‘It is our mind playing tricks on us. Let us accept the truth of the moment. Here is a man. There is a woman. They claim to be husband and wife.’
Sumedha overheard the Danda-Nayak. What was he saying? A woman in the next cell? What had happened? He saw confusion in their eyes. Something had happened. Something strange. But what?
‘Does this disgust you?’ Somvat asked Sumedha, when they were finally brought together and led to the king’s court. The streets were lined with people. The very same who had abused them the previous day. Now, they were silent. Afraid. Were these two boys shape-shifting demons? Would they curse our children for making fun of them? Forgive us.
Sumedha and Somvat, lost in each other’s thoughts, were oblivious of the crowds. Somvat waited anxiously for Sumedha’s reaction. Sumedha replied. ‘Not at all.’ A secret prayer had finally been answered. Somvat heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Has your heart changed with your body?’ Sumedha asked.
Somvat replied, ‘Look into my eyes. Tell me if there is change.’
There was no change.
‘How did this happen?’ Sumedha asked.
‘I am not too sure. It has happened. Now at least we have hope.’
‘Did you let this happen only to save our lives?’
‘What do you think?’
Sumedha felt a change in Somvat. In himself too. Not change—the new body had forced a discovery. An acknowledgement of a truth. A warm feeling, hidden deep in their hearts. He remembered the days they spent running in the fields, dancing on the riverbanks, working together in the temple, eating together, happy just to see each other. He remembered those naps in the temple corridors, the dappled sunlight streaming through the windows, making Somvat’s skin glow. He remembered those nights when he could not sleep, wondering what life would be after marriage, when they would be forced to live apart.
‘Will you treat me differently now?’ asked Somvat.
‘Why should I?’ replied Sumedha. He looked at the chains, the guards, the lions at the gate they were passing through. ‘I am not afraid anymore.’
‘I am not afraid either,’ said Somvat.
the hearing
By force of habit, the Danda-Nayak brought Sumedha and Somvat to the audience chamber of the queen. He was stopped on the way. ‘Take them to the maha-sabha,’ said the guards.
In the pillared hall, surrounded by Brahmana, Kshatriya, Vaishya and Shudra elders, sat Yuvanashva on his golden seat with red cushions. The crown was placed on his head. In his hand was the golden bow. Realizing how important this moment was for their husband, Simantini and Pulomi decided to sit beside Yuvanashva and wave the yak-tail fly whisks. Keshini sat on the floor behind and held the ivory parasol over his head.
Yuvanashva had finally taken charge of his destiny.
At long last, a dispute in Vallabhi would be settled by a man. The elders of the four varnas, the local village chiefs, leaders of caravans, wandering bards and sages poured in to witness this momentous occasion.
The servants had a tough time providing seats to everyone. The rules of protocol had to be maintained so that no one took offence. Elders had to sit closer to the throne. High-ranking Kshatriyas had to be provided rugs made of blackbuck skin. Low-ranking Kshatriyas were given ordinary deer-skin rugs. Brahmanas had to be provided mats. Vaishyas had to be provided cushions. The Shudras sat on the floor, behind the throne. Both Matanga and Asanga sat on mats close to the throne so that they could hear both the king and the accused clearly. Mandavya sat to the left of the king. Vipula sat to his right.
Everybody wondered how Yuvanashva would settle this dispute. It had stoked a great deal of speculation in the streets. Everyone had an opinion. It had added spice to the otherwise orderly humdrum life of Vallabhi.
The two accused were brought before the king in chains. Had it not been for the chains, they looked like newly-weds. Sumedha in his white dhoti and uttarya lined with gold. Somvat with his red sari, yellow uttarya and jewellery that belonged to the Matrikas.
Vipula asked Sumedha, on behalf of the king, “Tell me the truth. Did you enter the temple with a man dressed as a woman or with a woman who was your wife?’
Sumedha replied, ‘I came in with my soulmate, first wrapped in a woman’s garment and now wrapped in a woman’s body.’
‘Trying to be a clever twister of words, are you?’ said the Danda-Nayak, striking his staff on the floor. ‘Speak plainly here. This is the king’s court not a congregation of poets.’
