Bhima Lone Warrior, page 10
‘You first, then Vetrakiya.’
I trampled on the mountain of flesh that had fallen on the ground and evaded the hands that were groping in the air to catch me. Locking my knees, I pressed them on a vital nerve. I held his head down with my right hand, gripped his leather belt, lifted up his waist and pulled him upwards, using all my strength. I felt many parts giving way inside his rolls of flesh. Baka screamed. I moved my knees to his neck, raised his head abruptly and snapped it. He stopped twitching.
As I got up, I could not believe what had happened. Was this all the opposition that Baka, who had terrified the people of Ekachakra, could offer me?
His followers waited, uncertain what to do. I said to them, ‘Remove the corpse to some faraway spot. And take care you are never seen in Ekachakra again.’
Trembling with fear, they stood with their palms joined respectfully. I walked back light-heartedly, as if I had just finished taking some exercise. Mother looked unconcerned, as if I’d come back from a forest stream where I’d gone to get water. Nakula and Sahadeva were impatient to hear about the duel. Yudhishtira embraced me with relief.
Arjuna asked, ‘Did you kill him?’
‘Yes’
Once he and I were alone, I told him about the strategy I had used.
I tired of our stay in the brahmin household very quickly. Yudhishtira had instructed us not to go out. Kaurava spies were sure to be around. Vidura had made it clear that Duryodhana was not entirely convinced we had all died in Varanavata.
When the brahmins overwhelmed us with gratitude, joy and gifts for having killed Baka, Mother said to them, ‘My son was able to accomplish this only because of the power he has attained through chanting mantras. So it is the gods you must thank.’ The master of our household offered a goat to the gods to express his gratitude.
It was difficult to disguise myself when I went out – I could not conceal my enormous body behind a sacred thread and stripes of holy ash. Nor would a moustache or beard grow on my face as they did on Yudhishtira’s and Arjuna’s.
Yudhishtira tried to make a dice player of our brahmin host, but did not succeed. He took to holding forth on the Vedas and Shastras and this became a pastime for him.
The villagers thought we were members of some noble family, reduced to begging because of unfortunate circumstances. According to them, the evil destiny was not our fault – the region where we were born and bred was to blame. When kshatriyas who have the capacity to bestow alms fall on evil days, the twice-born brahmins have to go out and beg for alms.
Mother got in touch with some brahmin priests through our host. Some of them came to see her from time to time, and she always talked to them privately.
Sahadeva said to me, ‘They are looking for a bride for our elder brother. I heard only bits and pieces of what they said.’ How could Mother think of arranging a marriage at a time when we were wandering around the country, begging for a living? I hinted as much to her once or twice, and she said, ‘It is through marriage alliances that you must muster strength now. If we have no friends, we must acquire relatives.’
How long were we going to continue here? When would Vidura’s messenger come again? The instructions that directed our movements here and our journeys to other places had to come from a little house just outside the palace in Hastinapura.
Yudhishtira confided a secret to me. ‘Vidura’s spies are working for us. Our older uncle, Dhritarashtra, is not willing to believe that we perished in the fire. He does not yet know that Hidimba was killed. Duryodhana might guess that we are alive if he hears of the death of Vetrakiya’s henchman, Baka. Let our uncle decide for us.’
He meant Vidura. But I was not ready to accept that living like wild rats in a lair was strategy. Why not return and challenge the Kaurava chieftains to a duel, one by one? That was kshatriya law, after all.
Meanwhile, we lingered in Ekachakra, a village where the wooden roofs of brahmin houses dotted the landscape and the air was filled with the chant of Vedic mantras. The days were scorching. Instead of game we had hunted, we ate the grains we were given as alms.
One evening, I went out and walked around the thatched houses outside the village. What if I walked all night, never stopping to rest, towards the forest? The forest that would give me everything I needed, where champaka flowers would have started to bloom now. Where the forest maiden whose body had the tenderness of neermatala flowers …
What would our enemies think when they heard that the second Pandava, the mighty one, had deserted?
