The Mahabharata: A Modern Rendering (2 Vols.), page 22
Meanwhile, Sahadeva became exceptionally proficient at the Vedas and other, more arcane, lore; of these, also, Drona was a master. Nakula was always treated like the youngest among the Pandavas; though, in fact, he was born before his twin. Nakula was an adept with unusual astras, and a master charioteer.
Arjuna was inspired by the tales he heard in Hastinapura about his father Pandu’s valour. His taste for battle had been whetted in Kampilya and his kshatriya blood cried out for more. He set out with his brothers and an army to conquer some of the other kingdoms of Bharatavarsha.
The Pandavas slew Sauvira, who had once kept a force of marauding gandharvas at bay during his long yagna. Arjuna humbled the Yavana king, a warrior whom even Pandu had not been able to subdue. He killed Vipula, who had humiliated the Kurus, chasing them countless times from his kingdom. The Pandava vanquished Dattamitra also, who was a greater kshatriya than any of the above.
Legend has it that Arjuna and Bheema, in just two chariots and with no other army, overcame the kings of the east who fought with ten thousand rathas. They also defeated some kings of the south. The Pandava brothers came home to Hastinapura with the spoils of war—gold, jewels, horse and elephant in thousands, as not even Pandu had in his finest days.
So far, Dhritarashtra had done his best to be a father to his brother’s sons; but envy, and not love, is the most powerful force in any kingdom. Now that the Pandavas were no longer children, and their deeds so overshadowed those of his own sons, envy began to consume Dhritarashtra. It began to rule the blind king.
More even than Arjuna and Bheema’s military triumphs, what turned Dhritarashtra’s heart against his nephews was what the people of Hastinapura were saying. The Pandavas were being extolled at street-corners and in the people’s councils. Everyone was saying that Yudhishtira should be made king.
“Dhritarashtra was never really a king. Once there was no choice but to let him rule, at least in name; while Bheeshma and Vidura attended to the real task. Now we have Yudhishtira. Let him be king. He is young and honest, and all the elders think highly of him.”
“He will care for Dhritarashtra’s sons like his own brothers.”
“More than can be said of the king’s sons.”
“Arjuna has added immeasurably to the kingdom.”
“It is only dharma that Yudhishtira becomes the king.”
Duryodhana had many spies in Hastinapura. They were unhappy their prince was being reduced to such insignificance in the kingdom, and brought word to him of what the people were saying. Duryodhana came to see his father. Always partial to his firstborn, Dhritarashtra took his hand and made him sit close to him.
“Your hand is cold and you are trembling! What is it, my child?”
“You have brought us all to the edge of ruin. I told you it was foolish to make Yudhishtira the yuvaraja. Do you know what all Hastinapura is saying? Do you know what the people want?”
Dhritarashtra’s blind face twitched, “Tell me what the people say.”
“They want you to give the throne to Yudhishtira. That is what your precious people want!” hissed his son.
His blindness had taught Dhritarashtra the value of patience. Growing anxious at his son’s mood, the king said, “You will achieve nothing by anger, Duryodhana. When you can’t control yourself, how can you hope to control outside events? ” He sighed. “My poor child, there is something you are forgetting. Though I was the king, Pandu conquered most of the lands we rule from Hastinapura today. How can I forget these Pandavas are my brother’s sons?
“Yudhishtira deserves every shred of praise with which he is showered. Alas, it is true that being blind I have never been much of a king. The throne of Hastinapura does seem cursed, and no real king has sat on it after Shantanu. Even I have dreamt of Yudhishtira becoming the great ruler this kingdom deserves. I have prayed that, with his brothers beside him, he will restore the fame of the Kurus. And I had hoped against hope that my own sons would become loyal ministers and commanders in this kingdom, you also just like Yudhishtira’s brothers; and find your glory in that.”
With a cry, Duryodhana wrenched his hand away. He began to pace the floor in a fever. Dhritarashtra said gently, “I am sad to see you so full of hatred, especially towards your cousin Bheema. Think at least of your own best interests, Duryodhana. Yudhishtira is already enthroned in the hearts of the people. To oppose him would be dangerous.”
