Mangala: Chapter Seven

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This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same website at www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a PDF file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

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avitri was content. Her little boy Krishna was growing up fast. He had now reached seven Rains and his formal education was just beginning; she had engaged a brahmin pundit, knowledgeable in literature and grammar, to teach him his letters and a skilled bookkeeper of their own vaisha caste, the merchants, to introduce him to the mystery of numbers and calculation.

The way he was now – his big and keen eyes fixed on the large slate where the mathematician had written up the number symbols, his brow furrowed and tongue poking out in concentration – was a far cry from the lonely and taciturn child he had been when his half-sisters and their mother had first departed.

That was nigh on three years ago now. At first Krishna had been desperately lonely. Even though Savitri had repeatedly been on the receiving end of the rough tongue of Sita for allowing Krishna to play with her daughters, it had made him so happy she had never had the heart to deny him this indulgence. In fact it was hard Page 2 of 6

for her to deny him any indulgence; whenever he asked for anything or indeed had helped himself and had been caught in the act, he only had to look at her with those big, would-be-innocent eyes and smile with that apologetic yet unrepentant grin and, just like the god Krishna’s own mother, her heart would melt and she would, once again, forgive all and allow him what he wished for. Even that famous time with the jar of sweet buttermilk:

“What do you think you’re doing?” Savitri had barked, aghast at the sight of her son with one arm wrapped around the big earthenware vessel and the other buried deep inside it, his face smeared across both cheeks with the golden, creamy honey-sweet nectar from the pot.

“Nana told me the story.”

“What story?”

“About Lord Krishna and the buttermilk.”

“And so…?”

“So I asked her, ’What’s so special about buttermilk that the baby god Krishna would want to steal it?’ ‘Oh’ she says, ‘buttermilk can be very delicious, especially the way that Krishna’s mother prepared it. But I don’t think that it could have been half as good as Ujjeni buttermilk.’

“‘Why’s that?’ I asked her and she said, ‘Why, ‘cos Ujjeni’s got the best of everything and you live in the biggest and best house in it.’ So I asked her if the buttermilk that we had was the best and she said, ‘Best?! It’s the best of the best.’ So I came hunting here in the cool-room to see if I could find it – it is very good. Do you want some? There’s a bit left.”

A smile came to Savitri’s face at the memory. What could you say? The little imp was the centre of the universe but it never seemed to go to his head – that was one of the reasons that everyone seemed to like him. He had a natural majesty and confidence but he was never conceited or selfish.

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Once Sita and her daughters had gone the atmosphere Page 3 of 6

at Kamanita’s palace had become much more relaxed and easeful for everyone. The constant tension and imminent threat of argument between the two wives had evaporated. With the clearing of the air, local friends of Kamanita began to drop in to visit once more, especially those who had been friends of Savitri, as well as her own family for she too had grown up in fair Ujjeni.

Life became calm and steady and then, as the weeks and months went by and the rainy season gave way to clear skies and cool winds from the mighty Himalayan mountain ranges in the north, Krishna began to leave his quiet sadness aside. He played with the twins, Khamba and Khina, and the other children of the estate – those of the cook and the gardener – as well as the sons and daughters of the families that came to call on Lady Savitri. At times he seemed to have forgotten his two half-sisters, now gone who knows where, but occasionally the memory of them would rise up and his eyes would dew with tears.

One cold-season afternoon, he and the twins decided to have another round of off-ground He, the tagging game that they had been playing when the great argument had started all those months ago. They formed into a small circle of three, and Krishna began the rhyme that he and his sisters had always used when starting one of these games.

“Amba, Tamba, Krishna too,
the one who will be He is YOU!”

He counted the three of them off word by word but, when he reached the end of the rhyme, with his finger pointing at Khamba, instead of dodging immediately out of reach he stood there frozen as a hollow sob rose up and choked him.

“Are you all right?” The twins asked in unison.

By way of reply Krishna turned his back and surreptitiously tried to wipe his eyes. He then dashed off alone leaving the girls standing in the courtyard not quite sure what to do.
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As he grew the initial suspicions and gossip about his ancestry began to dissipate. The cast of his features, particularly his large and beautiful eyes, were so like Kamanita’s, and also his half-sister Amba’s, that almost all who had known his father
remarked on this. There was also a little wrinkle on the right side of his upper lip that matched one his father had perfectly – there really could not be any more doubt about his parentage.

This confirmation helped to settle in everyone’s mind that Savitri was the bona fide lady of the house and Krishna was the true heir to Kamanita’s great wealth and property. Also the boy was so black – far more so than anyone around, even the travelers from Kalinga and the Tamil lands of the far south – that his inky darkness became regarded by some as some sort of miraculous sign, rather than a social hindrance that also betrayed his mother’s infidelity. Besides, everyone knew, in legend if not in life, of examples of the sudden appearance of a child of darker or lighter complexion than their parents.

Savitri settled into the role of the gracious lady of the manor and her character – which had become fiery and abrasive in the face of the conflict with her nemesis Sita – reverted to being mild and loving once again. She began to embody the sunbeam which was the meaning of her name, rather than the searing torch she once had been.

There was a regret in her heart that she had only been given the opportunity to produce the first one of the ‘five heroic sons’ she had been prophesied to bear. Nevertheless, as these years had gone by, she had grown to love her single son whole-heartedly and not begrudge the absence of his brothers who would never now be born. She had even acquiesced to calling him Krishna, as everyone did, and not to try to keep using the name Komudi. She loved his eerie blue-black skin, his open and innocent manner, and Page 5 of 6

she could even forgive him the incessant stream of pranks he played and mischief he got himself into, as he seemed almost determined to mimic the misdeeds of the great god, down to the finest detail.

As the wife of a man who had become a sanyasin, she was an ’ochre widow‘ – she could not remarry yet she would never see the man who had been her husband ever again – so her life had a lonely tinge. She contented herself, however, with the many details of running the great household and with her new task of educating her boy.

She had come from a much more humble background than this. She had been chosen as a wife for the great merchant Kamanita for her physical attributes that indicated she would bear him sons: ’a navel which sits deep and is turned to the right; both hands and feet bearing lotus, urn and wheel marks; hair that is smooth, except for on the neck where there are two whorls circling to the right.’ Nevertheless, despite her modest upbringing, by now she had learned the part well and played it with ease. It was a good and comfortable, peaceful life; she could even exert all the pressure necessary on the house steward Kolita, to run everything exactly as she wanted, although he was technically still in charge until the boy grew to manhood.

She was well-contented with it all – everything had turned out far better than she could ever have hoped for – and then one day a ragged stranger appeared at the gate.

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Notes and References:

Chapter 7

1. Page 81 — He had now reached seven Rains… In Asia, age is traditionally measured by the number of rainy seasons one has lived through; this is comparable to ‘summers’ or ‘winters’ in European usage (for example in Ch. 5, note §10).

2. Page 81 — just like the god Krishna’s own mother… Lord Krishna’s mother was named Devakā, his father was Vasudeva.
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3. Page 82 — Lord Krishna and the buttermilk… This story of the young Lord Krishna’s mischief is to be found in the Bhagavata Purana, Skanda X.

4. Page 84 — the travelers from Kalinga… Kalinga was an ancient kingdom on the eastern shores of India. It was located where the states of Orissa and Andhra Pradesh are to be found today.