Vipula said, ‘Look on your right. That is Somvat’s uncle and aunt, his cousin, and his cousin’s wife. They say Somvat is a man.’
Sumedha said, ‘They lie.’
Vipula said, ‘Look to your left, Somvati. There is Trigarta. He says he helped you plant your seed in his wife’s womb. She is now pregnant with child. The sapling of your seed. Do you deny this?’
Sumedha looked at Somvat. Somvat replied, from beneath the yellow uttarya that covered his head and face, ‘No, I don’t.’ There was uproar in the maha-sabha. Disbelief. Shock. The boy had admitted he was not a woman, but a man.
‘Silence,’ shouted the Danda-Nayak.
‘I did plant the seed in Mamata’s womb. That was then. Now, I am a woman. A chaste woman. The wife of Sumedha,’ said Somvat.
Vipula said, ‘Look behind you, Somvati. There is a widow there. She covers her face with a plantain leaf out of respect for the king. Behind her are two young girls. One of them, she says, was to marry Sumedha and the other was for you. What is to become of her if you say you are a woman? Who will marry her now?’
‘Maybe,’ shouted one Kshatriya elder, ‘Sumedha must marry her too. Then he will have three wives. Two women and a man.’ Everyone laughed.
‘Silence,’ shouted the Danda-Nayak.
‘Circumstances have transformed me into a woman. This transformation will have consequences. I do not know who will marry Kaveri’s daughter. All I know is that I will be ever-faithful to my husband.’
Sumedha held Somvati’s hand. ‘She is my only wife. I will look upon no other.’
Silence in the court was replaced by a buzz of conversation. Like a swarm of locusts passing over a placid lake.
‘May I speak,’ said the Acharya of Tarini-pur. The king nodded his assent. Silence returned to the court. ‘Somvat is the only son of his late father. He is obliged to father a son, a child at least, otherwise his father will be trapped forever in the land of the dead. For the sake of his ancestors, he cannot be allowed to be a woman, even if his body is of one. As a child, he performed the funeral rites. Offered rice cakes to the Pitr, promised them he would father children, help them return to the land of the living. He cannot go back on his words now.’
Yuvanashva thought of his ancestors. And the crows. ‘Do you wish to abandon your forefathers?’ Yuvanashva asked Somvat.
‘I have already fathered a child,’ said Somvat.
‘That is not your child. It belongs to Trigarta. You sold your seed for a cow,’ said Vipula.
‘I don’t have an answer then, Arya. All I know that I have the body of a woman now. How can I do what only a man can?’
‘By living as a man. Marrying a woman. Denying this aberrant womanhood imposed upon you by circumstance,’ suggested Yuvanashva.
‘How will I father children?’
‘Just like Trigarta. Through niyoga. Maybe by inviting Sumedha to your wife’s bed.’
‘I have accepted Sumedha as my husband. To abandon the husband is adharma for a wife.’
‘To abandon your ancestors is adharma for a son,’ said Vipula.
The case was getting interesting and complex. Yama put down his pen and Kama put down his bow to see what Yuvanashva would decide. Would he be Chakra-varti, the first after Bharata?
A servant entered the maha-sabha at that moment. It was Shilavati’s handmaiden. ‘I have a message from the queen,’ she said.
‘What is it?’ said Yuvanashva, irritated by the intrusion.
‘The queen wishes to share
something that she just learnt from her spies. On the tenth day of the war at Kuru-kshetra, Shikhandi rode into battle on Krishna’s chariot. This means Pandavas accepted Shikhandi, born a woman, as a man, worthy of riding alongside them into battle and raise the bow. The Pandavas have won. Dharma stands on their side. Let us therefore do what they did. Accept this boy, born a man, as a woman. Treat him thus. Krishna would do that. It will be dharma.’
Yuvanashva saw sense in his mother’s words. But he did not like her interfering in this, his first appearance in public. He felt she was making a mockery of his royal authority, publicly invalidating his intelligence by her untimely advice. The umbilical cord had to be cut. ‘Tell my mother, it is for me, the king of Vallabhi, not his mother or any other woman, to decide what is appropriate. What is dharma for the Kurus need not be dharma for the Turuvasus. Now leave this room and let me judge.’ Shilavati’s servant, who walked in with head held high, went away with head bent.