I returned only after dark. No one was asleep. I knew they had been waiting for me. They were trying to control the impatience that was evident on their faces.
Yudhishtira said, ‘King Drupada’s daughter’s swayamvara is going to take place, she is going to choose a bridegroom.’
This was not a matter that concerned me, so I showed absolutely no interest.
Arjuna and I had seen Drupada’s palace. Panchala, Drupada’s kingdom, was a prosperous one and their king was stronger than the Kurus.
Soon after we finished our studies, Dronacharya wanted all of us, the Kauravas and the Pandavas, to gather an army and confront Drupada. Drona and King Drupada had been friends as children, but had fallen out with each other at some point and parted company. Drona wanted to seek revenge with the help of his best disciples and the Kaurava army. His aim was to capture at least half the Panchala kingdom.
I had wondered why a brahmin like him desired a kingdom and wealth. Vishoka had told me why, as a secret. Pure brahmins did not desire wealth. But Drona, although he had been born a brahmin, had grown up as a kshatriya, which was probably why he gave such importance to the value of the Panchalas’ cows and of the gold in their treasury.
Arjuna and I had visited Drupada as Drona’s mediators. Drupada had, at any cost, to ask pardon of our teacher for the wrong done to him. If he did not, Drona would arrive with the Kauravas, the Pandavas and the army of Hastinapura.
King Drupada had aged, but his radiance had not dimmed. He received us with a warm smile and told us that if his son, Dhrishtadyumna, had been there, he would have insisted we stayed awhile. He promised to send gifts and a message of affection to the brahmin teacher. After a moment’s thought, he decided to accompany us.
The image of Drupada, who had smilingly extended such warm hospitality to us when we arrived at his place threatening to wage war, still lingered in my mind.
Dhrishtadyumna, who was younger than us, was away in some distant place at that time, studying archery. I later heard people say that he was acquiring great expertise in waging war from a chariot. I knew he had an elder brother as well, Shikhandi. This was the first time I had heard of Drupada’s daughter.
Draupadi, Dhrishtadyumna’s twin sister, was said to be dark-skinned. There were kings who were ready to pay any bride price, however high, to marry Draupadi. However, her father decided to choose a warrior who would prove victorious in a contest with a weapon.
‘You must go and have a try. We have nothing to lose. And if you win …’ Our elder brother went on to say that we could declare the Pandavas were alive the moment we acquired Drupada as our relative.
We talked about the wedding hall in Drupada’s palace when we went to bed that night – all of us except Yudhishtira. He was silent, although he was awake.
Nakula and Sahadeva knew nothing beyond the fact that something had happened between Drupada and Drona after they finished their studies.
Nakula asked me, ‘What happened between our teacher and Drupada? The two of you were mediators.’
Arjuna replied, ‘Drupada committed a grave crime against our guru. In their youth, when they were companions, he made Drona an empty promise: “When I become king, you can use my treasury as you wish" But once he became king, he grew fed up with Drona, that’s all.’ Arjuna laughed.
Yudhishtira said gravely, ‘Are you mocking our brahmin guru?’
‘Am I not right? Didn’t Drupada get irritated with him and send him away because his needs were insatiable, no matter how much he was given?’
Yudhishtira was silent.
Sahadeva asked, ‘Why did our teacher want wealth?’
No one answered him. Assuming that everyone had fallen asleep, I closed my eyes. Arjuna moved close to me.
‘You didn’t hear what the brahmin messenger said about Draupadi, who is also called Krishnaa, did you?’
‘No.’
‘He said she is ravishingly beautiful.’
I was not surprised. She had been born as the fruit of many prayers and rituals. I recalled the people I had met during the journey to Panchala. They had been good-looking men and women.
‘The brahmin told us something else …’
I turned and looked at Arjuna’s face.
‘Ravishingly beautiful … and her perspiration has the fragrance of lotus flowers.’
I knew Arjuna was thinking about the competition. We did not know who all were coming. If Karna, who had challenged Arjuna in public at the time of the display of skills, was going to be there …
No. I corrected myself. Charioteers could not compete in a kshatriya wedding hall. But then, Karna now had the title of the king of Anga. I would have to ask Yudhishtira about the rules.