A howl came from his son. He screamed at his father, “Enough! Oh, how craven your blindness has made you. I know why these honeyed words spill from your lips, though not from your heart, my lord.” He laughed. “You think we may be overheard! I made sure there is no one here besides you and I. Now listen to me carefully: this is my last word to you.
“If Yudhishtira becomes king, his son shall also be king one day. The Kuru kingdom will pass on to the sons and grandsons of Pandu, and the line of Dhritarashtra will fade into a lowly, subservient one. What you are asking, father, is that your sons, the heirs to the throne of Hastinapura, renounce their pre-eminence forever and become dependants of the Pandavas.
“I am the king’s eldest son. I would rather die than eke out the rest of my life as Yudhishtira’s servant, and Arjuna’s servant, and that gluttonous Bheema’s slave!”
Duryodhana said with finality, “Father, I know you love me. I was raised as a king’s firstborn son, and I must be a king as well. Nothing less will do. If you cannot give me the throne, but decide that I must depend on the Pandavas’ charity, I will kill myself.”
Kneeling abruptly and laying his head in Dhritarashtra’s lap, Duryodhana wept. The king stroked his head. “Ah, you are making yourself miserable for nothing, my child. Pandu was gentle and loving. He was generous to a fault. Yudhishtira has taken after his father, and he has already made a matchless conquest. He has won the people’s hearts. All the Pandavas are popular. Bheeshma, Vidura, Kripa and Drona are inordinately fond of them. The Pandavas’ wellwishers and friends are past counting. It would never have done to make enemies of them. It was after deep reflection, Duryodhana, that I crowned Yudhishtira yuvaraja.”
The king paused and moistened his lips. “Our ministers and commanders are loyal to Yudhishtira. They were all Pandu’s men once, or their fathers were. Our army is Yudhishtira’s army. Won’t they kill us for the Pandavas’ sake? Don’t be rash, my child. Think of every consequence before you act.”
Duryodhana smiled. His father did not know how long, how carefully he and his confederates had been plotting to have the kingdom for themselves. The inmost circle of the conspiracy consisted of Duryodhana himself, Dusasana, and Shakuni, its scheming mastermind. Lately another warrior, bound in gratitude and friendship, had joined them: Karna.
“I have also thought of what you are saying, my lord. We have distributed lavish gifts, in secret; we have made quiet endowments of land and property. The treasury, the counsellors, and most of the army commanders who matter are with us.
“As for Pitama Bheeshma, he will never take sides between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. It seems to me that deep sorrow and tiredness, which have little to do with us, weigh on him. I have seen him so often, walking alone on the banks of the Ganga. I watched him from hiding. I could have sworn he was talking to himself or to the river, and his eyes were full of tears. Once, when I was a child, I ran up to him and asked, ‘Why are you crying, Pitama?’
“You know how fond he is of me. He took me onto his lap, and ruffled my hair. ‘I am just so tired, little one. I am crying from tiredness.’
“‘Then why don’t you rest, Pitama?’
“He laughed aloud. ‘Rest! Ah, my child, I am afraid rest is not for me. No, not for a long time, I fear. Yet, that time will also come, the time for. rest; and then, I shall be well after that.’
“He gave me another of his rare smiles, set me down, and told me to run along and play.
“Pitama’s heart is full of a sorrow beyond all our paltry concerns. When the Pandavas first came to Hastina, Bheema was a bully. Bheeshma never said a word to him. Later, I tried to kill Bheema a few times.” Dhritarashtra gasped. His son continued coolly, “I am certain that in good time Pitama knew this. But not once did he mention it.”
Duryodhana drew a deep breath. “Now for the other powerful men in the sabha. Being jealous of Arjuna, Aswatthama is my friend. He will stand with me, and so Drona will never oppose me. Not because he agrees with me, or because he does not love Arjuna better than me, but because he loves Aswatthama so much. Acharya Kripa is Aswatthama’s uncle, and he will not go against Bheeshma and Drona.
“As for the last one: Vidura loves the Pandavas too much ever to take my part. Why, if things came to a head Vidura would abandon you for them. Father, what can one son of a maidservant do by himself? He will preach to you about dharma when he discovers our purpose. Let him talk, you enjoy his sermons anyway!”
Dhritarashtra sat very still, chewing his lip slightly. He waited to hear the crux of what his son had in mind.