Turning back to the boys, Yuvanashva asked Somvat, ‘Why should we treat you as a woman?’
‘Because I have the body of a woman.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Because I feel like a woman.’
‘Was it always so?’
‘No. Yesterday I thought of Sumedha as a friend. Today I feel he is my husband.’
‘So you admit, yesterday you tricked the queens, masqueraded as a woman to get a cow.’ The courtiers smiled. The king had trapped the boy. He was a clever king.
Sumedha came to Somvat’s rescue, ‘When he draped himself in women’s clothes yesterday, in my eyes he was my wife. For who else but a wife will make selfless sacrifices for a man. He sacrificed his masculinity for me. I have no other soulmate but he. No, my king, yesterday he did not masquerade as my wife. He was my wife. As he is today.’
‘I don’t think so. A man cannot be a wife. Just because Sumedha has a womb now, he cannot be a woman. He was born as a man. The dharma-shastras say that roles and responsibilities of a Manava are determined at birth by his biology and the lineage of his father. You were born a man in a Brahmana family. You can never ever give up being a man or a Brahmana. You are forever a man and a Brahmana.’
‘O king, why is it that Vallabhi, which allowed a woman to rule as king, does not allow a man to live as wife?’ asked Somvat. There was hesitation in his voice but the tone was razor sharp.
The court could not believe what the accused was saying. He was openly confronting the royal family. But there was truth in that argument. Shilavati was king.
‘My mother never wore the crown. She was regent. No rule of dharma was ever broken by the Turuvasus. Don’t ever suggest that,’ shouted Yuvanashva. He felt his temper rising.
Somvat lowered his head. Vipula intervened, sensing the king’s rage, ‘The king is kind. He will forgive you. Just admit you were masquerading for profit. He who speaks the truth is never punished. He will let you go.’
‘Provided,’ interrupted Yuvanashva, still annoyed by the Brahmana’s insolence, ‘You both live as men. Marry the widow’s daughters. Have children. Fulfil your roles as Brahmanas.’
Holding Somvat’s hand firmly, in full view of the court, Sumedha said, ‘Yes, we were masquerading for profit. I was desperate for a cow. For a wife. But now I have a wife. I will marry no one else.’
Somvat joined Sumedha, ‘I am a woman. I will not marry a woman. That is adharma. I have only one husband. It is Sumedha. We will not live a lie because it is convenient to your dharma.’
There was commotion in court. ‘Rip out the tongue of that impertinent boy. Does he not know how to speak to the keeper of dharma?’ shouted the Vaishyas. The Danda-Nayak raised his hand. Silence returned.
‘Think of your family,’ said the Shudras from behind the throne, ‘Think of how you wrench their heart by your stubbornness.’
‘Circumstances have given us these bodies and these feelings. All we ask you is to accommodate them in your kingdom. If you bless us, our families will bless us too. All will be well,’ said Sumedha.
Before the king could say anything, Vipula spoke up, ‘Accommodating your feelings is out of the question. Dharma is not wet clay to be moulded for comfort. It is a baked pot. Like water, your mind must conform to its shape. You ask the king to break the pot to accommodate you. That is impossible. Dharma may seem rigid but it ensures social stability, hence peace and prosperity. You must conform. By demanding that the rules of social conduct be modified for your feelings, you challenge the very foundations of civilization, foundations that have served Ila-vrita well since time immemorial. Your feelings threaten everyone’s order. Give up your feelings and embrace dharma or suffer the consequences.’
‘Think carefully before you speak,’ said Yuvanashva.
Sumedha and Somvat spoke in one voice, ‘We choose our feelings and accept your decision whatever it may be.’
That sealed the fate of the boys. ‘They are not Brahmanas. They are Chandalas. No, not even that. They are Rakshasas. Animals. They must be driven out into the forest,’ said Vipula. He ripped out the sacred thread that hung over Sumedha’s left shoulder. He found Somvat’s sacred thread round his waist. He pulled that out too. ‘This auspicious thread must not adorn polluted bodies and polluted minds,’ he said.