I knew that an unclear image filled the smile in Arjuna’s eyes, an image that wafted the scent of lotus flowers.
For some reason, that night I did not dream as I usually did of the black beauty whose sweat had an ordinary human odour.
4
There were as many suitors crowding the wedding hall as there were guests. The brahmins sat at the back, next to the sacrificial fire. Rather than invite attention by entering as a group of five, each of us went in separately. Arjuna came in last and, looking for a place to sit, found one near me. The people around us were trying to identify the kings who were present.
Duryodhana was in the forefront of a group that entered just after us. Arjuna nudged my foot gently to let me know, but I had seen him already. Among the suitors were old men, grandfathers and men with three and four wives.
There was a huge pillar in the centre of the hall. The target was fixed to the top of it.
In the old days, a warrior’s dharma was either to fight a war and win a bride, or be chosen by a bride in the swayamvara hall. Wealthy kings paid a bride price to the fathers of young daughters and bought them for meek sons, or sons who were past their youth. The young men of our time despised this custom.
The sootas sang continuously, accompanied melodiously by the veena, the flute and the mridangam. They praised Krishnaa, the maiden who had taken shape from the radiance that arose from the fire of a ritual performed for Drupada by a virtuous priest and his assistant. The fragrance of burning sandalwood and akil wood wafted through the hall along with the music.
There was a sudden silence as Drupada walked to the centre of the hall. People thronging the space beyond the great pillars pushed forward as far as they could.
Drupada welcomed the guests who had been invited, as well as all the others who had come, hearing of the event. ‘I am blest,’ he said over and over again.
Everyone’s eyes turned to the inner door of the hall. I saw Dhrishtadyumna first: he looked very young, but strong and handsome. A golden crown studded with pearls kept the wavy hair falling over his forehead in place. The bracelet on his upper arm was encrusted with beryls, and an ardhaguchham necklace with twenty strands hung over his chest. Gems glittered on the belt above his yellow waist-cloth. Then I saw the young girl standing behind the prince. This was Draupadi! What first struck me were her black eyes, which gleamed brighter beneath the arrow-like collyrium-tipped eyelashes than the sapphire glowing in the centre of her necklace. She was dressed in white silk and held a golden wedding garland in her hand. The hall grew completely silent.
I heard Arjuna murmur, ‘O God of Gods!’
I thought, if Indra, the God of Gods, was my younger brother’s protector, it was at this moment that he should come to him. Arjuna was faint with desire for the young girl.
The brahmin messenger had not exaggerated at all. I looked at Draupadi again through the flames of the sacrificial fire. Radiating loveliness, she was like a blue lotus that had just been touched awake by the rays of the rising sun.
Dhrishtadyumna explained what the suitors had to do. The wooden bird in the mechanical cage spinning on top of the pillar had to be shot down. The bars of the cage were very slender and placed close together. The archer had to string the huge bow placed in the hall and take aim with it.
An attendant removed the silk cloth covering the great bow. It was embossed with brass sheets, each the length of at least six arms.
It would require an extraordinary expertise to hit the target inside the spinning cage. And, more importantly, the blessing of good fortune as well. But I knew it was the great bow Drupada had got ready that was going to give the archers greater cause for worry. The nishadas used bamboo bows that were the length of seven and nine arms. However, this bow was not made of bamboo. The secret of Drupada’s metal bow must lie in its craftsmanship.
What if the bow broke as it was being strung? I had heard a story about Rama breaking the bow in Janaka’s hall before he split the target. If Rama of Ayodhya could win the contest even after breaking his bow, I certainly had a chance to test my skills here.
The attention of the spectators turned to two people who had entered. Drupada ran towards them, saluting them with joined palms. I recognized Balarama at once. The other one had to be Krishna. Balarama had come to Hastinapura once, soon after Father’s funeral rites had been completed. He was middle-aged now. Mother had told me that Krishna was a year younger than me. We had heard a while ago that they were going to move from Mathura to their new palace in Dwaraka.