Duryodhana was pacing the room again like a tiger. He stopped in front of the king. “I have a plan. Send the Pandavas and Kunti away to Varanasi. Let Yudhishtira be out of sight for one year. In that time, I will win the people of Hastinapura to me; and if Hastina is won, the rest of the kingdom will follow. Like children, the people have short memories. By the time the Pandavas return,” he paused ominously, “if they return, they will find Hastinapura has begun to love Duryodhana. My cousins’ time in the sun will have ended.”
He fell silent. Then seeing his father sombre, he grasped the king’s hand and cried, “You must do this for me! If you do not, you will be killing me as surely as if you cut me down with your sword. Remember all you have to do is send the Pandavas and Kunti to Varanasi. The rest I will take care of.”
He gave Dhritarashtra’s hand a last squeeze and walked out. Dhritarashtra sat alone for a long time. He knew his son well enough to realize he was in deadly earnest. He would not hesitate to take his own life if he could not be king. Then again, he would not hesitate to have the Pandavas’ lives, and their mother’s, too, if that could give him the crown. Dhritarashtra knew that, very likely, Duryodhana had already arranged that his cousins would never return from Varanasi.
The choice before Dhritarashtra was clear: the life of his own son or those of his brother’s sons. He did not hesitate to make his choice. The truth was that he, also, had long harboured secret envy of not just his nephews, but of his dead brother. Pandu had lived such a full and resonant life compared to his own blind, desolate one.
Dhritarashtra did not doubt what Duryodhana said was true: they must either be rid of the sons of Pandu or resign themselves to obscurity and powerlessness forever. Dhritarashtra sent for the wily Kanika. He sent for this particular counsellor, knowing what the ruthless old man would advise. After all, Kanika was among Shakuni’s inner circle.
Dhritarashtra decided to throw caution to the winds. When Kanika sat before him, he said, “Are we alone, my friend?”
Kanika sent out a guard who stood at the door and shut the heavy thing. He came back to his king. “Now we are alone, my lord.”
Today Dhritarashtra seemed full of urgent purpose, and a new darkness. He leaned forward and whispered, “Kanika, how is an enemy best demolished? With compromise or by aggression?”
Kanika stroked his close white beard. Two shifty eyes glinted, a smile touched his lips. “I see you are arriving at wisdom, my lord. For too long you have been kind to the Pandavas, and loving and avuncular towards them. I am happy to see that finally you realize the threat they are. I am not mistaken in what I surmise?”
Dhritarashtra smiled his deceptively vulnerable smile. “You are as shrewd as ever, Kanika. But tell me, what should I do?”
“Pretend to love them, as you have done all this while. Kings must be hypocrites at times. But don’t be carried away by your own pretence. Remember they are the enemy!” Kanika’s voice was a serpent’s hiss. “The only cure for an enemy as dangerous as the Pandavas is death. And kill them soon; in my opinion, you have already left it too long. A young sapling is easy to cut down, not a full-grown tree. Every day, each moment, Pandu’s sons grow stronger because the people love them more. Strike swiftly, before it is too late.”
Dhritarashtra sat very still. At last, he heaved a sigh, as if Kanika had shown him the way. Kanika rose softly and left. Dhritarasthra sat alone once more. He did not brood any longer on what he should do, only how he should do it. The king had irrevocably decided that the Pandavas must be got out of the way. He would send them to Varanasi. What Duryodhana did with them there was his affair.
THIRTY-EIGHT
To Varanasi
CUNNING COURTIERS, INSTIGATED BY DURYODHANA, CAME TO THE Pandavas and began to praise the city of Varanasi to the sky. They said, “Why don’t the yuvaraja and his brothers go to Siva’s city for the Pasupati festival this year?”
The Pandavas had no inkling of the plot being hatched, and they felt no desire to visit Varanasi. Duryodhana himself never mentioned Varanasi to his cousins. He went to his father and said, “The Pandavas have heard so much about the Pasupati festival they are keen to visit Varanasi.”
Dhritarashtra called Yudhishtira and his brothers. “I hear you want to go to Varanasi, but feel delicate to ask me.”