‘Exile is not appropriate. These boys who have abandoned dharma are vessels of profanity. If we let them go, they will carry this profanity to other lands. And for that Vallabhi and its king will earn demerit,’ said the Kshatriyas. ‘It is best they be put to death.’
Then Yuvanashva made his decision. ‘Let fire, not man, claim the life of those who reject dharma,’ said Yuvanashva.
Just as the Danda-Nayak was about to leave the court, Mandavya asked that the boys be brought to him. He whispered in their ears. ‘Listen to me carefully. I am old enough to be your great grandfather and have seen much of life to know there is wisdom in what I say. I also speak on behalf of the Turuvasu kings. It pains me to see boys as young as you throwing their lives away in the pursuit of love. Just remember, Vallabhi has rejected your choices, not you. You could have had a long fruitful life within this kingdom if you had conformed to dharma. You chose desire over duty. It was your choice. Yours alone. Hence this fate is also your choice, not an imposition of this court. Accept it with dignity and walk into the fire. Don’t force the Danda-Nayak or the Chandalas to push you in. Resistance will only mean that you disagree with the decision of those appointed by the gods to institute and maintain social order. Such display of disagreement will make matters worse in the land of the dead where Yama, supreme lord of dharma, maintains your account books.’
the sentence
In keeping with tradition, the Danda-Nayak asked the boys, ‘What is your last wish?’
‘Let us burn together in the same pyre,’ said the boys.
When this was communicated to the king, he lost his temper once again. ‘Burn them together? Like husband and wife. That will not be permitted.’
‘But, Rajan,’ the Danda-Nayak tried to explain.
The king did not let him finish. His eyes were red, his lips quivered in irritation. ‘They are not sacrifices. They are criminals. Their death does not bring merit to society. It merely rids society of aberrations. We don’t have to consider their wishes.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Enough of these discussions. Just drag them to the two corners of the city. The “husband” to the northern gate and the “wife” to the southern gate. Shove them into the fire and hold them down if they resist. Let us not discuss this any further. I am king and this is my final decision.’
two pyres
There was a new moon in the sky that night. A cold winter’s night. Uncaring stars glittered in the skies above. Two fires burned on either side of the gates of Vallabhi. Chandalas sat around it. Dogs barked. The crowds had dispersed.
These were not funerals.
A few hours earlier two men had walked into the two fires. The Chandalas said, ‘They were just sixteen. Boys actually. And they walked right in, with
out a fight. We had prepared ourselves to push them in and hold them down. Stop them from trying to escape. This is what usually happens once the fire singes the flesh. The courage dissolves. The yearning to survive returns. But in this case, once in, no one came out. There were no agonizing cries. Just a silent submission to death. As if life outside the flames was even more painful. There was no last wish. No pleas for mercy. No messages for loved ones. There was fear in their eyes. With great effort they held back tears. Then, taking a deep breath as if seeking strength, they jumped right in.’
‘Are you feeling sorry for them?’ asked the Danda-Nayak.
The Chandalas wanted to say yes. But they knew the Danda-Nayak would not understand. He seemed like one of those men who believe a man ceases to be human once he breaks the code of dharma. He would find it hard to accept that every criminal is a human being, just like him, with feelings. A yes would mean they sympathized with criminals. That would put their livelihood in jeopardy. So they replied diplomatically, ‘No one deserves to be burnt alive at sixteen.’
‘It was their choice,’ said the Danda-Nayak.
‘Sumedha and Somvat. Sumedha and Somvati,’ the Danda-Nayak kept chanting these names again and again. The Chandalas did not like this. They did not like to know whose body they were burning. It gave them a personality. An identity. Someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Names made them wonder of the life lead by the dead before they came to the funeral pyre. The sufferings they left behind, and the desires they still clung too. Such thoughts made it difficult for them to sleep. Burning a nameless corpse was so much better—like burning garbage, a chore that did not stir a thought or a feeling.
The Danda-Nayak could not wait to return home and be with his wife. He had seen the tenderness as the two boys parted. They were not two boys then. They were husband and wife, in his opinion. Chakravaka and Chakravaki, birds separated by the river of fate. But his opinion did not matter. Only the opinions of kings mattered. Royal opinion was dharma.