Satyavati, the Fisherman’s Daughter
As Devavrata was now quite grown up and was admired for his valour and wisdom, King Santanu proclaimed him the Crown prince of Hastinapur. Whenever he sought advice from his son on any state matter, he found him very astute, forthright and transparent. But, above all, he was deeply touched by his son’s devotion and love for him. What greater boon could a king have than a son who is a paragon of all human virtues? Now that the young prince had assumed the responsibility of state administration, Santanu returned to his erstwhile pursuit of martial games, particularly hunting which was his prime passion.
One winter morning, as his two-horse chariot was racing along the bank of the Ganga, his horses suddenly slowed down and then stopped. Even though his charioteer cracked the whip and prodded them forward, they wouldn’t move. There they stood, by the riverside, snorting, their nostrils dilated and hooves digging into the ground. What could have happened, the king wondered. As he alighted from the chariot and looked around, he was overwhelmed by a strong fragrance emanating from someone sitting on the riverbank. As he drew close to the source of this fragrance, he saw a woman of stunning beauty, and a boat anchored close by. On seeing a man’s reflection shimmering in the water in front of her, she got up and turned to the king standing behind her. She wore a saree of some ordinary translucent cloth which revealed the contours of her graceful body. To the king, she seemed to be a marble statue sculpted by some master sculptor.
‘Who are you?’ asked the king, recalling how he had addressed Ganga in the same manner. But this time, he was certain that she was an ordinary mortal, not a celestial being. Although Santanu had decided not to look at any other woman after being abandoned by Ganga, he now felt as if he were riding an unbridled steed of desire.
‘I am Satyavati, daughter of a fisherman,’ she replied in a voice that lisped like the ripples on the Ganga. For a moment, it seemed to Santanu that the river had stopped flowing in order to listen to their conversation.
‘I am Santanu, king of Hastinapur.’
‘I feel honoured to meet you, O King,’ she answered. But she did not seem to be overawed by the man in a long, flowing silken robe standing before her.
‘Can you ferry me across this river?’ he asked, his eyes lingering on her face.
Satyavati realized that the king was smitten with her. Promptly she undid the mooring of her boat and gestured him into it. As she began to row, Santanu saw the reflection of her face in the river, glistening in the early morning sun. There was a rhythmic pattern to her hands as she moved the oars sideways. Quite impulsively, Santanu leaned forward to caress her right hand, but she withdrew it with a sparkle in her eyes.
‘This hand, O King, is my father’s privilege to offer to anyone of his choice.’
‘Then I will ask him for it, because I wish to marry you.’
As the boat reached the other bank, he asked her to turn it back. Three times he made her ferry him back and forth.
‘You know, Satyavati, I am trying to look for a stable point between this bank and the other, between the earth and the sky. There must be a point where I can anchor the boat of my heart and rest forever.’
When Santanu returned to the riverside next morning, she was there, sitting at the same spot as if she were expecting him.
‘Today, I’ve come to talk to your father,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘Will you take me to him?’
This time, Santanu didn’t utter a word as she rowed him across the river. He just kept looking at her reflection in the water, lost in his thoughts. As they landed on the other bank, she led him to a thatched hut in the midst of a cluster of trees. While he walked in, she stood at the bamboo door, eager to know how the two men would sort it out.
Satyavati’s father greeted him with folded hands and gestured him to sit on a cot.
‘This is all I have, O King. I’m sorry I have no chair to offer you.’
‘Chairs are for those who sit across large tables and engage themselves in inane conversations. But I have come to talk to you about an intimate matter,’ the king replied.
The fisherman smiled.
The king looked closely at the man, who was wearing a necklace of large beads that rested on his bare chest, with only a cloth covering him from his waist to his feet.
Inside the hut were several coir baskets stacked with fish, but, surprisingly enough, there was no foul odour. On the contrary, the same fragrance that had emanated from Satyavati’s body seemed to pervade the hut. As Santanu sniffed a couple of times, the fisherman sensed what had intrigued his guest.