Yudhishtira began to protest, but the king cut him short. “It seems I must force you to enjoy yourselves. So be it: I order you to go to Varanasi. Go on a holiday, my sons; go for a whole year. Take Kunti and a retinue with you, and gifts for the priests, musicians and the people of Varanasi, as befits the Kuru yuvaraja.”
Yudhishtira saw through his uncle: Dhritarashtra wanted them out of Hastinapura for a year. He was helpless to resist. He bowed to the king, and said, “We will prepare to leave, my lord.”
Yudhishtira restrained a smouldering Bheema and an irate Arjuna from committing any discourtesy. He realized the Pandavas must always be in the right, and visibly.
Yudhishtira came to Bheeshma. He hoped the Pitama would intercede on their behalf. Drona and Vidura were with Bheeshma when the sons of Pandu arrived in his presence.
Yudhishtira said, “The king wants us to live in Varanasi for a year. Pitama, you are our father, our mother and our guru. We are your children, bless us.”
Yudhishtira’s tone contained a world of insinuation; Bheeshma gave no sign he understood.
Yudhishtira continued, “The king wants us to spend a year in Varanasi worshipping Siva Pasupati, who burned the Tripura with his astra. Pitama, we are fortunate to have an uncle who loves us so much.”
Bheeshma was certainly aware of Yudhishtira’s sarcasm. Yet, at this crucial juncture, Duryodhana was proven right in his judgement of what the patriarch’s reaction would be. Perhaps Bheeshma could not dream of the evil Dhritarashtra and his son were plotting. He had also seen enough of life to know that all things take their course in this world, inevitably. No one could subvert destiny; her purposes were always deeper, wiser and more inexorable than man’s. Besides, in those days, Duryodhana was still a restrained prince, at least with his elders. He hardly wore his restless ambition on his sleeve. On some pretext or other, Bheeshma might have rescued the Pandavas from having to go to Varanasi. He did nothing of the sort; indeed, he also seemed pleased at the idea.
Yudhishtira could not accuse the king of plotting against him. He had done the best he could, and he, too, was wise enough to know that if fate took his brothers and himself to Varanasi, then to that city they would go. Bheeshma said, “My blessings go with you, children.”
Yudhishtira replied, “Your blessing will keep danger away from us.”
“Let all the Gods be with you. Go joyfully and in peace.”
Kunti and the Pandavas prepared themselves to leave. When they were ready, they came to take their leave of the elders in the king’s court. Bheeshma, Dhritarashtra, Drona, Kripa and Vidura blessed the princes; and so did Gandhari and the other women of the palace. The Pandavas set out grimly for Varanasi. They sensed Duryodhana’s hand behind this journey and they knew they could be in danger.
Some weeks before the Pandavas left, Duryodhana and Shakuni heard that Yudhishtira had agreed to go to Varanasi. There was a Purochana in the court that was a trusted man of Duryodhana’s. The Kaurava accosted Purochana one day, and steered him to a quiet corner.
“The world will soon be mine, Purochana. Share it with me! You know the thoughts I keep in my heart. It is the hour of my opportunity, and of my need as well.”
Duryodhana gripped Purochana’s arm, and whispered, “The Pandavas leave for Varanasi in a few weeks. You, my friend, must fly within the hour to that city. Your mission there is simple. You will build a palace for the Pandavas on the outskirts of Varanasi.
“Spend whatever gold you must, hire as many men as you have to. Complete the palace before the Pandavas arrive. It must be a jewel of a mansion, full of the rarest artifacts, replete with every luxury that should grace the home of the heroic Pandava princes.”
Purochana stood wonderingly before Duryodhana. Why was he building a palace for the cousins he hated? Duryodhana’s serpent eyes glittered. He pulled his man closer and hissed, “But that palace must be built of resin and hemp, wax and lacquer! Its walls must be coated with oil and tallow, then plastered over with mud, and painted. Use your own masons and carpenters, men that can keep secrets. Pay them well: so no one suspects anything is wrong with this beautiful palace, with the finest furniture and silks, the softest beds in which our cousins and their dear mother can sleep. Scent it richly with perfume and incense so the flammable stuff is well disguised.”
He paused. Purochana asked, “And then, my prince?”
“And then, meet the noble Pandavas as a friend and well-wisher. Tell them you have built a palace for them at Bheeshma’s instance. Make sure our cousins don’t stay anywhere else.”
