AJAYA - RISE OF KALI (Book 2)

by Anand Neelakantan

  The chariot jerked forward and Suratha uttered a cry. Sushala slapped him across his face. “Coward! Behave like a man. Do not let me hear you utter another cry,” she said fiercely, though her heart broke when she saw Suratha moving away from her in fear. His lips trembled and a tear made its way down his cheek. “Fool! Don’t cry like a girl. You are a Kshatriya; behave like one.”

  People on the street paused to look at them but Sushala did not care. The boy had curled up like a centipede on the chariot floor and was sucking his thumb. As the chariot rushed past the palace gates, Sushala felt guilty for what she had done to her son and tried to hug and comfort him, but he wriggled away and jumped out of the moving chariot. He ran off calling for Pitamaha. Sushala snapped at the charioteer to stop and jumped out and ran behind her son. Her anger was getting the better of her.

  Suratha crashed into the old man standing near a window trying to read a moth-eaten manuscript and clucking his tongue in irritation. When Bhishma saw that it was his great-grand-nephew, his expression changed to one of affection. Sobbing, Suratha tried to tell him what had happened.

  Sushala came running into the room but hesitated when she saw her son clutching the Pitamaha’s dhoti. She bowed briefly and tried to grab hold of her son.

  “You hit him, Sushala?”

  The Kuru Princess felt embarrassed, not knowing what to say to one she had always been taught to revere before all others. She looked away, unable to face him. Then her anger came rushing back. She raised her head, looked at Bhishma and said, “Yes, I hit him. He is a shame to the Kuru dynasty, to Chandravamsha itself.”

  For a moment, she reminded Bhishma forcefully of Suyodhana. The same pride, the same defiance of fate. Then he said softly, “He is not of the Kuru dynasty, Sushala, but a Prince of Sindh.”

  His words were like a knife in Sushala’s heart. Was she not a Kuru? But Pitamaha was right, Suratha was Jayadratha’s son, and she merely a visitor to her parents’ home. She was no longer a Kuru Princess. Neither she nor her son had any claim on the great dynasty of Bharata. She was just the Queen of a petty vassal state, the wife of a King who abducted the wife of other men and was then paraded with his head shaved. She did not want to remain on Hastinapura soil. She would return to Sindh and ensure her son began a dynasty more illustrious than the Kurus. She grabbed her son and dragged him out of Pitamaha’s room. The terrified boy paused for a moment, hoping Pitamaha would save him from his mother, but Bhishma stood like a stone statue, silent and aloof.

  “Suratha, you will defeat your uncle, Arjuna, one day and rule all of Bharatavarsha. I don’t want to see you crying again,” Sushala said, dragging him through the palace corridors.

  The boy flinched when he saw the amusement in the guards’ faces even as they bowed; he blushed when the maids whispered to each other, pointing at him. He did not want to go to Sindh, he wanted to remain in Hastinapura, with Pitamaha and his grandfather, who treated him to sweets and listened to his little stories with an attention no one else gave to his words. He wanted to be with his grandmother, who made him laugh with the stories of her father’s kingdom in the distant snow-clad mountains.

  Sushala was still telling him how he would fight Arjuna one day. Suratha was scared. He knew his uncle was the ferocious warrior who had punished his father for something he had done. He was scared to go to Sindh, scared of facing Arjuna one day. If only his mother would listen to him.

  ***

  “Father!” Khatotkacha could not believe his eyes. Bhima had come in search of him! How happy his mother would be! And it was all thanks to this dark and handsome man. Perhaps he was indeed what people said of him, that he was an avatar of Vishnu. Khatotkacha fell at Krishna’s feet.

  “No, my child, first seek your father’s blessing,” Krishna said to the young Rakshasa prostrate on the ground before him.

  Khatotkacha stood up, moved to where Bhima stood in complete silence, and bent to touch his feet. His cousin, Iravan, watched from a distance. Until now, they had both been the unwanted sons of their fathers, but today everything had changed for Khatotkacha. Iravan felt hot tears sting his eyes.

  Krishna quickly explained to Khatotkacha what Bhima required him to do. When he finished, Khatotkacha looked at both men in confusion. “But I have nothing against Prince Duryodhana or his son. Why should I spoil the marriage?”

