not just the enclosure of Ila’s children; it is Arya-varta, the land of the noble ones who uphold dharma. Our family deity is Surya, the sun, whose rays bring life, light, warmth and clarity of thought. Theirs is Chandra, the moon, who waxes and wanes, twisting emotions and morals.’
Shilavati overheard it all and absorbed it all. True son? What does that make Ila? False son? What does that mean? She did not ask. She left asking questions toher younger brother, the crown prince.
Ahuka always discussed the disputes he was asked to settle by his sabha with his son. This, the Janakas believed, was part of royal education. It enabled young princes to appreciate the complexities of a problem: how does one distinguish fact from fiction, truth from perception. Formal understanding of dharma-shastras under the guidance of the Acharyas was never enough. There was more to dharma than what was written.
The cases were always presented in the form of riddles: ‘The riddles of the sixty-four Yoginis’.
‘The sixty-four Yoginis are handmaidens of Shiva and Shakti. They hold aloft a throne. He who sits on this throne becomes Chakra-varti, ruler of the world. But to sit on it one has to answer the sixty-four riddles of the sixty-four Yoginis. These are no ordinary riddles. They have no definitive answer. The answers vary in different periods of history, in different parts of the world. Appropriate answers are those that ensured stability and predictability at any given time in any given place. Only one Bharata has been able to answer all the riddles thus far. He was the one and only Chakra-varti. The rest of us are Rajas; our dharma satisfies most but not all,’ said the Janaka fathers to their Janaka sons.
One day, based on a particularly puzzling case presented in his sabha, Ahuka created a riddle for Nabhaka. ‘The twenty-third Yogini asks the man approaching the throne: Who is the father of Rohini’s child? Her old wrinkled husband or his young assistant who made her pregnant? Both claim the child.’
The actual accused and the actual defendant in this case were Vaishyas. The husband was an old cowherd,the lover was a distant nephew who helped the old man castrate young bulls. Ideally, the case should have been tried by the Vaishya council of elders since both the defendant and the accused belonged to the same varna. Kings of Ila-vrita were asked to intervene only when disputes involved two varnas or when the case had no precedent, as in this case.
‘That’s a simple one,’ Nabhaka said, ‘Surely the father is the man whose seed sprouts in her womb. That young scoundrel of a student.’
If it was so simple and straightforward, it would not be a Yogini’s question, thought Ahuka who was disappointed by his son’s hasty reply. He remembered the young student in court, hardly a scoundrel, more a youth quivering under the weight of desire.
A quiet voice sprang up from behind Nabhaka. It was Shilavati. ‘Tell me brother, to whom does the sapling in a field belong? To him who sows the seed or to him who owns the field?’
What an intelligent question, thought the king of Avanti. He looked at Nabhaka and watched him reply, once again, hastily. ‘To the owner of the field, of course.’
‘Rohini is the field, her husband its master, the student merely one who sowed the seed. Is that not what the dharma-shastras say? She may not love her husband but only he can be the father of her child.’
Nabhaka was at a loss of words. Ahuka was impressed. Shilavati had given more importance to the institution of marriage than to the whims of the heart. She has established the primacy of law over desire. From such actions was dharma born; it gave life certainty and predictability.
‘Since when did you read the dharma-shastras, my child?’ he asked Shilavati.
‘I have not. But I pay attention to everything you say,’ said Shilavati. Ahuka smiled, beaming with pride.
‘I don’t agree with her answer,’ said Nabhaka, a