‘The gods have endowed my daughter with an aroma, which is like a deer’s musk.’
‘Beauty and fragrance,’ Santanu said, smiling. ‘That’s what I have come to talk to you about.’ He paused as if he couldn’t bring himself to uttering the next words. But he knew that he had to say them.
‘I wish to marry your daughter because I have fallen in love with her,’ the king said.
‘Yes, she has already told me that,’ the fisherman responded in a voice that rang with dignity and reserve. ‘But what about the difference in worlds?’ the fisherman asked. ‘You are a Kshatriya and the king of Hastinapur while Satyavati is a fisherman’s daughter.’
‘Love knows no bounds,’ said Santanu, looking directly at the fisherman. ‘I don’t believe in caste distinctions. Since God loves all creatures equally, why should any man be conditioned by the circumstance of his birth?’
‘Brave words,’ said the fisherman to himself. ‘But did they come from his heart?’ He pondered over what the king had just said. He was not the kind of man to give his daughter away for nothing in return. He felt like a jeweller who held in his hand a rare pearl for which he must extract full price.
‘If you really love her, I should feel greatly honoured to marry her to you,’ the fisherman said. Then, with a glint in his eyes, he added, ‘But there is a condition…’
Santanu started to hear the words. He hoped that this man’s condition would not be as harsh as Ganga’s.
‘What is it?’
‘I want only my daughter’s children to be the heirs to your throne.’
His words hit Santanu like a thunderbolt. It took him quite some time to recover from the shock. Then he spoke firmly but not without a tinge of resentment.
‘That condition I would never accept because my son, Devavrata, has already been proclaimed the Crown prince of Hastinapur. I cannot deny him his birthright.’
Saying this, he walked out. During the ferry back to the other bank, he did not utter a word to Satyavati.
It was an irate Santanu who asked his charioteer to take him back to his palace as fast as possible. His forehead was wrinkled and his eyes flashed in anger. The charioteer, who accompanied him everywhere like his shadow, at once understood that the king’s affair with the fisherwoman had somehow run into sand. His apprehensions were confirmed when the king told him that he would never again return to the river.
Returning to the palace, Santanu shut himself in his private chamber and refused to eat or meet anyone. But Devavrata was determined to see his father, whatever the consequences.
‘Father, what is the matter?’ he asked. ‘You haven’t eaten for three days, and I wonder if you’ve had any sleep at night. As your son, I have the right to know if anything has gone wrong.’
Santanu looked at Devavrata with great affection. Then he said, ‘There is nothing to worry about, my child. You know I love you very much…’ The words trailed off and he burst into tears.
‘If you don’t tell me, I will have to find out everything for myself. In any case, I have also decided not to eat until I get to the heart of this matter.’
From there, Devavrata went directly to the charioteer, hoping that he would help him unravel the mystery. But the man was like a closed book. He wouldn’t say anything at all. When persistently questioned, he said, ‘O wise Prince, if I speak out, wouldn’t it be a breach of trust?’
This made Devavrata lose his temper. ‘Do you know that my father hasn’t eaten for the past three days and he has withdrawn to his private chamber?’
The charioteer introspected for a while and then told the prince how he had seen the king sailing up and down the Ganga with a beautiful fisherwoman.
‘That is enough for me,’ Devavrata said. ‘Now would you take me to the river tomorrow morning?’
The charioteer took him to the same spot by the river where the beautiful young woman sat, creating ripples in the river. A boat was anchored close by. As she saw the reflection of a stranger in the water, she turned around and saw a handsome young man whose chariot stood at a short distance away. She recognized the chariot, but waited for the man to speak first.
‘Are you the woman who rowed my father down the river?’ Devavrata asked.
‘I suppose you are his son,’ she replied, with a furtive smile on her face. ‘Is the king all right?’
‘Not quite,’ he responded, somewhat brusquely. ‘What do you think could have happened? He is presently in a state of great mental turmoil.’
‘Let me take you to my father. He will answer you,’ she said in a voice that was like a broken reed.