  “We too do not have anything against Lakshmana Kumara, son, but we have to do this for two people who love each other.” Krishna hurriedly stepped in to fill Bhima’s silence.

  “Father, is this really what you want me to do?” Khatotkacha asked.

  Bhima had not spoken a word since they had arrived, merely standing beside Krishna. Now he gave the smallest of nods.

  Khatotkacha turned to Krishna. “I will do it, Swami, for my father.”

  “You know that if they catch you, Duryodhana will flay you alive?”

  “I do it for my father. It is my dharma.” Khatotkacha wished with all his heart that his father would look at him, but Bhima’s face appeared to be set in stone, his eyes gazing into the distance.

  “Do you wish to meet my mother?” Khatotkacha asked Bhima.

  Krishna looked at Bhima and read the refusal there. He gently shook his head at the eager teenager. For a fleeting moment, pity touched his heart.

  Khatotkacha knew he should not have asked. Before he could say anything more, Krishna and Bhima had turned away and left. ‘Father, wait!’ he cried silently. ‘Let me show you my aim with the arrows, my power with the mace. Do not go!’ The words never left his lips. Silently he watched his tall father vanish like a dream.

  “You are lucky, cousin,” Iravan said, trying not to sound jealous.

  “We may be untouchables, Iravan, but surely one day our fathers will need us,” replied Khatotkacha.

  “Can I come with you?”

  “It will be dangerous.”

  “Then I should be with you.”

  Khatotkacha looked at his cousin in surprise. Iravan was jealous but that was not going to stop him from risking his life. Khatotkacha nodded. His cousin’s face bloomed into a smile like a wild flower.

  Later, as he rode towards Hastinapura in the dead of night, a strange fear gripped Khatotkacha. Had Vasuki not warned them against interfering in the affairs of the Pandavas and Kauravas? He reminded himself that his dharma was not to think about the consequences of his actions, but merely to do what his father wanted. They rode in silence towards Hastinapura’s brightly lit palace, trying not to think about the dangerous mission they had undertaken.

  *****

  30 THE BOY LOVER

  SUYODHANA HURRIED TOWARDS THE SABHA. The courtiers rose as he walked in with Bhanumati and Lakshmana. The Royals bowed before the elders and then waited for the bridegroom to arrive. The sounds of a commotion arose above the murmuring of the mantras and every head turned towards the door. Balarama pulled Kumara into the Sabha, an iron grip on his arm. The young Prince had tears running down his face.

  Bhanumati tried to rush to her son but Suyodhana held her back. “Guru Balarama, what is the meaning of this?”

  “You want to know the meaning, Suyodhana? It means I have been a fool. My wife was against this marriage, my brother too, yet I went against them, thinking he was your son, that I could make amends for what happened to you years ago.”

  “What has my son done?” Bhanumati cried, tears in her own eyes.

  “Sister, you will not wish to hear it in public. I will explain later. Regretfully, we must call off this marriage,” Krishna said.

  “Enough of your games, Krishna. You want to call off the marriage without giving us a reason?” Suyodhana turned and demanded of the younger Yadava.

  “Suyodhana, my friend, did I not say I would tell you later, not here in public? You will regret it if you insist, believe me,” Krishna replied, urging discretion.

  “You insult me and then say you will explain later? Tell me now!”

  “Such things are better spoken of in private,�
�� Krishna replied.

  “I know my son, Krishna. What is it that he has done?”

  “Remember it was you who insisted on hearing this publicly. Your son was found in bed with a boy.”

  “What?” Suyodhana stood in trembling disbelief before rushing towards his son, his face red with rage. Bhanumati grabbed his arm trying to stop him but he roughly pushed her away. He slapped Kumara, leaving the imprint of his fingers on his son’s pale face. “Who was the boy? Bring him to me now!” Suyodhana yelled, his voice shaking with anger and humiliation. Soldiers ran out to search for the culprit.

  “Suyodhana, just listen to what the boy has to say first.” He heard Bhishma’s voice but shook his head. No, he did not need further elaborations. Bhanu was crying, Lakshmana was pleading. Enough said and heard. All he wanted was to get his hands around the throat of his son’s lover. Suyodhana clenched his fists and closed his eyes. How his vassal Kings and the Priests would laugh at his expense. It was a curse having such a son! He should have killed him long ago. No wonder Kumara was uninterested in archery, no wonder he was afraid of weapons, he was just an effeminate queer! How was he to entrust his empire to such a son when the time came? The shame of it! All Bharatavarsha would hear that Suyodhana had such a son.