Balarama and Krishna were not going to join the contestants. King Drupada led them respectfully to the raised seats in the hall.
‘Krishna! Krishna has arrived,’ said Arjuna.
‘Softly,’ I whispered. ‘I saw him.’
Krishna gazed at the spectators and guests. The first king who came forward for the contest was the middle-aged son of the king of Kalinga. The magadhas called out his attributes. When he took up the bow and raised it, I realized how heavy it was. In a vain attempt to hold it straight, the contestant lost his balance and fell on his knees. A wave of laughter broke out from the spectators.
I pondered over what the secret of the bow might be and was able to roughly guess what it was. It had obviously been fashioned with the intent to mock the marksmen who used it – molten metal had been poured into it indiscriminately to deliberately upset the balance. Even an archer who succeeded in holding it straight and stringing it was certain to miss the target by the time he positioned the arrow and took aim.
We watched several archers make an attempt, one by one, fail and withdraw from the contest. Arjuna watched closely as the bow twisted and turned in the strangest way, like a living being, in one pair of hands after another. He had eyes for nothing except the bow, which behaved differently in the hands of each archer.
Yudhishtira caught my eye. He looked extremely disappointed. Duryodhana was the next contestant. He managed to lift the bow up to his waist, then abandoned the attempt.
Catching sight of someone who had got up from the group of suitors and was walking towards the bow, Arjuna caught his breath.
The magadhas and the sootas called out: ‘Karna, the king of Anga.’
No other qualifications were mentioned, nor were any astonishing feats described.
Although he was my greatest enemy, I could not help admiring his air of nonchalance. As he strode forward, holding himself straight, his head almost brushed against the streamers in the hall.
I thought Karna had realized that the balance of the bow had been tampered with. Careful not to let people see the twitching in the muscles of his arms, he managed to finally string the bow. So he had won the first round. The spectators held their breath and waited hopefully, admiringly.
Dhrishtadyumna lowered his head towards his sister and murmured something to her. I thought her lips moved.
Dhrishtadyumna moved three steps forward and said, ‘Stop! Only kshatriyas can take part in the contest.’
Slowly turning the bow he had strung, Karna looked at Dhrishtadyumna. The entire audience could see fury blazing in him like a forest fire in summer.
Dhrishtadyumna continued smilingly, ‘My sister will not accept anyone whose clan is lower than hers. If you wish to go on with it simply as a form of exercise, you may do so.’
I watched Karna’s body, which had been as taut and firm as the drawn bowstring, dwindle and shrink.
Arjuna heaved a sigh of relief.
This was the second time I had felt sorry for my enemy. He looked even weaker and more defenceless now than when he had stood exhausted in Adhiratha’s arms.
With a greater expertise than he had shown earlier, he unstrung the bow and let it fall from his hands. It fell on the stone floor of the hall, clattering and echoing its protest. Karna walked with his head bent to the back door. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder.
The rulers of Chedi, Vidarbha, Vanga, Kekaya and Kamaroopa had all finished their turn. No one else came forward. The magadha said: ‘If the kings have decided to take a respite, the brahmins can take their turn.’
The announcement was a formality, they did not expect anyone to come forward. The only brahmin archer who might have done so was Ashvathama and he had not come.
We looked at one another. Yudhishtira must have been aware of my stare, for he made ready to get up, then sat down again.
Arjuna whispered to me, ‘Our eldest brother is not participating, so it is the second one’s turn.’
I patted his thigh and said, ‘I’m not going. May good fortune be with you.’
Arjuna stood up. The spectators must have thought he was some silly brahmin boy. No one who had seen him in Hastinapura would have recognized this black-skinned brahmin youth, with dishevelled hair covering his neck, and a face and body entirely smeared with sacred ash. My heart filled with doubts and prayers as I watched my younger brother dragging his feet, walking towards the bow with his head bent. It was so unlike him not to move with the firm, measured tread of a practised athlete.
