Fragments from a Shattered Image

Fragment 7

Pandu often felt stifled in the palace. His grandmother was obsessed with the continuance of their line. From his early childhood, Pandu could remember her disproportionate fear if he or his brother caught so much as a cold. If not for his uncle’s firm yet loving hand, Pandu and his brother might have grown up without ever having set foot outside the palace. His uncle was concerned about the succession, but he was not obsessed with it.

Pandu was told that his own father had died childless, endangering their line and he and his brother were the result of Niyoga. His grandmother told him the story so often that Pandu felt like screaming. She had told him how his mother and aunt had agreed to Niyoga, though it was repugnant to them. “It was their duty,” she told him. “And they knew it.”

Duty was the watchword by which he grew. His duty to Hastinapura, to the Kurus, to the people. From childhood Pandu knew that his duty was not just to be a Prince, but to produce heirs to ensure continuance of the line. Being blind, his brother was spared all those lectures on duty and succession. But Pandu was not so lucky.

But though he wasn’t happy about the constant harping on the importance of having heirs, he knew better than to show it. Self-control and discipline were among the first lessons his uncle had taught him.

A Kuru! A Bharata! He was not only heir to the throne, but heir to the expectations inherent with the post of King. And in his case, it was not enough that he become a good King or an all-conquering one. He had to prove his virility too.

Pandu knew his brother held him in contempt. And he also knew that his brother coveted the throne. There were times when he felt like telling his brother, “Take it and be happy, and at least I can have a life that is mine!”

He thought how ironic it was that his brother who wanted the throne was denied it and he who was apprehensive about his own worthiness, should be given it.

What was worse was his brother knew his deepest anxieties and fears.

“Why don’t you take one of the maids to bed?” Dhritarashtra asked him one day. “You must be the only crown prince who’s still a virgin!”

He blushed deeply but did not answer.

He did not go to any maids either. His virginity was his wife’s. He would not despoil himself.

Then he won Kunti’s hand in the Swayamvara. It had made him more relieved than happy. He would finally be able to fulfill his obligations to Hastinapura by giving it an heir. But- what a fiasco it was, his marriage night!

He did not even look at her or speak to her as he got dressed and stalked out of the room.

He drank himself to a stupor and did not know when he fell asleep. In the morning, he woke with a splitting headache and a guilty conscience. He rose from the couch on which he had spent the night and went to her. Kunti was still asleep, and his sense of shame and guilt increased as he saw the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

He sat down next to her. She was so beautiful. What had been her fault anyway? To have chosen him? He had been the one at fault. And yet, he had run off without a word, demeaning her choice of him.

He touched her cheek gently and she woke.

“Swami?” She whispered and then her face clouded.

“Kunti,” he spoke softly. “I know I am at fault. Please forgive me.” He paused. "I do not know why I ran off like that. I did not mean to degrade you. You should never have chosen me, Kunti. You should have chosen someone else.”

“Please do not say that, Swami,” she had implored. “It does not matter. I am your wife. I am strong enough for this,”

But there was a shadow in her eyes that told him that it mattered. It mattered a lot.

He did not try anything after that night. He slept in the bed and she on the couch since she was adamant that he should have the bed. But no matter how hard they tried to keep it a secret, the servants and the spies took the news to his uncle. What conclusions uncle Bheeshma drew, he did not know.

But a month after, his uncle arranged a second marriage for him and got him married to the sister of the Madra King.

Pandu had not objected. He was in despair. But there was a part of him that was eager too, a part of him that still hoped, that with another woman, perhaps he might succeed. That part of him whispered to him that he was whole.

But after his second marriage, no part of him had any doubts. It was his problem. His alone, and he could not find a solution to it.