  The Sabha emptied quickly. Suyodhana could hear the whispers fading away. A few people came to offer their sympathies but most just turned away. Karna spoke conciliatory words and Bhishma tried to chide him. Aswathama said he would find the other boy. Bhanumati stood in silence. Suyodhana did not understand a word anyone said. He did not care.

  Soon he was alone in the cavernous Sabha. He vaguely heard someone say that the other boy had escaped. They had found him in the royal kitchen. After having gagged and tied up six kitchen workers, he was devouring the wedding food with relish. It was almost as if he he had been waiting for someone to discover him. When the soldiers arrived, he wrecked the kitchen, overturning vessels, toppling stoves and setting fire to the structure. While the soldiers battled the flames, the boy climbed the fort wall like a monkey and disappeared. He had someone waiting for him with a horse. The hunt for him was on.

  “Who was he?” Suyodhana asked the soldier standing before him.

  “We do not know, Sir. He was dark and wild-looking, like a Rakshasa.”

  “Leave me!” His son preferred a Rakshasa boy to the beautiful daughter of his Guru?

  The last of the torches finally died. The darkness became perfect.

  *****

  31 KIRATHARJUNEEYAM

  EKALAVYA READ HIS GOD-DAUGHTER’S letter again. Something about the missive troubled him. It did not contain the usual banter that always brought a smile to his lips. He had decided not to attend Kumara’s marriage, preferring not to open himself to insult again. But the letter made him change his mind. Lakshmana had written to say that her brother was marrying the wrong girl, who was in love with her cousin, Abhimanyu. What worried him was the footnote. She said someone was stalking her and she was afraid. He had to go.

  Ekalavya started for Hastinapura early in the morning. The forest was drier than he could ever remember. He was worried as he rode over the rocky beds of the dry mountain streams. Why was his manasaputri Lakshmana afraid? His horse became restless. It raised its head and sniffed the air, ears pointed ahead. Something had stirred in the bush ahead, perhaps a wild boar. Nothing was more dangerous than standing in the way of a charging boar. Ekalavya prodded his horse to move sideways and alighted behind a tree.

  The bush ahead shook and then fell silent again. Ekalavya cautiously took his bow from his shoulder and placed an arrow. A man suddenly appeared to his right, walking straight towards the bush. Fool! Could he not read the signs of the forest? The stranger was carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. He wore a sword at his waist. But would he have the time to use the weapons? Perhaps he was an out-of-work soldier, thought the Nishada, fed up with fools from the cities wandering around in the forest as if the jungle was a picnic spot. It was one of the worst droughts in living memory and the beasts were desperate for food and water.

  Ekalavya wanted to cry out a warning but that might have provoked the wild boar to charge. The bush stirred once more and the stranger stopped in his tracks. The boar charged with a grunt and Ekalavya let go his arrow. He was sure his arrow had found its mark from the squeal of the boar but that fool had to be pushed away from the beast’s path. Wild boars were ferocious creatures. Even if he had hit his mark, the boar would still charge before succumbing. Ekalavya screamed to the stranger to move away and rushed to pull the man off the path. Then he saw the boar lying dead at the stranger’s feet.

  “Fool! What are you gaping at? But for my arrow, your intestines would be lying on the earth now.”

  The man stared at the Nishada, then knelt on the ground and turned the boar over. Ekalavya was shocked. He had expected to see his arrow embedded in the boar’s throat, instead, there were two – a hair’s breadth apart. Who had shot the second arrow? Who could shoot that well?

  “Shooting dead beasts and then putting on airs, Kirata?” The man asked, pulling out his arrow from the still body of the beast.

  Arjuna! No wonder Ekalavya had not even see him shoot. But how dared he come into his forest lands and then abuse him? “Have some gratitude, Pandava. If not for my arrow...”

  “The day Arjuna has to depend on a Kirata to save him from a small beast is the day he should die,” Arjuna said with disdain as he wiped the arrowhead in the grass. “Kirata, take your arrow and begone. You may even take the boar I shot as a reward for your labour.”

  “Apologize for those words, or die!” Ekalavya hissed, his sword pressing hard against Arjuna’s neck.