Before he entered the hut, Satyavati whispered something into her father’s ears and then withdrew to the bamboo door.
‘I feel honoured to meet the Crown prince of Hastinapur,’ said the fisherman, gesturing him to sit on the same cot. He then shared with Devavrata all that had transpired between him and the king.
‘If that is your condition, it should be no problem at all. I do understand your concern for your daughter’s future. And I hope you also appreciate a son’s concern for his father’s happiness and wellbeing. So, we are both in the same predicament. Let me now come to the point. I hereby vow that I will never marry so that your daughter’s children can inherit the throne.’
As he spoke these words, they both heard the sound of thunder and lightning, followed by a heavy downpour – so torrential that it threatened to submerge everything. Darkness descended all around and the fisherman had to look about for a taper.
‘There, you have heard nature ratifying my pledge,’ said Devavrata as the taper lit up the hut. ‘May the heavens curse me if I ever break my word.’ Then, looking up at the sky, he cried out: ‘O Mother Ganga, bless your child and help him honour his pledge.’ Turning to the fisherman, he resumed: ‘Since I am motherless on this earth, I vow to look upon your daughter as my mother and her children will always claim my love and protection.’
The fisherman was too stunned to say anything. He simply sighed and said, ‘I wish I had a son like you, O Prince.’
‘But you have a daughter who has conquered the kingdom of Hastinapur.’
Impelled by some strong emotion, the fisherman leaned forward to touch Devavrata’s feet.
‘Please, don’t embarrass me,’ said Devavrata, flinching. ‘As you are now my mother’s father, you command my reverence.’
The fisherman didn’t know how to respond to this. After a pause, he said, ‘But you’ll have to wait till the sky clears up.’ However, just as he spoke these words, the darkness outside began to dissipate. It seemed as if some divine power had silenced the thunder and lightning and stopped the downpour.
‘There, you see,’ said Devavrata, ‘how these elements appeared only as witnesses to my oath. Now that I’ve spoken, they have withdrawn themselves to the sky.’
‘That was indeed a miracle,’ said the fisherman. ‘Now that it is all settled, I would like to have the honour of ferrying you across the river myself.’
As they walked out of the hut, Devavrata saw Satyavati wiping off her tears.
On the other side of the river waited the chariot, its horses drenched by the rain. The charioteer was happy to see the prince relaxed, as if he had emerged from some deep, dark tunnel.
At the palace gates, Devavrata saw his father waiting for him.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I was worried. You know, I had a strange dream last night. I saw you asking your mother to shake up the sky with thunder, lightning and rain. Such was the turbulence in the atmosphere that I could not sleep thereafter.’
Devavrata merely smiled. ‘Father, dreams are not just fantasies – they carry their own messages.’ He paused. ‘But let us go into your chamber, for I have brought you some pleasant tidings from heaven – tidings of love, peace and happiness.’
As Devavrata narrated to his father his conversation with the fisherman, the king flew into a rage.
‘No, son, I will not let you do it,’ he said in a voice choked with emotion.
‘But can a Kshatriya break his pledge, especially when he has also the blessings of his mother?’ Devavrata asked. ‘In the midst of my pledge, Mother Ganga sent thunder, lightning and rain which the fisherman also recognized as my witnesses. It was like a ritual.’
‘But you are throwing away your entire life, my son. This is the kind of a sacrifice that even the gods are not capable of.’
‘But isn’t giving a way of taking, father? You are not only my creator but also my saviour. Didn’t you pull me out of the black cloth when I was about to be dropped into the swirling waters of the Ganga? What greater privilege can a son have than to bring love, peace and happiness into his father’s life?’
Santanu embraced his son and kissed him fervently on his cheeks, while tears started flowing from his eyes. In a tremulous voice, he said, ‘I prophesy that you will be remembered in the history of Bharatavarsha as a rare jewel of the Kuru dynasty. As for the terrible vow you have taken, you will hereafter be called Bheeshma, not Devavrata.’