyas like you and your father have been known to do worse to folk like us."
Devavrata recoiled from the resentment he saw in the man's eyes. He held his peace, thinking of Shantanu. The fisherman went on, "Yuvaraja, you are indeed as noble as fortune has made it possible for you to be. I have no doubt that not the fear of death will make you forswear yourself." He stopped and leaned forward. Devavrata could smell his rancid breath. The fisher-king hissed, "But what about your sons, my prince? Will they be as generous as you are?"
Devavrata did not understand what the fellow meant; but he was not about to leave him in the dark for long. Stuffing some thick tobacco into his mouth, the fisherman continued, "Devavrata, you are a great kshatriya. I have heard there is no warrior like you in all Bharatavarsha. Your sons will inherit your prowess; while my grandchildren will also be a king's sons, surely, but a fisher-girl's as well. How do I know your princes will not kill my grandsons and take the throne for themselves? Answer me that and my daughter shall be your father's wife." He grinned and said, "Though, for sure, your father is old for her," with a leer that Devavrata ignored.
Without a moment's pause, the prince replied, "If you give your daughter to my father, I will do more than renounce the throne of my ancestors. Come!"
He seized the surprised fisher-king's hand and pulled him out into the sun. Throwing back his head, the prince cried in a ringing voice, "I, Devavrata, swear before all you Gods of heaven and earth, in the name of everything sacred to me, in the name of my guru Bhargava, of my mother Ganga and eternal dharma, that I will never marry but remain celibate all my life!"
In that moment's resonant silence it seemed the elements and those who are the elements' deities—sun, earth, wind, sky and river—all fell hushed at Devavrata's vow. Then they heard faint music in the sky and fisherman and prince were covered in a fine rain of flowers of light. These vanished in a moment, but their fragrance dimmed even the dusky Satyavati's scent. And now a name resounded all around, from earth and sky, from river, trees and rocks, from invisible throats.
"Bheeshma!" chanted the unearthly voices, "Bheeshma! Bheeshma!"
Because his oath was so awesome, so terrible, the oath he would never break. For a while, the fisherman was dumbstruck. But he was a son of the forest and, recovering quickly, he beckoned to Satyavati. When she came up, innocent as the wilderness, her father said, "Here, my prince, is your new mother. Take her to the king."
Without another word, not even pausing to say farewell to his daughter, the fisherman turned back into his hut, as if some weighty matter awaited his attention inside. As indeed it did; but he would not have gone to it so impatiently if he had known what it was. That same night death came for the fisher-king, as if everything he had been born for was fulfilled; or as if losing his fragrant daughter broke his heart.
Bheeshma, as we will call Ganga's son from now, took Satyavati back to Hastinapura in his chariot. All the way home the old sarathy never stopped muttering his astonishment and his disapproval, while his yuvaraja urged him to go faster: his father's joy must not be delayed. It was that charioteer who spread the word like fire through the city: about Devavrata's vow and how the Gods themselves had named him Bheeshma.
In the palace, the yuvaraja ran to the king's apartment. Bheeshma bowed to Shantanu and cried, "Father put away your sorrow. I have brought her for you."
Shantanu had expected something of the sort, if not so quickly. Rising, the king said, "Who have you brought?"
"Satyavati."
"But her father wouldn't give her to me, unless…what have you done, Devavrata?"
"I have only renounced the throne and my manhood: they are as nothing to give if they can buy your happiness, why, your very life. My lord, you will not live another month without her."
"Oh, my son!" Shantanu sat down heavily; the world spun around him and his legs were weak. When he heard of the bargain his prince had struck with the fisherman, the king's guilt threatened to overwhelm his excitement.
Tears in his eyes, Shantanu said, "You are noble and dishonor would break your heart. Otherwise I would ask you to take her back to her father." The king took his son's hand, "You have always been more like the father and I like the son. But my shame will not change that, because you are strong like your mother, while I am only a weak mortal.
Yes, I confess I love the fisher-girl. And now, knowing what you have done for my sake, I will enjoy her as well as I can."
Shantanu paused; a wan smile lit his face. "I too have the punya of my celibacy of twenty years. I bless you, my son, with this father's blessing: let death come for you only when you call him yourself. For what you have sacrificed for me, you shall choose the hour and the manner of your own dying."
And so Shantanu, king of the Kurus, married the fisher-girl Satyavati in Hastinapura with pomp and ceremony and some unkind whispering among his subjects who, despite her unworldly aroma, compared the new queen unfavorably with Ganga. Most of all, the people were heartsick to hear that Devavrata would never rule them.
But time heals almost any wound and the kingdom settled down to its new circumstances. Even if Bheeshma never actually sat on the throne of Hastinapura, he would be the virtual king for many years, until Satyavati's son came of age. And so it happened. Shantanu gave up most of his powers to his son and immersed himself in his young wife, who delighted him with her wild simplicity, her passionate nature and, of course, the heavenly scent of her dark body.
Two sons were born to Shantanu and Satyavati and they were named Chitrangada and Vichitraveerya. Their half-brother Bheeshma doted on them; it was he who raised them. Shantanu was too old and also too absorbed in his queen, to raise them himself; and after the children were weaned, Satyavati showed no maternal possessiveness. She was genuinely glad of the love the powerful Bheeshma lavished on her boys.
Shantanu's last few years were deeply happy ones. Surrounded by a close and loving family, it was as if near his end time repaid the old king for whatever fierce sadness she had inflicted on his earlier life. And so, at peace, Shantanu of the Kurus was gathered to his fathers.
Chitrangada, Shantanu's older son by Satyavati, was still too young to become king. Bheeshma ruled Hastinapura as regent, if in his younger brother's name: for he had Chitrangada installed as yuvaraja even before Shantanu died. The reign of Bheeshma, the uncrowned king of the Kurus, was a halcyon season for the kingdom. It was as nearly perfect a time as it could be in those last days of the dwapara yuga, when darkness gathered ominously over the world.
But as if fate herself resented the prosperity of those years and the harmony and affection between Satyavati, her sons and Bheeshma, tragedy struck with no warning at the very heart of the royal House of Hastinapura. And its agent was a being not of this earth.