  With one swift movement Arjuna pierced the Nishada’s foot with the arrow tip he was holding. Ekalavya yelled in pain. Arjuna stepped away, his bow gleaming in his hands, his eyes mocking the Nishada, daring him to fight.

  Ekalavya gritted his teeth to ward off the pain and cursed Arjuna. His left foot was bleeding but that was not going to stop him. He would have preferred this encounter to have taken place in front of all the nobles and great men who had treated him like an irksome insect. Over two decades of rivalry had to be settled today. Arjuna had not recognized him, Ekalavya thought with a bitter smile. But he would tell him before he killed him. By Shiva, he was going to finish the arrogant Pandava today! Ekalavya put his sword down and picked up his bow. He stood poised to meet Arjuna.

  Before he could blink, an arrow swished past his throat. “The next shot will not be so merciful,” Arjuna told him.

  Ekalavya replied with three arrows in succession. The first broke Arjuna’s bow, and the other two pierced each of Arjuna’s shoulders. “The next one is for your black heart,” the Nishada mocked.

  Arjuna pulled the arrows out and threw them to the earth. He unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the Nishada. Ekalavya flung his bow down and grabbed his sword. ‘Gods of the forests, be my witness,’ he whispered and charged at Arjuna.

  The swords clashed with great force, each man determined to kill his opponent. Both men fought in deadly silence but the trees around them rang with agitated bird cries. Sparks flew from their swords and the parched grass beneath their feet began to smoke.

  It was difficult holding the sword with four fingers. Ekalavya’s ghost thumb hurt but he would not give up. Not to Arjuna. That burning smell. Ekalavya knew what was coming. Soon the dry scrub would be crackling with fire. He had to settle this quickly; a moment’s loss of concentration would end his life. His horse neighed in fear as a tree fell with a loud crash. Unmindful, the two warriors fought on. The heat became unbearable. Thick smoke enveloped them and they were soon choking and coughing for breath.

  In a quirk of fate, Arjuna stumbled on a dry root and fell on his back. Ekalavya kicked away Arjuna’s sword and placed a foot on his chest. It was over. He raised the sword high over his head with both hands. But Arjuna needed to know who had defeated him before he died.

  “Do you know wh
o I am?” Ekalavya pressed his foot down hard, pinning Arjuna to the ground.

  Arjuna was choking. “I know...”

  The forest echoed with Ekalavya’s laughter. It was enough. His victory was complete. Yet he wanted to hear it from Arjuna’s mouth. “Tell me who I am,” he said, leaning over Arjuna, his sword raised.

  “You are Lord Shiva.”

  “Shiva! Do I look like Lord Shiva to you?” Ekalavya demanded, more amused than angry.

  “No untouchable can defeat a Kshatriya. You are none other than Lord Shiva, the greatest of all Gods,” Arjuna mumbled.

  “Does this remind you of something?” Ekalavya said, thrusting his hand in Arjuna’s face.

  As Arjuna stared at the four fingers, all colour drained from his face. He turned his head away away and mumbled, “You are Shiva. You are Shiva.”

  There was no point in killing Arjuna in the wilderness with no witnesses. The world would never know that a Nishada had defeated the greatest of all Kshatriyas in a fair fight. Arjuna’s punishment would be the knowledge that a Nishada had defeated him – a Nishada without a thumb!

  “No Kirata can defeat me,” Arjuna mumbled again.

  Ekalavya took his foot off Arjuna’s chest. “You are right. I am Shiva. Who is not Shiva? What boon shall I bestow upon you?”

  Arjuna sat up, burning with shame at the insult. Fire was raging inside him as much as it was around him in the forest. “Give me your bow.” His voice was barely audible.

  “You think I won because there is some magic in my bow? You can accept magic but not a Nishada getting the better of you, Arjuna? Here, take it, the bow is yours. Consider it the divine bow of Shiva, Pashupatha itself. Take it and get out of my forest!” Ekalavya said with disdain as he threw the bow at Arjuna’s feet.

  He laughed as the Pandava stooped to pick it up. Ekalavya raised his hand in mock blessing. For a brief moment Arjuna’s eyes lingered on the four fingers and the non-existent thumb, then he walked away through the smoke, carrying Ekalavya’s bow.